Tag verse

Invictus

William Ernest Henley

Timothy McVeigh was a complete nutjob, and what he did was horrifying and wrong. It makes me furious that he took this poem as his "final words" before execution, because he’s succeeded at twisting the meaning of it completely and making something ugly out of a beautiful idea. But then what can you expect from a guy who wouldn’t know logic and complexity of thought if it walked up and bit him on the ass?

American FlagIt’s nice that my web site has received hundreds of thousands of hits because of this poem, but if you’re looking for right-wing conspiracy theories and paranoia, don’t look for them here; I believe in logic, reason and government of the people, by the people and for the people. God Bless the USA.

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The End of the Raven (by Edgar Allen Poe’s Cat)

Henry Beard
From The Book: Poetry for Cats
A Parody of “The Raven” from Edgar Allan Poe

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 weird 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 –
"Nevermore."

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.