محمد

=**محمد ** **Poetry Page'** = = =

**Ode Poem**
 Rain Drop After Rain Drop, thinking to myself wondering when will the pain stop. Got me back and fourth like a train stop, and even though i came along way im still stuck in the same spot, but when your with me my vain's pop feeling all the love that you bring my change clock my other one broke , my cog's snapped. Its out with the old in with new glady, i like the way your time ticks too.

**Sonnet Poem**
 I've loved you so Yet you do not know The pain that I've been through

Oh, how I love to see you smile The glitter of your eyes It's all worth while

I've searched the earth Far and wide Yet my heart still longs for you

The beautiful dove Came from above And gave me love to share

And yet I hold it deep inside And wait for you to care...

** Ghazel Poem** We eat blah Never have wheat blah

Speak nothing Cheat blah

Open and regret Never seat blah

Because when you search You seek blah

But I will never search Because knowing I’m facing defeat blah

But what is defeat Only a long shot feat blah

This is the day of reckoning But reckoning is a day to retreat blah

Don’t speak nah Cause when I move I move to the beat blah

But that beat changes I hope I don’t have to face deceit blah

But never will I do the opposite And face truth through the meat blah

But ill cover up Cover up in my sheet blah

And walk away Walk away with my feet blah

And I wont kill you Making you a deadbeat blah

So live now And later in heaven will share loveseat blah

Now im don’t live don’t run Don’t forget never if you do ill kill you never overheat blah. When I write poetry it comes from what’s happening in my life. I never choose to pick up the pen or say, “today I will write”. Its like my body reacts on this impulse to just write truth and that truth comes out on paper has poetry. It’s the perfect way to show someone something and make him or her think about it in a different way. The feeling to write poetry comes when you least expect it. There might be a bird and you just have to explain what impact it had on you, it’s amazing. The style that I always try to aim for is suspenseful metaphors; I want people to be at the tips of their chairs wondering what the next stanza holds. Usually I write about my life struggles and loves. I put my work in context to my life so that the people who have similar stories can relate and say” that’s real”. It’s a two-side love, poetry I mean, you can love to write but it’s a joy on its own to have people listen and feel your feeling.
 * What Does Poetry Mean To Me?**

** Edgar Allan Poe ** code It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
 * Annabel Lee**

//I// was a child and //she// was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love-- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me-- Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,  In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we-- Of many far wiser than we-- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door-- "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--              Only this and nothing more."
 * The Raven**

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore-- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Nameless //here// for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;--              This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-- Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--              'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-- Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered-- Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before-- On the morrow //he// will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-- Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore              Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, //She// shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee Respite--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!-- Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-- On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore-- Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore-- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting-- "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, //still// is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted--nevermore!

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were--I have not seen As others saw--I could not bring My passions from a common spring-- From the same source I have not taken My sorrow--I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone-- And all I lov'd--//I// lov'd alone-- //Then//--in my childhood--in the dawn Of a most stormy life--was drawn From ev'ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still-- From the torrent, or the fountain-- From the red cliff of the mountain-- From the sun that 'round me roll'd In its autumn tint of gold-- From the lightning in the sky As it pass'd me flying by-- From the thunder, and the storm-- And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view
 * Alone**

code Edgar Allen Poe is one of the more famous poets known mainly for the two poems I chose, “Annabel Lee” and “The Raven”. Both Poems while very different are very similar. Annabel Lee depicts a man who loves a women and how deeply he fills. Wile the raven tells the storey of a man whose lovers gone and the talking raven mocks him with the word never more. These poems while seemingly opposite have Edgar Allen Poe’s cliché, the dark horrific tone. Even when speaking about Annabel Lee the distinction is heard and understood. Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry was always a reflection of his life and the times. During his life he had to deal with lots of tragedies at young ages. The first was his parent dying so young, which leaves the theory that his writings were influenced by the death of his parents at such a young age or the death of his beloved Virginia, which surely brought him into a deep depression. Around this time is when stories like “Alone” and, “The Tell-Tale Heart” were written, which is infamous for the murders, committed in the stories. “Alone is more of his reflection on his life and how he grew up alone and loosing his wife just makes the feeling feel so much worst. All around Poe’s poetry created a new style of poetry that has created some of the foundation for the things you read and watch, his poetry will forever be apart of great literature history. ||
 * || **About Poe.**