Edgar Allen Poe, Jan. 19, 1809 — Oct. 7, 1849

He passed through this world
Like a wraith on holiday
A solid shadow

Abandoned, orphaned
Breathing disembodied words
Instead of Earth’s air

University,
Army, West Point had no use
For this phantom man

But the phantom’s words
Insinuated, haunted
Recesses most dark

Poet and critic,
Macabre’s master, creator
Of detective lit

Child cousin his bride
(Foreshadowing Jerry Lee)
Her death did them part

Before his heart stopped
Poe’s pen poured out his terrors
Still tingling today

Poe man’s haiku:

Flutter in the dark
Raven wings, or telltale heart
Terror of unknown

Single bead of sweat
Right between the shoulder blades
Defies gravity

Rustle in the dark
Fevered brain, or rodent’s claws?
Imagined, it’s real