The End of Poe's Raven (G)
The End of the Raven
By Edgar Allen Poe's Cat
On a night quite unenchanting,
when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched
above the chamber door.
'Raven's very tasty,' thought I,
as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
'There is nothing I like more'
Soft upon the rug I treaded,
calm and careful as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded
bust of Pallas I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered,
I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,
as I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets,
curios and wierd decor -
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.
Still the Raven never fluttered,
standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered,
his two cents' worth -
While this dirge the birdbrain kept up,
oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly lept up,
pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage,
and a little blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.
'Oooo!' my pickled poet cried out,
'Pussycat, it's time I dried out!
Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity,
while my gallant, valiant kitty
Put and end to that damned ditty'
- then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered,
eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.
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Mundane Journeys through an Amazing World
begins with Interstate 80. Not the most engaging topic, I know, but when you think about it, I-80 runs all the way across the North American continent linking San Francisco and New York. It's not just a ribbon of asphalt, it's a portal to far away, almost magical places.
My visits to major cities like Tokyo, London and Washington DC have been business affairs. I haven't rode a lot of roller coasters or ridden in open air buses, but I have visited with senators, bought yams from the back of a truck and barely escaped complete embarrassment when I was introduced to Matt Wiener in Vegas.
As I wrote the book I realized that over the years exotic, distant places have become more like the mundane places I've called home. But, as it turns out, there really aren't any mundane places, only mundane ways of looking at things.
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