#nevermore
There was a ghost, Standing there,
Standing Here, Standing near,
There was a ghost, Walking here,
Walking there, Walking near,
There was a ghost, Watching me,
Testing me, Frightening me,
There was a ghost, Evermore,
Nevermore, Wondering free,
There was a ghost, but now she passed,
Moving on, Done for the last,
There was a ghost, But now she's free,
Soaring High, Looking down on me
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 4:55 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
~
I could resist
I could!
Oh surely
I swear I could.
I need no anesthesia
No Anesthesia or numbness
Darling~
Please
Come over me
My Dr. Sweet Anggie please
I implore you!
Take your razor-edged scalpel
Only you!
Make a safe incision.
With your soft warm hand
Wrench my heart away from me!
Detach my pumper & leave me whole.
Undo my pumper with my brain
So I may cease this non-physical war!
Let the blood flow torrentially & free,
Like lunatic waters in breaking dams &
rivers.
I care not!
I want it nevermore.
Take it it’s yours!
*I want it nevermore
Take it it’s yours*.
~~
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 9:15 AM UTC
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
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 2:45 PM UTC
i see the nevermore
again and again
never happened never will
yet it drives my mind
to distraction of cognition
what else is there
but a choice moment by moment
a difficult task
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 5:35 PM UTC
In a day where the grill won't light in the 4th of July,
And the star over the christmas tree won't shine,
Once all the knocks you heard, become an ol' stained
And wrinkled newspaper at your door,
The dust will cover it all, birds will sing a last melody,
The piano man down the street will play it's last sheet,
The cook from the 12th floor will hold an empty plate,
The plate will soon be amongst many other dishes,
The ocean will make high waves not even the daredevil would surf on,
Nor the best surfists, the sun, it will shine once more
And the sky will weep once more,
For, nevermore;
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 11:22 AM UTC
Nevermore shall you see me,
Nevermore shall you hear me,
None shall,
For I shall be lost,
Gone away from this road,
This path I was given,
Forever falling,
Forever free from this,
This endless torment,
With the name of life.
- Jay M
October 8th, 2018
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 7:16 PM UTC
Nevermore!
by Michael R. Burch
(after Edgar Allan Poe)
Nevermore! O, nevermore!
shall the haunts of the sea
—the swollen tide pools
and the dark, deserted shore—
mark her passing again.
And the salivating sea
shall never kiss her lips
nor caress her ******* and hips,
as she dreamt it did before,
once, lost within the uproar.
The waves will never **** her,
nor take her at their leisure;
the sea gulls shall not claim her,
nor could she give them pleasure ...
She sleeps, forevermore!
She sleeps forevermore,
a ****** save to me
and her other lover,
who lurks now, safely covered
by the restless, surging sea.
And, yes, they sleep together,
but never in that way ...
For the sea has stripped and shorn
the one I once adored,
and washed her flesh away.
He does not stroke her honey hair,
for she is bald, bald to the bone!
And how it fills my heart with glee
to hear them sometimes cursing me
out of the depths of the demon sea . . .
their skeletal love—impossibility!
Keywords/Tags: Nevermore, Poe, horror, supernatural, dark, sea, shore, death, dead, ****** ghosts, night, surf, ****** **** naked, *** corpse, skeletal, skeleton, skeletons, demon , demons, demonic, surreal
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 10:55 PM UTC
Petals do fall
corrupted they descend,
acid teardrops decline.
The day after is nevermore,
yesterday never existed.
The sun will never sheen,
the night has fallen, nightmares ecstasy.
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 3:23 PM UTC
When I roll my tongue--
Cellar door,
Cellar door,
Cellar door.
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 1:13 PM UTC
a certain morning stiffness
in your joints
you find your face
in the bathroom mirror
and wish you hadn't
the puzzled wisdom
of middle age
wavers from your eyes
deepening wrinkles
of many laughs
many frowns
how many more?
nevermore ?!
the room becomes aflutter
with poesque ravens
the presence of absences
fills the void
your life is on the brink
of deconstructing itself
to the periphery of the universe
a discourse of silence
forever becoming ... becoming ...
what...?
nevermind!
so
you close your eyes
hard
for a minute or two
when you look again
you meet the stare
of a not-so-bad-looking
man in his best years
graying sideburns
receding hairline
20 pounds too many
BUT
a firm decision
to work them off
still a bit sleepy
yet determined
to shave
get dressed
have breakfast
and teach
that wonderful seminar
on 19th century poetry
to eager graduate students
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
the two of them
attached at the hip;
inseparable.
how strange to be
such opposites,
yet forced to live in the
same prison.
one was an insomniac, while the other slept 16 hours a day.
one was confident and able, nothing could bring her down.
the other faulted inside herself, with arms stretched above her, begging for a way up.
one was flowing thoughts and new ideas, with an unconscionable amount of energy.
the other thought obsessively, always in the negative, lacking the ability to even speak most days.
one was a stomach full of butterflies, terrified at the thought of dying.
the other spent her days, chest aching and empty, begging for each one to be her last.
so tell me, how do astronomical
glow
and insufferable
darkness
coincide accordantly?
they simply don’t
with each constantly afflicting the other,
the small prison in which they inhabit
is collapsing
falling into itself
soon to dissipate
until nevermore
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
I need to go to a burning man. I need to lose myself in the woods for a year. I need to make my threshold and enter through. I heard my call a long time ago but I just never...
