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[catman932]

On October 7, 1849, Edgar Allan Poe died, leaving a mystery worthy of one of his many short stories.

Four days earlier, a drunken and delirious Poe was found in a Baltimore street. Taken to a hospital, he drifted in and out of semi-conciousness. His doctor tried asking what had happened, but Poe never gave a coherent response.

Historians have spent the ensuing years arguing about what really occurred. Poe was courting a woman in Richmond for a possible marriage. One theory has her brothers hiring someone to beat him up. Another theory has to do with what was then called "couping". This was when a political party would kidnap someone, get them drunk and then make them vote. The practice was common in pre Civil War Maryland.

In the end, perhaps the greatest of all American writers died drunk, broke, and without family.

[catman932]

Out of body,

Out of time,

Out of liquor,

Out of rhyme

Lost in traffic, 

Lost in space,

Lost in writing, 

Lost in place

Lack of patience,  

Lack of sight,

Lack of vision, 

Lack of fight 

Full of anguish, 

Full of pain, 

Full of questions, 

Full of rain.

© Jeff Zang 2023

[catman932]

The river flows into Fall,

The air now chill and nippy

And along with fallen leaves,

It washes pain to the Mississippi 

Let the Autumn wind take my pall

Then blow it past the Moon

As the long nights bring the stars

Which chase away my gloom.

Let the season lay to rest, 

The sultry Summer Sun

Then embrace me like a lover,

Now that Fall has finally come.

© Jeff Zang 2023

Picture of the Ohio River by me. The Huntington Flood wall is right behind our backyard.

[catman932]

The frequency of the rose thrums

Her enchantments blooming with pink petal blossoms glowing in my heart’s bouquet

If only for today—I choose

I am self love

I am self worth

I am self belief

My heart aglow with pink fire

Should you walk beside me

I would only wish

For you to share in the growing desire

Of your own beauty and worth

Come, let us foray and seek saint of the rose together

Beside her hearth

Poem ©️HJ Cross poetry

Pexel image by Pixabay

[catman932]

Symmetry sometimes deems it wise to flow askew, masquerading as havoc and strewn-about aimlessness, so

wild

in its light, all our glows and glimmers, and embers within your eyes that kindle mine like dawn,

like Eos in her dance,

and wild she traces love in the sky with sunlit fingers;

I gift my touch to you

just as warm, just as wild.

© Anna S. 2023

[catman932]

This is the original promo film for Nights In White Satin, from December of 1967.

[catman932]

A real obscurity for your Saturday evening. I do not know much about Mythical Meadow. They came from Ottawa and had 3 or 4 singles in Canada. The Day Has Come came out in 1969 on Quality Records in their homeland, then Colossus picked it up in January of 1970 for American release.

In my teen years, I had a bit of a Prog phase, and this song takes me back to a time of black lit rooms and burning strawberry incense. Very trippy stuff here. Lots of Hammond Organ and whoever produced this liked playing around with stereo. Dim the lights, and put on a good pair of headphones. You'll be glad you did.

[catman932]

Title: The Scarlet Ribbon

Artist: Theo van Rysselberghe

Date: 1906

Style: Pointillism

Genre: Genre Painting

[catman932]

The literary side of John Lennon gets a rare showing in this interview promoting his book of poetry, A Spaniard In The Works, 1965.

[catman932]

It's been a long week. Saturday night is on the way, and we need to dance. What better record to bop to than Soul Finger by The Bar Kays. This reached #17 on the Billboard Hot 100 (#3 R 'n B).

The Bar Kays became Otis Redding's back up band in the fall of 1967. Sadly, most of the group perished in the plane crash that killed Otis in December, 1967. Only trumpet player Ben Cauly survived the accident (another group member James Alexander, took a later flight).

A special dedication to @hjcross_poetry who loves to dance.

[catman932]

It took most of the summer, but I finally have a genuine sweet red pepper from my veggie garden.

[catman932]

A solitary wildflower seen on my morning walk.

[catman932]

Macbeth Sees Bonco's Ghost, Théodore Chassériau, 1854.

[catman932]

Refuge, 1912

Frederick Stuart Church, 1842-1924

Smithsonian American Art Museum

[catman932]

Moon meets Jupiter & its moons ©

[catman932]

Am I alive, or just existing?

A question.

That does not require answer—

For, I found universal gates

Beckoning in strawberry kisses

And the smell of honey apples

Tonight, I drink my cider

And do not worry.

Tomorrow,

I will decide again.

—Poem ©️ HJ Cross with a Pexel image by Tijana Drndarski

[catman932]

On my morning walk, I ran across a couple deer foraging in the strip of forest next to the Ohio River.