This week: Edgar Allen Poe Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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A Dream Within A Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
On January 19, 1809, in Boston Massachusetts, David Poe and Elizabeth Arnold welcomed so Edgar Allen Poe. His father was an officer and was educated in law. His mother Elizabeth was a stage actress. The couple led a wandering life revolving around stage performances and their three children traveled with them. When Poe was young he lost both his parents. He was adopted by a wealthy gentleman, John Allen who had no children of his own. At the age of seven he was sent to school at Stoke Newington, near London. Poe would spend the next six year at the school, then returned to the Allen’s home in Richmond. In 1826 Poe started at the University of Virginia. He left without completing his first year. Poe then started a cadet ship at West Point, but this too was short lived. He was court martial and expelled for excessive drinking and neglecting his studies.
In 1829 Poe published his first collection of poems, “Al Aaraaf, and Minor Poems.” without any success and in later years Poe was embarrassed by it. Now that Poe’s school days were behind him and his writing wasn’t taking off, Poe returned home to Mr Allen’s house. John Allen died shortly after Poe’s return and with Poe’s disgraceful behavior at West Point, Allen left Poe completely out of his will. Poe was left to fend for himself and his writing was not paying the bills. Poe tried to enlist in the army, but his west Point court martial was quickly discovered.
In 1833, Poe won two hundred dollars in two different contests, one for a prose and the other for a poem. After winning the prices, Poe was able to find work as an editor at the “Southern Literary Messenger.” It wasn’t long before Poe’s old habits resurfaced and he was dismissed from “The Messenger.” Poe Married Virginia Clem in January 1837 and the couple moved to New York. Poe made money writing periodicals. He published a fiction piece, “The Narrative of Arthur Gorden Pym,” in 1893. Was the editor for Burton’s “Gentleman’s Magazine” for a short time, then an editor for "Graham's Magazine. In 1840 Poe published two volumes of “Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque.” Followed by, “The Raven,” om 1845.
In 1848, his wife Virginia died of consumption. Poe was so poor at the time, the press made appeals to the public for support. Later that year he published “Eureka, a Prose Poem.” The following year he returned home to Richmond. It was there he and Sarah Royster supposedly got engaged. On October 3, 1849 Poe started his journey to New York to oversee the wedding arrangements, Poe made it to Baltimore, where he spent the night drinking with old friends. The following morning Poe was found in a state of delirium. He was transported to Washington Medical College.
Edgar Allen Poe died on October 7, 1849.
The Lake
by Edgar Allan Poe
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define-
Nor Love- although the Love were thine.
Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.
Evening Star
by Edgar Allan Poe
'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
A Bunny's Tale
Sunflowers sunned and the bluebells jingled.
Even the Robins and Sparrows commingled.
The bumblebees bumbled in their own way.
Yes, thought the chick, it’s a perfect spring day!
He continued his stroll down the flower-strewn lane
and chanced upon something he couldn't explain.
A basket was sitting on the side of the road
filled to overflowing with a furry load.
"Cheep, cheep," said the chick, meaning to say,
"Are you lost? Do you need help finding your way?"
"Oh no," said a voice from inside the basket.
"If I had a question, trust me, I'd ask it."
Slowly, two large ears poked over the edge
followed by eyes that peered from a hedge
of white fur and a nose that twitched in the air
as he looked about with the greatest of care.
He peered at a cottage standing nearby
and followed the flight of a bright butterfly.
“I think my arrival is early this year.
Don’t tell anyone that I’m already here.”
"I’d like to enjoy this sunshine filled day.
Too soon it will be time that I'm on my way
to deliver my basket of bright colored eggs,"
he said as he hopped out and stretched his legs.
"Eggs?" said the chick. "Why would you have those?
You don't look like a chicken dressed in those clothes."
The rabbit just laughed and said, "Don't you know?
I'm the Easter Rabbit," his face all aglow.
"I celebrate spring, a time of rebirth,
when flowers once more garland the earth,
and the eggs that I carry are more than confection,
they also recall the time of resurrection."
The chick chirped in joy, he was so glad.
"That sounds like fun but you look a bit sad.
Why aren't you happy to bring such cheer
when you come around this time of year?"
Rabbit wiped his eyes. "That’s the saddest part -
I'm just passing through and then must depart
much to my own chagrin and sorrow.
I'm hare today but gone tomorrow."
Honorable mentions:
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Poetry: April 24, 2019 Issue [#9506]
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