Waiting for Lenore

I have always found Edgar Allan Poe fascinating, and I knew of a fellow waiting for the return of his love, hopelessly.  I wrote this poem for his situation:




                                                                Listening to the wind
                                                                for some sound like Poe"s
                                                                lost Lenore, he heard only
                                                                the intensity of the storm.
                                                                Flickering flames from the
                                                                fireplace produced the
                                                                popping of pine knots.
                                                                Tonight, she'd not be here,
                                                                nor would there be any word
                                                                spoken. The raven of darkness
                                                                caused his eyelids to droop
                                                                as the book fell from his lap.

Candle for a Child

My grandmother used to love to sit in a rocking chair in a dark room with a candle she'd  light each night.  I never knew what was in her thoughts.  I could only imagine since some of her children  sometimes acted as if their mother no longer existed:





                                                          She'd light the candle
                                                             Every night and place it
                                                                on the window sill.
                                                           Sighing and turning
                                                              toward the old rocker,
                                                                 she'd think about the
                                                            reunion she hoped would
                                                              some day take place.
                                                                  She did not know,
                                                            or seek to know
                                                               when he might return.
                                                                   Rocking slowly and watching
                                                             the fire of the candlelight,
                                                                she'd close her eyes and
                                                                   allow the child she once knew
                                                            to come back home,
                                                                even though the man
                                                                    hadn't bothered to do so.