Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oh, weep for Adonais—he's undead!
    And hath been, lo! these interstitial years.
Yellow and black and pale and hectic red,
    His cockney mood consumptively careers.
Upon a bubbling Hippocrene he's drunk
    And dreaming, standing tiptoe on the brink
Of the wide world that late and soon hath sunk
    As space and time to nothingness do sink.
An anguished autumn wind doth howl a HOWL
    Of abject grief that sweeps the graveyard's stones.
The crescent moon observes the downy owl
    That eats a mouse from tail to skull and bones.
Zombie Allan Poe, who's green and unseen,
Is crying, "Happy Birthday Halloween!"
Betty Oct 15
In the garden stir the flowers
that whisper through the trees
a subtle hint of fragrance
fading on the breeze


Ripples over pebbles
gentle rushing of the stream
is the smile in cool reflection
that of you or Angeline


In the **** that's slowly choking
to stem the watery flow
do you find her auburn tresses
and that face as white as snow


Does she walk beside you
like she did so long ago
it was you that drowned her
so only you would know!
Having a go in the style of Poe
MetaVerse Aug 26
Poe
        t
          r
            y

                There once was a man from Nantucket
                Whose name was Pym.
                That one lim
                Eric?k is about him.
                **** it.
Alpha May 31
nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore evermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore nevermore
Thanks to E. A. Poe and Alan Parson, I had this line from 'The Raven' playing in my head over and over, and it felt as if I was becoming crazy; ecstatic and crazy.
So to get rid of it, I first scribbled all over a page of my notebook Nevermore, and then I invented this poem.
If you don't know 'The Raven', read it or hear it. That doesn't matter. Just change the fact that you don't know it. You won't regret it. *.*
J J Jan 30
Legs astretched like venomous broomsticks
Fangs drooped lazily like a calm nosferatu,
Those eyes gold as sun on styx, treasures
  that spun flame between his every blink--
Sandpaper tongue dragged over black hair
Nibbling his own wrist momentarily, then
Locking sleepy eyes on you, ascending fleece--
Retractable moonbeams flex teasing attack
   then kneads, falling like a lullaby back into
       uncapturable dreams; purring in the spirit of poe.
Michael R Burch Dec 2021
These are my modern English translations of sonnets by the French poet Stephane Mallarme.

The Tomb of Edgar Poe
by Stéphane Mallarmé
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Transformed into himself by Death, at last,
the Bard unsheathed his Art’s recondite blade
to duel with dullards, blind & undismayed,
who’d never heard his ardent Voice, aghast!

Like dark Medusan demons of the past
who’d failed to heed such high, angelic words,
men called him bendered, his ideas absurd,
discounting all the warlock’s spells he’d cast.

The wars of heaven and hell? Earth’s senseless grief?
Can sculptors carve from myths a bas-relief
to illuminate the sepulcher of Poe?

No, let us set in granite, here below,
a limit and a block on this disaster:
this Blasphemy, to not acknowledge a Master!

The original French poem appears after the translations

"Le Cygne" ("The Swan")
by Stéphane Mallarmé
this untitled poem is also called Mallarmé's "White Sonnet"
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The virginal, the vivid, the vivacious day:
can its brilliance be broken by a wild wing-blow
delivered to this glacial lake
whose frozen ice-falls impede flight? No.

In past reflections on its thoughts today
the Swan remembers freedom, but can’t make
a song from its surroundings, only take
on the winter's ghostly hue of snow.

In the Swan's white agony its bared neck lies
within a guillotine its sense denies.
Slowly being frozen to its inner being,
the body ignores the phantom spirit fleeing...

Cold contempt for its captor
is of no use to the raptor.



