Ravin' of the Week : (May 01- May 17, 1996)
The Memphis Dana Patton and her...
From a Bird's Eye : Raven parody
Here are some excerpts of a poem I wrote retelling THE RAVEN through the Raven's point ofview:
Once upon a midnight dreary, I was flying, feeling weary,
Till I approached this house I felt I must explore.
Curiosity ensued--I was merely looking for some food,
Like some worms so aptly stewed; I was prepared to implore.
Peck, I did, on the oaken door, while he dreamed of his Lenore,
Twas only I and no one more.
Ah, it must have been December when I met this human member;
Through the keyhole I remember sight of shadow on the floor.
Must've been the ember dying of the blaze's crackle crying--
To see clearer I was trying to see what was next in store.
He was reading books galore--calling for his lost Lenore.
Reading; pleading--and nothing more.
...... In the dark deep and depressing, that one word he was obsessing,
Crying, lamenting for his sweet fair and lost Lenore;
I refused to answer clearly, though I wanted to so dearly,
But instead I whispered merely of his beloved one Lenore.
He really thought it was an echo, but 'twas I who said, "Lenore."
This is the truth forevermore.
..... He was silent for awhile, until he spread a solemn smile,
I impressed him with my style by sitting straighter than before.
I was safe within this haven, and his breath he was not savin'--
He accused me, a lowly raven, of carousing the nightly shore.
Now, what would I be doing on the bleak and barren shore?
So, I told him, "Nevermore."
..... Then his tone began to change; he actually was deranged.
His voice became really strange as he claimed I was tossed ashore.
I am neither devil nor prophet; I wanted to tell him to get off it,
I merely stopped by for some broth; it really was nothing more.
How should I know if there's balm in Gilead, when I've never been there before?
I told him that I know nothing more.
Suddenly, he went ballistic; I felt this could be fatalistic.
I didn't want to be a statistic forever imprinted upon the floor.
He yelled for me to greet the rain; he didn't want to see me again,
But instead I chose to remain warm and dry above the door.
All I wanted was to eat just a little scrap of meat.
He regarded me with defeat moaning out, "Lenore, Lenore."
I quothed again, "Nevermore."
So, I continue to sit in drear, relating this tale for you to hear.
This man has been dead a year--his last words being, "My poor Lenore."
I must admit he tasted good--as tasty as melancholy would.
Now, I'm out of flesh and blood--my appetite's begun to soar.
I think YOU'LL do----forevermore!
PF replies: What a twist ending, Chubby Checker would approve!!! hehehe!
 Visit the Collection of FormerRavings of the Week
Submit your own Ravings Under Poe's Weeping Willow Tree
 Back
To Usher
|
