Poet Shares Work with Poe Museum

In honor of National Poetry Month, one of the Poe Museum’s former volunteers, Laura Bittner of Florida, sent us some poetry for our blog. We thank her for sharing her work with the Museum and hope you will enjoy them.

The Dark Curtain

The dark curtain
attached to stone
silently and listlessly blowing
back and forth
no sound from outside
dust particles play
in two-faced light rays;
Inevitable residence
of curled, grey leaves.

Walking at Night

Walking
block-by-block
after the hours/after dark
when the bars
have let out
and a
dry leaf
could make your heart
skip a beat
‘Ere I go
on my own
-so a word never spoke.
Briskly breezing
on a nightly errand,

From another’s watch
you can never surely keep.

Picking up the pace now.
Thinking I’m
Hearing steps now.
Clutching my case
closer to my side,
paying no mind
to the dim lights
flittering flames outside
the dark vendor’s signs,
store fronts
as I go by.

The Eeriness of an Open Gate

-Walking down Main Street
in the dark, past the field
located in the city, between
two buildings. Wind whipping
the several grains, the
sparse clovers. A moonlight
so dim, something hiding
could be obscured.
-Up a little ways,
past a few laughing,
bronzed, gleaming from
the bars, thorns or sharp sticks
crawl like the vines of a fist
next to the open gate.
No one is around.
But someone, did
go through or
opened-up,
and left standing still-
spirits passing through.
To it, time inconceivable;
These sturdy bars of iron,
whose rivulets only serve a purpose
of not striking fear
into the hearts of onlookers.

The City

The city dweller
in his bedroom
shuts his lights off.
Another day past.
And him, unaware of the
history within the
layers of wheat paste
and paper- surrounding
all he owns.
Many nights ago,
this room was someone else’s.
It all looked very
different. The streets
were not
what they are today.
A traveler looking on
unaware of linear time
observes the changes,
the people walking
down his streets,
and wanders on.

The Day Watchman

The day watchman
observing out the
dusty window,
sun beams
gleaming into
the shop. piles of
papers line the
wooden floors.
he protects his
master’s domain,
extending an out-
stretched claw
while clients
arrive.