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Perpetual Dream Of Life

How few shall ever know
dreams as dreamed
by inspired Edgar Alan Poe.

Edgar Allan Poe dreamed
great poetic dreams

and spun them
into poems which may
intrigue or sadden us,

some of these poems
attain haunting resonance
within the mind,

his poems are dreams
within the
perpetual dream of life.

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Boy Named Edgar

There was a boy named Edgar
He met this girl when he was but of the mere young
They always played together and had so much fun
But one day a man approached and asked her for something
The boy couldn't understand
Her services were paid for
He tried to save her
But he only got her to hate him all the more
From the back door he walk through
Ripped her right off of him
Then with a hammer he bludgeon
The mans blood was spilled
What was done couldn't be undone
His name was Edgar and he just didn't understand
With a prison sentenced he was slammed
Forever to be marked a bad man

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Just Plain Queer!

Our images are reflected in reverse
in the mirror. Suppose our words
were too!

My name is Trebor Ragde Snrub.
No name could ere be queerer.
Naw, It’s really Robert Edgar Burns,
For I was looking in yon mirror!

If you think I speak with a forked tongue,
You’re wrong for goodness sake.
I’m not a leaping lizard.
And my tongue is just a rake.

I listened out front
With my ear to the door.
I heard not a voice,
Then I awoke with a snore!

While also sleep walking

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poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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Edgar Cairo

Een rivier
van vuur
een stroom,
een droom,
zwarte spiegel
zwarte boom,
neger oom. *0
Apinti, *1
"atiton-
atititontonton"
woorden magie.
Sranan*, Taki**, *2 **3
Taki, Sranan,
trots als een huis,
statig als de nacht
haar sterrenpracht,
vuurvliegjes melodie,
Oh, Edgar Cairo*! ! ! ! *4

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poem by Madrason writer
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Great Poets Missed Never Met

Great poets missed
never met
never engaged
artistic in conversation

we missed William Shakespeare
John Milton, Edmund Spenser
who wrote 'The Faerie Queene';
John Done long gone but not forgotten

we missed Francois Marie Arouet
better known as pen name Voltaire
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
and macabre master Edgar Allan Poe

we missed the romantic poets
Shelley, Keats, Lord Byron
all dead within three years
of each others tragic deaths

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Charade By Moonlight

Clouds pass over face of moon
a kaleidoscope of patterns.
Never same clouds
never remain clouds
urge impelled exerted
always gliding on.
Never stop here long
before thrust forward gone.

Some pause momentarily
in their mystic flight.
I’ve seen this pondered
by day through night.
I’ve seen the moon hide
her ghostly pale
haughty haunting face
in veils of yellow green.

Even charades of orange violet
countless were redeeming hues of red.

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Why I Dont Believe In God

I heard the truth about you
And it really doesnt read at all
Like the whipping stick you raised me with
A scared woman in a private hell
Hushed voice like electric bells
Strange talk about edgar casey
And the long lame walk of the dark 70s
Strange talk about edgar casey
And the long lame walk of the dark 70s
I heard the truth about you, yeah you
Mama they woke me up
I was deep in an idiot sleep
I was just eight years old
Heard big words with a horrible sound
Whyd they have to call my school
Tell me my mother had a nervous breakdown
I wish I believed like you do, yeah you
In the myth of a merciful god
In the myth of a heaven and hell
I hear the voices you hear sometimes

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song performed by Everclear
Added by Lucian Velea
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Drawing a Purple Blank Verse after Gelett BURGESS Purple Cow

DRAWING A PURPLE BLANK VERSE
Kindly refer to notes

I've never cowed to purple prose
know now I'll never write it,
for anyhow true writer knows
hand stretched finds critics bite it.

I've never wowed, and goodness knows
hacks lack the knack of versing,
won't bow, kowtow to backhand blows,
preferring role reverse_sing.

Ah, yes, I wrote on purple prose,
yet can't regret I penned it,
one far prefers rhyme's timeless flows,
no blush need rush defend it.

10 February 2009

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Cyder: Book II

O Harcourt, Whom th' ingenuous Love of Arts
Has carry'd from Thy native Soil, beyond
Th' eternal Alpine Snows, and now detains
In Italy's waste Realms, how long must we
Lament Thy Absence? Whilst in sweet Sojourn
Thou view'st the Reliques of old Rome; or what,
Unrival'd Authors by their Presence, made
For ever venerable, rural Seats,
Tibur, and Tusculum, or Virgil's Urn
Green with immortal Bays, which haply Thou,
Respecting his great Name, dost now approach
With bended Knee, and strow with purple Flow'rs;
Unmindful of Thy Friends, that ill can brook
This long Delay. At length, Dear Youth, return,
Of Wit, and Judgement ripe in blooming Years,
And Britain's Isle with Latian Knowledge grace.
Return, and let Thy Father's Worth excite
Thirst of Preeminence; see! how the Cause
Of Widows, and of Orphans He asserts
With winning Rhetoric, and well argu'd Law!

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poem by John Arthur Phillips
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The Libelle of Englyshe Polycye

Here beginneth the Prologe of the processe of the Libelle of Englyshe polycye, exhortynge alle Englande to kepe the see enviroun and namelye the narowe see, shewynge whate profete commeth thereof and also whate worshype and salvacione to Englande and to alle Englyshe menne.

The trewe processe of Englysh polycye
Of utterwarde to kepe thys regne in rest
Of oure England, that no man may denye
Ner say of soth but it is one the best,
Is thys, as who seith, south, north, est and west
Cheryshe marchandyse, kepe thamyralte,
That we bee maysteres of the narowe see.

For Sigesmonde the grete Emperoure,
Whyche yet regneth, whan he was in this londe
Wyth kynge Herry the vte, prince of honoure,
Here moche glorye, as hym thought, he founde,
A myghty londe, whyche hadde take on honde
To werre in Fraunce and make mortalite,
And ever well kept rounde aboute the see.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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