I can't stand myself any longer! I must lose who I am to find what I am to become. And I can't do that in a world where I exist in everyone around me. I need a place with none of me and plenty of else. So much that I can spread myself out to one thought thick. Finally be raw, enough to see myself clearly.
I shouldn't worry about forevers, because forevers are simply composed of nows.
I want quiet place to sit against the tree, look out over a lake, and read until my eyes bleed pleasure, my brain secretes knowledge, and my heart wisdom.
A place to harbor a gentle haze of mind, a place to leave myself behind. Just and think and think some more, until and passed the point of being head sore.
I want to place with plenty of glasses, and plenty of cracks, plenty of muses and no ways back.
A place full of forevernows and nevermores, where people are stupid enough to cross the desert because of a recurring dream. A place of pink purple sunsets and endless shores.
How mirrors have learned to lie I will never know, because I don't recognize the person they show. I have to turn them around because even my own eyes try to deceive me.
If I don't I will always want to. If I do I won't enjoy every step, but I will a few.
The hands that shaped this road are now, older.
I don't know how I will, and a not even sure I understand why I will. All I know for certain is I MUST.
Because I can't stay here. If I do I will fall in love with possibilities, and not realities. I will fall in making people out to be more than a person. I will lose my heart to and afterimage of a dream, and even if I do I would never have pursued it anyways. I want to leave the field, sell my flock, and start my full circle, or square.
Wherever I go I have no plan know method know fall backs, but the beautiful hair of uncut graves. With only the Spektor inside my books to hold me.
I want to hear the symphony of stars each night and have the wind tell me its stories of its travels that day.
I want to sleep knowing the poppies stand guard.
I know nothing, and I'm ready to listen, but first I must get out of my hand made prison, burn the map smashed of compass. Put my feet anywhere besides in front of the other that way I'm going nowhere fast and never looking back.
I want to teach myself the song of my soul, so that I can hum every bar by heart, but I can't do that here. Not in this place of paper people and towns who live their lives never getting wet.
It says if I can ever catch my breath, that I'm strangle lading in the stench of mold and excitement of leaving and never coming back.
Mark here this day, as I lie awake at night as the last moment I spent outside the labyrinth. I need, no, I must leave find a place where I can listen to my heart and drink and its wisdom. But that place is not here I don't know where to, but I must start.
Thomas Edison last words were " its very beautiful over there, I don't know where they're is, but I believe it somewhere, & I hope it's beautiful"
~Crow
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
My Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece.
With hair spun by the Sahara Sun
and alabaster skin. Eyes of indigo
flames and lips that have the
pop of the poppy. Her lush
body fitted in emerald
enchantments and
threaded
silver thistles.
See her sailing by the
moonlight on an ethereal sea,
upon her ship, the Tears of Joy.
The Emperor's Butterfly in her hair
with shining wings of gossamer threads.
Oh! I marvel the twilight afterglow
kiss her skin, making her a peach
rose. From her carnelian cup,
she sips the nectar -
moscato sweet.
Her first sip was of
gumdrops, then roses,
and after that, the more. Salty
tears from a mermaid's cheek, the
whispers of wisteria, the laughter of
springberries, the kisses of sweet neroli
and the tartness of plum toffee. She
passes by Aegean Ruins, her
secret retreat upon the
White Cliffs
that is west of
the moon. The beauty of
this lost history is as soft and
deep as an angel's sigh, with its
enchanting mist like graceful tendrils.
The shadows of the Black Hills bloom. She
coats herself in a cloak of midnight and
she descends down, setting foot
ashore. She walked down
the winding road of
burnt orchids
and lavender sands.
She had heard whisperings
of an unfound door and the Dream-
weavers of the Sable Heart. And so she
wanders... passed the midnight trees and their
sad serenades. The chill of sea ice and the
sharpness of pewter buds. The mist
dances. It twirls. Pirouettes.
Arabesques.
It circles and hisses.
Circles and hisses. Circles
and hisses! And there it was, the
unfound door made of crystal shadows.
Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece, extends her
hand and holds the **** She twists and
enters...
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
run as wild as you can
as free as the bird in its land
smile more, it fits you, I’m sure
in this life, that’s merely pure
fall quickly, get up more
take a break, then dance some more
sip in your wine from its glass
then lie down on the tender grass
in this life, we’re forever young
as if we’ve never been stung--
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
3 AM, I roll onto the floor;
No use trying to sleep anymore.
Anxiety shakes me to the core;
I walk to the bathroom, I lock the door.
The raven pecks at the window, so I let it in;
It tells me there's no escape from my sin.
It says that I've failed, and I'll fail again,
It says it never lasts when I try to repent...
I humor the raven, I listen to its lore;
I begin to think it's right, as my head grows sore.
Will I ever different from who I was before?
Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".
Once upon a midnight dreary,
A midnight I have dreaded dearly,
I crawl to the sink, and I can't help fearing
The raven's words I hated hearing.
