by Taylor Greene
my grandmother would
while cross-stitching pictures
on the screened porch
of her Florida condo
drinking her coffee with milk
as I play in my room
with the many pipe cleaners
she bought me
while eating carrots
and waiting for the rain
the smell of rain
and salt water in the air
on that last Florida trip
A Named Legacy
by Joseph Mack
My dearest grandpa Edward was no more
He fell in New York like it was true fate
We ate wings on his porch before the door
An old man shook my hand as I did wait
That Poughkeepsie funeral home was dark
The bleak sight of grandpa filled me with pain
Mourning his loss and his life’s ended arc
On the roof I began to hear it rain
For over eighty spans grandpa did live
Cancer had stolen from him many years
His time like sand or silt through a cold sieve
The family’s pain was beyond mere tears
It was likely my life Cancer would claim
I took comfort grandpa left me his name
Monsters Among Us
by Lawrence Weber
*Dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe and Stephen King
“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live
inside us, and sometimes, they win.” -Stephen King
Do you see the monsters
That line the highways pretending to be trees?
Standing in silent watch over the wanders and travelers who pass by,
Most are unaware of their true nature,
Which of course is to come alive in the midnight hour
And terrorize little ones in their sleep…
No, their dreamlike state of unconscious reality…
Look at the arms we call branches
Up in the air, seemingly praising God in a gesture of false piety
To put you at ease; to put you in a state of disbelief
When, like Dunbar says,
They wear the masks that grin and lie,
Mocking their true nature.
In the fall,
It is easier to see who they really are:
Devils in disguise,
Especially when they shed their masks of leaves,
But in the spring and summer,
When the promise of
New life and hope are strongest,
With leaves that whisper…
“Everything is going to be okay…”
That is when the monsters are most dangerous;
When they are at their most beautifully deceptive.
So go to sleep little one, and pay no attention
To the garish beauty of the tree tapping
Outside your window, little one
It’s just the wind whispering,
“Off to dreamland little one…
by Souvik Chakraborty
Playfully, she steps out of her comfort zone and seeks for the unknown.
Rummaging inside her bag of tricks, she takes her pick, a magic wand.
Encouraging sunlight smiles brightly down at her and illumines her path.
Expectant and full of innocent wonder, she reaches the closed door.
Though hesitant at first, she utters an incantation and waves the wand.
Hope and excitement courses through her as she waits for the miracle to happen.
And when the door opens, she summons up her courage and steps outside.
Day in and day out, dreams take birth and then go back to their graves.
All good things come to an end; even the embellished castles crumble.
Sleep doesn’t stay for long, and one has to go back to the harsh realities of life.
Governed by the rules of nature, the high flying emotions come down to earth.
Upwards rise the heart’s desires, and a burst of wind carries them far away.
Peace and humility unfurl their wings and gladly receive the silent prayers.
Towards a magical realm, where fun dwells and laughter awaits,
A small yet determined step, the emancipated girl takes.
Watching You Write
by James Conroy
You could blame it
on the paper being
if your style is cramped.
Still you try
and channel all your thoughts
down your arm
The scene has me
captured here. Locked,
It would not be art
but worth something
if you looked up
and saw the poem
writing itself in my eyes.
by Daliah Galvin
you had to be derived from aristocracy
to even dare to use the ink of pen
to ponder, speculate, create
here i am
a young female
of questionable heritage
a sexually confused degenerate
scribbling out half baked eulogies and novels
on gas station coffee cups and
wrinkled receipts behind 7-11 on an autumn night
Poehemian: a poet or artist who does not adhere to the norm; a bohemian of poetry or art; a poet or artist who is quite possibly (subconsciously or consciously) inspired by the great Edgar Allan Poe.
"With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night." -Edgar Allan Poe
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development,
invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'" -Edgar Allan Poe
"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream." -Edgar Allan Poe
"There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm." -Edgar Allan Poe
"I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Never to suffer would never to have been blessed." -Edgar Allan Poe
"It may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma... which human ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve." -Edgar Allan Poe
"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry." -Edgar Allan Poe
"I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat." -Edgar Allan Poe
"We loved with a love that was more than love." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute." -Edgar Allan Poe
"And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams, Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams -- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Can it be fancied that Deity ever vindictively, Made in his image a mannikin merely to madden it?"
"The most natural, and, consequently, the truest and most intense of the human affections are those which arise in the heart as if by electric sympathy." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The customs of the world are so many conventional follies." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been." -Edgar Allan Poe
"Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence— whether much that is glorious— whether all that is profound— does not spring from disease of thought— from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect." -Edgar Allan Poe
"The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in turn,—not the material of my every-day existence-- but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself." -Edgar Allan Poe