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This is Alexandra. This is a poem that I wrote. I parodied it off of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven". As with all proper parodies, this poem is almost entirely sputtered forth from my own mind, but you can try to pick out the lines that I left in there from the original poem.
EDIT I've now attached a link to the real poem here: http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html so you can see the difference.
Once upon a midnight funky, I woke up and got the munchies My stomach was grumbling so I went to the kitchen quietly While I tip-toed, nearly soaring, suddenly I heard a snoring As of someone gone exploring--exploring out loud their own dreams " 'Tis my father," I muttered. "Snoring loudly in his sleep." Only Father--Certainly
Ah, distinctly I do recall, it was the hottest month of Fall 'Cause as I opened up the fridge, the chilly air felt good to me Eagerly I wished the morrow;--really I thought just to borrow From my mom's supply of food oh--food enough to set at ease My stomach couldn't wait a few more hours 'till breakfast to eat "Just a small snack, Certainly!"
The fridge was humming like a bird, but the snoring now became absurd Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors! I was jittery So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating " 'Tis my father entreating breathing rather noisily Surely Father's entreating breathing rather noisily This is it, Certainly!"
Presently my soul grew stonger; hesitating then no longer "Dad," said I. "You're snoring loudly again and it's bugging me." But the fact is the snoring, the noise I was ignoring, Was so faintly decerned at first, that I thought, "My dad indeed!" I was very much mistaken. It came from the kitchen, see? It came from there, Certainly!
Back into the kitchen gliding--making food; still slinking, hiding Hungry, cooking things no mortal dared to cook or eat But the pie that I was hacking, much ingredients was lacking And the only food that I would allow to fill my tummy Would be Peanuts, Chocolate, and Crasins: in the oven--yummy! Trail mix pie, Certainly
Grinning, to the cupboard turning, my poor stomach in me burning Soon I heard again the snoring, somewhat like a whiney wheez "Surely" said I. "Surely that is the hinge on the cabinet Let me see, then, what thereat is, and what this all must be Let my heart be still a moment, and what this is let's see. 'Tis the oil, Certainly!"
Open here I flung the cupboard, when, with many a flirt and flutter The bag of craisins spilled upon the counter, the one nearest me And the least wrinkled craisin, the biggest, reddest craisin, Rolled most smoothly to the oven, 'till the force of Gravity Or something like Inertia, caused him to stop effectively He stopped short most Certainly
Then this scarlet fruit beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance wore he "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said "art sure a craisin Ghastly grim and ancient craisin, wandering from the nightly sea Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian sea!" Quoth the Craisin, "Certainly"
Though it's answer little meaning--little revelancy bore Much I marvelled this ungainly food to hear discourse so plainly For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing food upon his kitchen scene Snack or feast upon the white stove resting in his kitchen scene With such a name as "Certainly"
But that Craisin, sitting lonely on that placid stove, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did plea Nothing further then he uttered--'Till I scarcely more than muttered "A craisin's a craisin, buttered or battered, tastes good to me And I wonder how he'd like to be in my pie specially?" Then the Craisin said, "Certainly!"
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken "Doubtless," said I "what it utters is the only word knows he Caught by some unhappy farmer, whom unmerciful the charmer Followed calm and followed calmer, 'till his wrinkles sunk in deep 'Till the dirges of his Hope, the wrinkles sunk in way too deep Of a certain--Certainly!"
But the Craisin still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling Straight I wheeled a wicker-seat in front of food and stove and me Then, upon the wicker sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this wrinkled mess of history What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and wrinkled mess of history Meant in croaking, "Certainly"
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the snack whose firery eyes now burned into the heart of me This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the pokey wrickety seat that kept slicing, goring me But that pokey wrickety seat I think I'll throw out Tuesday I shall pitch it Certainly!
Then, methought, the air grew smokey, wafting upwards made me chokey Coming from forgotten oven--my pie was burnt hopelessly "Wretch!" I cried. "My pie is ruined!--My midnight snack is ruined! Burnt to a crisp and completly unfit to eat, even by me! Burnt to a crisp and blacker than the blackest of ebony!" Quoth the Craisin, "Certainly!"
"Aw man!" said I. "It's your fault!--You made me forget! I should never have opened the cupboard. Curse my curiosity! Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-- On this home by horror haunted--I implore--tell me truly Were you--were you the snoring one? I implore--tell me--tell me!" Quoth the Craisin, "Certainly"
"Aw man!" said I. "It's your fault!--You made me forget! If it wasn't for you--you Craisin!--I could've been full and happy Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if within the distant Eden, It shall clasp some food not eaten--that's the future I shall see Clasp a rare and radiant dinner--that's the future I shall see." Quoth the Craisin, "Certainly."
"Be that word our sign of parting, fruit or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting "Jump then up into my clenched fist and do see to it speedily! Leave no grease spot as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken Leave my loneliness unbroken!--Quit the stove and away from me! I'll eat you! I don't care if Mom needs you in a recipie!" Quoth the Craisin, "Certainly"
Since the Craisin tasted so good, I ate the rest of his neighborhood Now my stomach--full and satisfied--has finally let me go to sleep To my parents I am seeming to be very happily dreaming But my mind to me is screaming this wise suggestion--That we Next time, upon my stomach's pain, to order pizza simply Stay in bed! Certainly! |
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Posted by Abigail
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