"I'm sorry!" I cry, "I want to do better!"
But how many times have I written those letters?
How can I ever pay? I'm the hopeless debtor;
And I can't always hide in the fabric of my sweater.
The raven tells me I'm a figurative *****
I'm huddled in the cabinet, writing metaphors.
Will I ever have a mind free of blood and gore?
Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".
Why won't you leave me alone, you Godforsaken bird!?
To hell with you, and your pessimistic words!
I'm sick of being beaten, broken down, and disturbed;
You might be right, but you might be absurd.
I will try to change once more, as the night gives up its reign;
For a short while, I will return to being sane.
But the night will come again, as the sun can not remain,
And with it comes the raven, waiting at my window pane.
Why me!? Why me!? What does it bother me for?
I tried to do what's right! I can't take this anymore!
Will it ever stop peck, peck, pecking at my door!?
Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
Today I saw the future.
It was not an image nor a video.
But an idea.
The idea of a new tomorrow without
you in it.
Today I stood out in the darkness.
Relishing the heat of the artificial
light burning my skin.
I am here, again since forever ago.
Today I broke my vow to love.
Her gentle hair now awash with
the blood of my betrayal.
I will no longer protect her.
And with that I renege my promise.
Today I stand over the body of her corpse with another.
Her name echos in the wind "Tarah".
My life, like everyone elses.
Like every event
every star
every universal constant
in the multiverse.
goes on.
Today life happened.
Just like yesterday.
Just like the day before that.
On those days I stood before you.
Now there is only a shadow Desperately chasing it's body as it walks away.
Away being god to another.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Forgive me sir Edgar Allen
Poe I must write this out because it's maddening
Me to no foreseeable end
I stand here, right noe, at ravens end.
I walked outside the chamber onto the Astral plane
And saw the thoughts, scribbles and pops that amounted in crowds insane
What was in my sight by no means plain
And I stood there, contemplating at ravens end.
An ebony bird flew onto my shoulder looking out at the subconscious murmurings gathered by the pink and gooey Boulder
He crowed loudly, silencing the ideas so I could speak
I shouted to them "FELLOW CITIZENS WE MUST OVER TAKE THE PEAK!"
"WE MUST SEARCH OUT AND RECLAIM WHAT MADE US UNIQUE!"
And the raven crowed again, it seemed as if it wished to speak.
Rousing the ideas were, and creativity flowed back into my head
Reactivating circutry that was once long dead
And outside the lab where I was laid to rest
A raven flew back home to his nest
He crowed loudly, so loud that one could hear what he had to say at the neighborhood store
And so I quote the raven... nevermore
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
My Impossible Love
Our sad and hopeless love,
I'm thankful to have known you,
I'm sorry I can't show you how much I love you,
Love means more than the words,
"I love you."
You are far away,
You are so younger than me,
I'm so very old,
Born in a long ago time,
They say age doesn't matter,
But, the difference in years,
Bruises and hurts me every day,
Why can't I embrace you today?
Our sad love is impossible,
You Soul is far away,
I see your eastern heart at dawn every day,
Why can I not reach so far?
My love,
I can never touch you,
Even courtly love, my Princess can never be!
Our souls too far apart to reach our Destiny,
The only thing I will ever be is the sunlight that shines on your beautiful dreams.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
How we marvel at possessions, think they make the best impressions;
For with material things we establish a close rapport.
Can’t you see we are infected by this false truth we’ve injected
Into the minds we’ve neglected, directed by commercial lore.
"These things will make you happy,” says the preacher of commercial lore,
Only this and nothing more.
There are nights we sit there spying, through our computer screens buying
Bourbon, books, and onyx watches, razor blades and house décor,
Bright scarfs in brilliant vermilion, cowboy boots coated reptilian,
Stroll through any mall pavilion, civilians went in every store.
Like clockwork we comeback again, millions spent in every store;
We always want something more.
Like in monopoly we aspire, the best estates to acquire,
So other players can look in envy at our great high score.
With the money we’ve been savin’, we want a home in New Haven,
So we sought a market Maven, craving a house on the shore,
A vintage house with wooden dock sitting calmly on the shore.
Can we find one that’s worth more?
Queerly we lust for assets, keep on buying have no regrets.
Are we dumb or blind or numb to keep doing what we abhor?
Statues shackled to cubicles, doped up on pharmaceuticals
****** fingers raw cuticles, we’re bulls for the matador.
He dances us round in circles, pulls the sword the matador
Is the one we all fall for.
But the Maven respectfully will encourage us helpfully,
“Follow your path of senseless sorrow, leave your qualms at the door,
Carry on with inhibition, keep working for that commission,
Please don’t mind your intuition, fruition comes from spending more.”
But like layered lies there’s a pea of truth on the mattress floor;
A princess would wake up sore.
We must move past our gluttony, and join the better company
Of men meek in spirit who act humbly like the days of yore.
Realize that joy stems from passion, not this sorry thing called fashion;
Embrace others with compassion to truly make our hearts soar;
And our souls from out the shadows can truly begin to soar.
Let’s be greedy – nevermore.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC