The Raven

. Song of the Spirit After midnight slightly drowsy, Contemplating writing lousy, While the script-score I redacted, Something in my head reacted. Dreamed I heard a stirring curtain, Though my mind remained uncertain. Wondered whence had come the stir, As upon my feet upspringing, Heard a hissing and a whir,...

. The Reagan with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe Once upon a long and weary voting day with chances dreary for a quaint and curious choice, a nominee we all adore; while I gauged the sense of voting, suddenly I heard some gloating as of someone sugarcoating memories of years...

. The Pigeon Once upon a workday morning, sleepy-eyed and loudly yawning, I was splattered without warning by a pigeon from the shore. At my half unconscious stupor, this unpardonable pooper, Took his aim just like a trooper from a raging bloody war, And he peppered me with pigeon poop...

. My Raven My Raven is a different bird. I guess he learned a different word Than Poe’s that uttered “Nevermore.” My Raven tells me, “Furthermore.” “Alright” I said “what do you want? Why did you choose my place to haunt? Why are you sitting at my door?” My Raven...

. Edgar Allan Poe was known for strange and mysterious tales, in poetry and prose. Perhaps fittingly, the circumstances surrounding his premature death at the age of 40 were also strange and mysterious. (Read about the circumstances here and here.) Thus, with the help of poet Phil S. Rogers, the...

. The Purloined Lectern by C. Aubre DeWiles It was the fall, November, 2020, in the night. My friend, Earl Dolan Page, and I were chatting in low light. We sat within his little study in his little flat; there drinking wine, au troisieme. That is where we were at. At least...

  Dear Edgar, __We’re sorry our response has taken so much time, but it grieves and pains to tell you that you’ve missed our paradigm. __While past works were droll and erudite ---nay, frighteningly “sublime!”--- we just couldn’t help but notice, Ed, Alas! This thing shows rhyme!     Tonia...

  Cruising down an LA freeway, hustling for a little leeway Passing many a rusted relic from Detroit's Plutonian shore. Hoping all would turn to see me, knowing all would want to be me Driving in my Beemer dreamy-eyed, contented to my core. With my canvas top popped open and...

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQ6QuvFS068    

  Years ago—I still remember: final Thursday in November, I was in my kitchen cooking food to rival feasts of yore; To and fro sashaying, hopping, slicing, dicing, mincing, chopping, Dish by dish—no time for stopping, for so daunting was the chore: Playing hostess for Thanksgiving—such a monumental chore ____I...

after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" __Once upon an evening dreary, I searched for news, at least in theory, Over many a dubious and mendacious channel that I abhor— __While I surfed, nearly barfing, suddenly there came a harping, __There was someone roughly berating, berating everything I stand for. “‘Tis some moron,”...

. by David Bellemare Gosselin Today, seldom is Edgar Allan Poe's voice heard as it's drowned out by the popular notions of Poe as some sort of deranged man whose stories and poetry are simply the product of his own sick mind. The myth of Poe as some sort of...

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I wandered, drunk and weary, Over many a quaint and dimlit alley of forgotten doors— While I plodded, barely standing, suddenly I heard a chanting, As of someone softly ranting, ranting from the darkened doors. “It’s some other drunk,” I muttered, “chanting from the...

By Wilbur Dee Case | Edited by Kent Van May Now I can see why T.S. Eliot disliked Edgar Allan Poe's verse; Eliot was trying to write a different kind of poetry; and it is no surprise that, for Eliot, Poe was no kindred spirit. Yet it was unwise for Eliot...

By Dusty Grein and Evan Mantyk “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe remains one of the English language’s most popular and influential poems since it was written in 1845. Much of this was Poe’s own doing, as he performed it quite frequently, and wrote many essays and commentaries on it...

Inspired by real events in China   Not that long ago in China, in a labor camp confined a Year or longer, I was sitting, making for a U.S. store Christmas tree lights meant for hanging, when there came an awful banging Like a phantom’s chains’ loud clanging—angling through the...