Edgar Allen Poe

The Raven, of course, rolls his eyes impatiently

You feel goosebumps crawling up your sleeves 

A haunting so familiar you grin

W. B. Yeats

Jon boat tosses t’n’fro the salty zeal of sea

His words slap aboard you drink’m in w’ease

A thirst for fresh stories unquenchable 

Virginia Woolf

Woman blazes past her time and kitchen sink 

You crave...

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William Shakespeare 

Cold theater braces for a cliche thespian 

Yet his every word is soft cotton on your skin 

A bouquet of passion, puckishness and verse

Sylvia Plath

Bell jar sticky with fingerprints and sand

A whipping wind tips over your afternoon plans 

Her manic notes on napkins now prolific works

Maya Angelou

Thunderous megaphone silences the crowd

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I use pseudonyms 
because I like to, 
because I want to, 
because I can! 

It’s one of the few things 
I feel in total control of 
in this chaotic world. 

I like the sound 
of my pseudonyms,

they fit in with famous  
pen names like 
Eliot, Bell,
Orwell, Wilder, 
Voltaire, Vautaw... 

See, besides the obvious
can you tell 
which ones are me?

Sometimes I write
anonymously...

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