Sidi J. Mahtrow
The Halloween Party
It was a dark and stormy night
One by the devil design'd to fright.
When came a sight most bleary
One not design'd for being cheery.
Black was the out'r covering
Fresh from a witch's warren,
Spoke not a word that I could hear
As I had drunk too many beer.
Reading lips was not my thing
And so I could not understand the muttering
Yet IT seemed to want to carry on
Some kind of conversation.
For I could see
That the lips moved deliberately
(Birds have lips, I suppose
Put there at the end of their nose)
But I digress
In telling of my moment of distress.
When the dark and stormy night
Causes the buried to raise upright.
For this flighty one
Was not alone
But had friends who
Were numbered two.
The second one of which I became aware
Was resting on the rocking chair
And caused it to gently sway
As if a child had come to play.
The second preened her dress
(It was a she, I must confess)
For no man would have been caught
In such an outfit, homemade or store bought.
And looked me in the eye
As if to ask the reason why
One would be awake
If not for old time's sake.
And the third was there
Having arrived through the midnight air
A wispy one, on the edge
Of my worn carpet's selvedge.
Pacing back and fro
As if wondering if I might go.
For you see they were there
To take me to their secret lair.
Where the famous one of old
Rested for he was growing cold
He'd become famous in his day
By a word he'd learned to say.
Now in my beery mind
I began to find
The reason they were here
That had nothing to do with beer.
For as Edgar had decreed in rhyme
(You see they were on first names
most of the time)
That on a night such as this
Friends were likely to be amiss.
So they were sent to beckon me
To join them in search of their family tree.
To rejoin in Poe-etry
And see if pigs could really fly.
For that writer of long ago
Many tales he did sow,
Some with out a proper end
Which left the reader in suspen..
I followed the one that on my carpet paced
Out the door, for the window was encased.
(Having been shuttered long ago
To lessen entry of friends, just so.)
We were followed by the one of fairer sex
Her feathers all ruffled to perplex
The one who knew not the reason why
That he was chosen under the midnight sky.
And the one who entered first
Still trying to enunciate the curse.
Moved his mouth in a most queer way
Trying to find words to say,
Exactly was to be my fate
If I hesitated and was too late.
Through the dark street we did progress
(I stumbled along; I must confess)
As our foursome moved along
To the graveyard they called home.
To visit the one most famous
Where he found peace and was encase(d) .
And there we stood in that Boston place
Where others rest in time's embrace.
Around the open grave
We stood as if looking into a darkened cave.
And listened for the word to come
That surely would spell my very doom.
Now I, with the poet and his bird
At the stroke of twelve, heard
The utterance of that word of lore -
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore! '
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- All through eternity, Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling