The Materialistic Maiden

Where I sip coffee and tirelessly transcribe.

Month: December, 2013

William Henry Leonard Poe-Edgar’s Most Handsome Brother

“Henry,” as he was so fondly called, was the older brother of Edgar Allan Poe. Born in 1807, Henry was only a young child when he, his young brother and young sister Rosalie, were separated and sent to separate homes. Henry was sent to be with their grandparents, David Sr. and Elizabeth.

Henry was an accomplished sailor (he is fondly known as the “pirate” in today’s age) as well as an accomplished poet. He unfortunately would not be able to live out a successful career, as he passed away at the age of twenty-four to tuberculosis. Younger brother Edgar would continue to use his brother for inspiration, and it is said Henry inspired such works as “Lenore” and The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. 

Now, I have some exciting news. To my knowledge (perhaps I am incorrect) all of Henry’s poems are not currently on the internet. I found a few of his on the greatest Poe website I know,, however not all were posted. As of last night, I had purchased and have on the way a book issued back in the early twentieth century; a collection of Henry’s poetry. Only 1000 of these books were published, and #773 is being delivered to my door. If anyone wishes for me to, I will be more than willing to perhaps post a poem or two of the poems not online. (I believe this is legal, because technically the poems were Henry’s, and he is well deceased, not to mention they were written past the 100 year minimum legal mark.)

Please let me know if this is illegal, in which case I certainly won’t post them. However if it is indeed legal, as I assume it to be, please do let me know and comment if there are any requests.



An Unnamed Poem, Written By Myself

A mystical summer of dancing faeries and glowing will-o-wisps encompasses the burning heart,

fueled by the pallor of the iridescent moon above.

Ocean waves echo hands gently strumming

the harp in one’s soul,

a raw, gentle movement stirring within.

Shall you too join in the choreographed ballet,

the waltz,

the native dance of heart and harp,

of moon and ocean,

of faeries and will-o-wisps?

Tranquility draws into dewdrops forming a haunting,

melancholy mist over all who watch or weep, who dance or sleep tonight.

Time stops and stirs,

et la danse de la nuit est éternelle.

(Author’s note: please let me know what you think! It’s still in the works, I think.)

Thomas Lovell Beddoes–the unknown poet no one probably knows about, although they should

This strange poet was born in England in 1803 and committed suicide in January of 1849 in Switzerland. HIs father, according to Wikipedia (what a wonderful source, huh?), knew Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and his mother was the sister of Maria Edgeworth (an Irish children’s writer). Not a lot is known about him from first glance, however I found a lovely poem of his that I wanted to share (taken from Poem Hunter online):

A Clock Striking Midnight

Hark to the echo of Time’s footsteps; gone
Thise moments are into the unseen grave
Of ages. Thy have vanished nameless. None,
While they are deep under the eddying wave
Of the chaotic past, shall placea stone
Sacred to these, the nurses of the brave,
The mighty, and the good. Futurity
Broods on the ocean, hatching ‘neath her wing
Invisible to man the century,
That on its hundered feet, a sluggish thing
Gnawing away the world, shall totter by
And sweep dead mortals with it. As I sing
Time, the colossus of the world, that strides
With each foot plunged in darkness silent glides,

And puffs death’s cloud upon us. It is vain
To struggle with the tide; we all must sink
Still grasping the thin air, with frantic pain
Grappling with Fame to buoy us. Can we think
Eternity, by whom swift Time is slain,
And dragged along to dark destruction’s brink,
Shall be the echo of man’s puny words?
Or that our grovelling thoughts shall e’er be writ
In never fading stars; or like proud birds
Undazzled in their cloud-built eyrie sit
Clutching the lightning, or in darting herds
Diving amid the sea’s vast treasury flit?
Sink, painted clay, back to thy parent earth
While the glad spirit seeks a brighter birth.

I quite like him and shall do more research on this strange poet. (He is quite adorable, I must say. Just take a look at the picture below, it’s precious!)

Image(the picture is taken from Wikipedia.)


Tonight, I Perform

I will be acting in a one act play alongside another good friend of mine. We will be performing Watermelon Boats, an adorable play that takes a serious turn on life and growing up, also exploring key themes of friendship and abortion. 

Please wish me luck-er-that I break a leg. 

resisting the intelligence

almost successfully

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The Materialistic Maiden

Where I sip coffee and tirelessly transcribe.

Short Prose

short prose, fiction, poetry