Poetry competition CLOSED 18th January 2015 3:15am
WINNER
toniscales (Lost Girl)
toniscales (Lost Girl)
RUNNERS-UP:
LobodeSanPedro
and snugglebuck
EDGAR ALLAN POE
Poetry Contest Description
His birthday is on the 19th of January. Write a tribute commemorating his birth and his death.
Any style/genre is OK.
No word limit.
New poems only.
Please don't make any unnecessary remarks. Just post an entry.
No word limit.
New poems only.
Please don't make any unnecessary remarks. Just post an entry.
http://i1317.photobucket.com/albums/t623/curlycue23/angelandlutesmall_zps65661edd.png
OH WOE OF POE
Oh woe of Poe, my tortured soul
Romance’s son, death’s foe
Forevermore doomed to suffer
Enslaved in the castle of lonely
Within these blood soaked walls I anguish
Prisoner of this city in the sea
My love, oh sweet beautiful Helen
Eloped with an angel to heaven
Why oh why can’t love find me?
Doesn’t she hear my weeping?
Oh gossamer winged Israfel
I beg, come play your lute for me
Let your angelic music free me
From lost love’s depressing memories
That are so tormenting me
I can't sleep the sweet sleep
Oh woe of Poe, my bed’s lonely and cold
Israfel, lure me a love to hold
Poe cry!
Are you listening, are you really? Did you read between the lines? Oh you didn’t well hear a clue. No I’m not ok. I’m braking each and every day. No I’m slowly dying wishing for love that I know I won’t have. No I’m crying inside and out. Everyday every time I brake knowing that I’m more than just a wreck inside. Tell me are you listening now!?? No! Well let me tell you a bit more! I been done wrong, I been hurt, I been dead so I don’t know my worth, I been crying out every night just for one sign! Do I, do I, do I! Belong in this life!? Tell me are you listening now?
Are you listening, are you really? Did you read between the lines? Oh you didn’t well hear a clue. No I’m not ok. I’m braking each and every day. No I’m slowly dying wishing for love that I know I won’t have. No I’m crying inside and out. Everyday every time I brake knowing that I’m more than just a wreck inside. Tell me are you listening now!?? No! Well let me tell you a bit more! I been done wrong, I been hurt, I been dead so I don’t know my worth, I been crying out every night just for one sign! Do I, do I, do I! Belong in this life!? Tell me are you listening now?
Tic toc
Knock upon this raven of deaths autumn door.
Is it a groan or a tone or a moan or a simple known word?
This angel of death that knocks and calls upon this autumn door this fine hollows eve.
With that ticking sound it makes.
" tic tic tick!!! Toc dummmmm dummmmm"
Yes that cursed bell that sounds the hour.
Which will grow ever sour upon this autumn door.
It was a moan and nothing more.
And it shall ring that cursed bell forevermore..
For upon this autumn door shall my grand bells call to me.
As I rise, shine , and glow like the red darkish color in this poisonous wine.
For this is my time.. As the midnight bell makes it's finale " tic toc"
Knock upon this raven of deaths autumn door.
Is it a groan or a tone or a moan or a simple known word?
This angel of death that knocks and calls upon this autumn door this fine hollows eve.
With that ticking sound it makes.
" tic tic tick!!! Toc dummmmm dummmmm"
Yes that cursed bell that sounds the hour.
Which will grow ever sour upon this autumn door.
It was a moan and nothing more.
And it shall ring that cursed bell forevermore..
For upon this autumn door shall my grand bells call to me.
As I rise, shine , and glow like the red darkish color in this poisonous wine.
For this is my time.. As the midnight bell makes it's finale " tic toc"
The Suffering Poet
darkness shrouded his suffering soul
for whom the bells toll
in its dreary clanging vibrating
under floorboards the guilt
of a delicate pining heart
to be in love with a fantastical beauty
expressing love in written words
wilted with unknown sorrow he suffered
longing for fame but nothing bloomed
until fingers were stiff on quills
o' to love like the contrived home
of the dark secretive Ushers
to moan behind walled enclaves
he willed it
dying on his own before death.
darkness shrouded his suffering soul
for whom the bells toll
in its dreary clanging vibrating
under floorboards the guilt
of a delicate pining heart
to be in love with a fantastical beauty
expressing love in written words
wilted with unknown sorrow he suffered
longing for fame but nothing bloomed
until fingers were stiff on quills
o' to love like the contrived home
of the dark secretive Ushers
to moan behind walled enclaves
he willed it
dying on his own before death.
