The Prose and Poesy Podcast

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s reading of “I Will not Mourn You” *** I will not cry for you at all, there is within me a resolve so cold and dressed in apathy, so uncaring with the meager, such a black and forlorn room that I dwell in from moment to moment. This room has become my progenitor, my mentor, the study of anger without remorse, I am this room, its walls draped in the torn flesh of that which I’ve chewed upon, and spit with delighted disgust as the pleas echoed in the darkest corridors beyond this doorless room. It is this room that I weep for if in fact I do weep, but as I weep I continue to tear apart countless heart. I will not cry for other than this void, for in this void I have been shown the evil without and beyond those tattered walls. so uncaring with the meager, such a black and forlorn room that I dwell in from moment to moment. This room has become my progenitor, my mentor, the study of anger without remorse, I am this room, its walls draped in the torn flesh of that which I’ve chewed upon, and spit with delighted disgust as the pleas echoed in the darkest corridors beyond this doorless room. It is this room that I weep for if in fact I do weep, but as I weep I continue to tear apart countless heart. I will not cry for other than this void, for in this void I have been shown the evil without and beyond those tattered walls. The post Episode 8: Poetry Reading – I Will Not Mourn You appeared first on The POEMHOME.

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s reading of “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe. The post Episode 7 :The Raven By Edgar Allan Poe read by Ernesto Mora appeared first on The POEMHOME.

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s poem ” Friend”. I’ve a friend I can’t explain, he is night and shade and pain, gentle as he gnaws my bones, and his voice is as the rain. His is the gloom, his berth and shroud, herald of lament, patron of the disavowed. Moon so pale, stars collapsed, the baying wolves snarl and snap, promenade in the fetid garden, hand in desecrated hand clasped. Seated he on cathedra inverted, hassock skin and flesh perverted, crown of darkest pumice stone, so reigns he, upon such indecorous throne. His the voice of madness and woe, lyric that sets the sun, song of sorrow, sonant of the midnight mass, perched on cloud of black, between the twilight and morrow. Such derision for the soil, growth be burdened, wilt and spoil, maiden dance with blade in hand, to the lord naught be loyal. His the wine of supplication, vintner of the most foul lamentation, bitter grapes with seed of ire, chalice filled with lies and liars. His the feast of avarice, cuisinier of rapacious artifice, On silver plate with silver-tongue, you tie your noose, the hangman comes. His the scent of fallen rain, petrichor, deluge of pain, I’ve a friend I can’t explain, without face and without name, folie and fatigue, his is ceaseless romp and play, and the rain, it seems, never goes away… The post Episode 6: Friend appeared first on The POEMHOME.

In this episode, we listen to Ernesto Mora’s standpoint on Art. The post Episode 5: Why is Art – A philosophical standpoint on the allure of art appeared first on The POEMHOME.

  In this 4th episode of The Prose & Poesy Podcast, we listen to the reading of Annabel Lee By Edgar Allan, read by Ernesto Mora The post Episode 4: Annabel Lee By Edgar Allan Poe appeared first on The POEMHOME.

  At night, when the fleeting dreams haunt my flesh and tear at my walls, And the waking voices hold vigil on my fantasy, it is then, cloaked in the shroud of gloom that I see where you have gone. Without regards to the fevered twilight, who bids no clemency to the maddening vision, into that damnation so willing I go. A gait amid the scentless roses, a look into the blackest sky, and a cup of tea with the beast, bitter with the rotting leaves. Gone is the smile, parting lips that once revered my flawed words. Gone are the moments dipped in the cove of your eyes, that once beheld my fallible flesh. Into that quixotic bog, shaded in the valley where my sleep offers ephemeral glimpses. You sing to me with such disdain, I hear your wailing on the starry canvass. Such misery it is to behold, the cries of famined hounds, and more the snapping bones within the maw, once sweet claret nectar has spilled from the ire. My name parts the winds, and, as if upon winged desperation, rend my pleasant rest apart and drown my lungs with resentment. Do I drink from this irony? Indulge in this font of putrescence? From below, comes the bellowed breathing from parched throat agape, lusting for vengeful chalice of a sacrilegious vintner. Oh what mournful crying! Tear my weeping eyes from me! What songbird comes from the depths with such a cadenza? Such pitiful an aria as to drive the flocks from port, and the milk to spoil. Sweet Magdaline! Afire is my skin that swells with my contrition, as surely the lakes of perdition rage on feasted bones and souls! These hands that once traced your beauty, these that snuffed the candle from your eyes! They break from within as your intonation beckons the darkness come! The choir now at my bedroom door doth rattle my peace! And the mighty sword from which I slip, slip deeper into that streaming brook, where folie and fancy bear no resentment, and where from the stony cliffs you sing into my dimming light. Sweet Magdaline, such delicate features now rot away, agonizing your every note. Sweet Magdaline, I now sing from the shade as well, where at your feet I plead with the unforgiving. Despite the naivete of young love Your tepid body you pledged to me, sweet Magdaline So your body I took Despite your callous apathy and misdeed Your heart you swore to me, sweet Magdaline So your heart I took… The post Episode 3: Poetry Reading Sweet Magdaline appeared first on The POEMHOME.

In this 2nd episode of ThePOEMHOME podcast, we listen to the reading of Ernesto’s poetry "Hearts of Bitter Harvest" The post Episode 2: Poetry Entry “Hearts of Bitter Harvest” appeared first on The POEMHOME.

In this first episode of ThePOEMHOME podcast, we listen to a brief reading of Ernesto's poetry "Blue Spruce Trees". Just one of many audio poems down the road in other episodes. The post Episode 1: Welcome to ThePOEMMHOME appeared first on The POEMHOME.