Le tombeau d’Edgar Poe
by Stéphane Mallarmé

Tel qu’en Lui-même enfin l’éternité le change,
Le Poète suscite avec un glaive nu
Son siècle épouvanté de n’avoir pas connu
Que la mort triomphait dans cette voix étrange!
Eux, comme un vil sursaut d’hydre oyant jadis l’ange
Donner un sens plus pur aux mots de la tribu,
Proclamèrent très haut le sortilège bu
Dans le flot sans honneur de quelque noir mélange.
Du sol et de la nue hostiles, ô grief!
Si notre idée avec ne sculpte un bas-relief
Dont la tombe de Poe éblouissante s’orne
Calme bloc ici-bas chu d’un désastre obscur
Que ce granit du moins montre à jamais sa borne
Aux noirs vols du Blasphème épars dans le futur.



Le Cygne
by Stéphane Mallarmé

Le vierge, le vivace et le bel aujourd'hui
Va-t-il nous déchirer avec un coup d'aile ivre
Ce lac dur oublié que hante sous le givre
Le transparent glacier des vols qui n'ont pas fui !
Un cygne d'autrefois se souvient que c'est lui
Magnifique mais qui sans espoir se délivre
Pour n'avoir pas chanté la région où vivre
Quand du stérile hiver a resplendi l'ennui.
Tout son col secouera cette blanche agonie
Par l'espace infligée à l'oiseau qui le nie,
Mais non l'horreur du sol où le plumage est pris.
Fantôme qu'à ce lieu son pur éclat assigne,
Il s'immobilise au songe froid de mépris
Que vêt parmi l'exil inutile le Cygne.

Stephane Mallarme was a major French poet and one of the leading French symbolist poets.

Keywords/Tags: Stephane Mallarme, France, French poet, symbolism, symbolist, symbolic, poetry, Edgar Allan Poe, grave, tomb, sepulcher, memorial, elegy, eulogy, epitaph, sonnet
Aubry Oct 2021
Oh darling,
How truly pleasing you are
Your gaze shifts to mine unknowing
If only you knew the power you're holding
Oh how I adore those helpless eyes
It's truly a shame they do no real looking
Clip, clop you walk steadily off
No! Don't go!
Oh darling,
Don't you understand I adore you.
Or have I not made it clear?
Well allow me to demonstrate my dear
How hopelessly, helpless i've become
Please won't you let me have you
Oh for heaven's sake!
You can not just ignore me,
Love me I beg you
Oh darling,
It appears you truly are blind
Or is it just that I've stolen your eyes?
You would not return my gaze
So I forced it
What a horrible mistake I've made
But no remorse do I have for it
Smick! Smack! You try to crawl away
No! You mustn't go!
Oh darling,
I've captured you once more
Not just in my gaze, of that I am sure
It appears my ropes are too tight.
You are turning blue like the brightest of skies.
Let me tell you the sweetest of lies.
Slithering, slipping, sliding through my grasp,
Your breath is drawing fewer.
Oh darling,
What have I done?
You were my one true love,
Why did you have to fade to grey?
Should I have just admired you and stayed away?
How I miss those helpless, sightless eyes
I am the monster who destroyed you
Oh darling,
I wish I had never known you.
My boyfriend's neighbor is a monster, this is completely unrelated
Marmaelady Jan 2021
And I am stevia
Together
We’re a snacc.




Because if my heart ever sought for one taste
It’d be your love.



Interesting, I’ve never tasted peanut buttered fish before.

But I’d like to taste you more.
How odd. How unstructured. My brain is going haywire today XD
Lee Carter Dec 2020
"To be or not to be,"
That is the question,

nothing more.

The answer is for you to choose,

nothing more.








Nothing more.
Betty Oct 2020
In the garden stir the flowers
That whisper through the trees
A subtle hint of fragrance fading on the breeze
Ripples over pebbles
Gentle rushing of the stream
Is the smile in cool reflection
That of you or Angeline?
In the binding choking clinging ****
Which stops the waters flow
Do you find her auburn tresses
And that face as white as snow
Does she walk beside you?
Like she did so long ago
It was you that drowned her
So only you would know!
Halloween is a time for Edgar
Next page