http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01249/Edgar-Allan-Poe_1249986c.jpg
My Love, I am Waiting
"To be awake is to be available to torment, and this is the full, complete meaning of life."--Patrick McGrath
I have always felt
that I knew your face
for I have known the torture
dancing in your eyes
the thin line of sanity
of your pursed lips
on a dark and rainy night
a companion once read me
a story
she had lit the white tapered candles
every time your heart beat
louder
louder
in agonizing terror
I cowered in fright
yet knew you were the one for me
for that same cowering, trembling
stupor was mine
the way you spoke so correctly
of the burn of the wrong
when you walled up
poor Fortunato
stone by stone
in those divine catacombs
in your black roquelaire
I wished it was you and I
entombed together
oh my love
when I look upon your face
it saddens me
we might have sat in darkened,
dusty rooms of velvet wallpaper
sipping absinthe
inventing a world of unreality
to protect us from life's cold realities
but you were born and died
before the breath of life
was issued into this corpse
of a woman
and don't ever tell
but I was the one who left you
the roses and the cognac
as I waited in my black lace veil
running my satin-gloved fingers
over the grimy, cold stone
and now I open the ring
spill its contents into the amber liquid
and wait for Death
your virtuosity
your opus
to entomb us back
together again
My Love, I am Waiting
"To be awake is to be available to torment, and this is the full, complete meaning of life."--Patrick McGrath
I have always felt
that I knew your face
for I have known the torture
dancing in your eyes
the thin line of sanity
of your pursed lips
on a dark and rainy night
a companion once read me
a story
she had lit the white tapered candles
every time your heart beat
louder
louder
in agonizing terror
I cowered in fright
yet knew you were the one for me
for that same cowering, trembling
stupor was mine
the way you spoke so correctly
of the burn of the wrong
when you walled up
poor Fortunato
stone by stone
in those divine catacombs
in your black roquelaire
I wished it was you and I
entombed together
oh my love
when I look upon your face
it saddens me
we might have sat in darkened,
dusty rooms of velvet wallpaper
sipping absinthe
inventing a world of unreality
to protect us from life's cold realities
but you were born and died
before the breath of life
was issued into this corpse
of a woman
and don't ever tell
but I was the one who left you
the roses and the cognac
as I waited in my black lace veil
running my satin-gloved fingers
over the grimy, cold stone
and now I open the ring
spill its contents into the amber liquid
and wait for Death
your virtuosity
your opus
to entomb us back
together again
"The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world."
Edgar Allan Poe
headstone
to die with and for her is what I desire most
i seek not the dreary existence of the complacent
i crave the insanity of her unknown
her untapped reservoirs
i beg her to smother me with the dreams of other men
and women who cull her
she's afraid to love me that endlessly
says I don't deserve it
because I've failed at the most critical times
she says
that it's better if I let her die
let the bells till the soul
coffee black and muddied
are mine intentions on the spade
trapped in my nostrils for days on end
evaporating with the morality meant to condemn what's most native to mine eyes
And tongue
I speak her
though she says it's a lie
shall I be drawn and quartered
my sinew gossamer for the carrion feeders
until I choke out one utterance
which shall be my last
her name
Edgar Allan Poe
headstone
to die with and for her is what I desire most
i seek not the dreary existence of the complacent
i crave the insanity of her unknown
her untapped reservoirs
i beg her to smother me with the dreams of other men
and women who cull her
she's afraid to love me that endlessly
says I don't deserve it
because I've failed at the most critical times
she says
that it's better if I let her die
let the bells till the soul
coffee black and muddied
are mine intentions on the spade
trapped in my nostrils for days on end
evaporating with the morality meant to condemn what's most native to mine eyes
And tongue
I speak her
though she says it's a lie
shall I be drawn and quartered
my sinew gossamer for the carrion feeders
until I choke out one utterance
which shall be my last
her name
Woah. I am in shock but I am truly honored to have worked with such talented artists. Thank you, Grace, I always love your work. Beautiful entries, Snuggle and LSP, and everyone who entered. My sincerest gratitude to Hades for such a beautifully themed competition. I have long wished to express my thoughts on Poe and this contest offered a very cathartic release. Once more, thank you; everyone, have an inspiring weekend...
