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The Robin- A Parody (Other) by ggawrysi
One time at the Motel Eery, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quick and curious volume of sexy rapport, While I wiped, freshly dripping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of the maid gently rapping, rapping at my motel door. “Tis some staffer,” I muttered, “tapping at my motel door- She has my breakfast, and nothing more.” Ah, clearly I remember it was the cold November, And the television’s flicker wrought its shadow upon the floor. Eagerly I wished for a nap; -vainly I had sought to borrow From my dreams that maybe tomorrow- tomorrow time with the young Lenore For the young and succulent maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of bedtime sheets used for a curtain Thrilled me- filled me with sexual tremors never felt before; So that now, to the motion of my wrist, I stood repeating, “Tis some staffer entreating entrance at my motel door- Some early staffer with breakfast at my motel door; - This it is, and nothing more.” Presently my erection grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I am busy, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my motel door, That the bed was too loud to hear you”- here I opened wide the door;- Empty hall, and nothing more. Long down that hall peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, silently screaming screams no woman had heard before; But the silence gave no token, and my erection was unbroken, So I finished there at the door, and whispered the words, “Oh Lord…† This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, “She was a whore…”- Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the bedroom turning, my stomach was slowly churning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that’s breakfast at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore;- ‘Tis a staffer and nothing more.” Open here I flung the door, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there flew a flustered robin of the spring days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with droppings on the TV, perched above my motel door- Perched upon a restaurant menu just above my motel door- Perched, and shat, and nothing more. Then this red chested bird beguiling my hot fancy into smiling, By the quick and confused decorum of the countenance it wore. “Though thy breast be red and bobbin, thou,” I said, “art sure no robin, Tell me what thy lowly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Robin, “She was a whore.” Much I marveled this quirky fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamger door- Bird or beast upon the cheesy menu above his motel door, With such name as “She was a whore.” But the robin, sitting lonely on the paper menu, spoke only Those four words, as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered- Till I scarcely more that muttered, “other girls have blown before- Last night she did leave me, as my hopes have left before.” Then the bird said, “She was a whore.” Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtful,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his whores only one burden bore- Till the dirges of his bed that passion’s burden bore Of “Whore- she was whore!” But the Robin still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I pulled a folding seat in front of bird, and menu and door; Then upon the plastic sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- What this grim, curious, magnificent, red and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “She was a whore.” This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes saw my pants upon the floor; This and more I sat divining, with my erection finally reclining On the cushion’s plastic lining that the television gloated o’er, But whose plastic placid lining with the television gloating o’er, How much sex, ah, with a whore? Then methought the air grew denser, my cigarette and an unseen censer I stroked my balls and the Robin tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee Respite- respite and nepenthe, from my memories of Lenore: Crap, oh crap this kind nepenthe and forget last night with Lenore!” Quoth the Robin, “She was a whore.” “Bastard!” said I, “thing of evil!- bastard still, if bird or devil!- Whether Tempter sent, or whether West Nile tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, in this cheap motel enchanted- On this vacation by venom vaulted- tell my truly, I implore- Is there- is there hope for me? –tell me- tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Robin, “She was a whore.” “Bastard!” said I, “thing of evil!- bastard still, if bird or devil!- By that highway that arches over us- by that 7-11 we both adore- Tell this soul with sexual needs laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a young and fruitful maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Quoth the Robin, “She was a whore.” “Be those words our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting- “Gen thee back into the tempest and the filthy New Jersey shore! Leave no green shit as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my hand unbroken!- quit the menu above my door! Take thy eyes away from my groin, and take thy form from off my door! Quoth the Robin, “She was a whore.” And the Robin, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the lacquered menu just above my motel door; And my balls have all the burning of a devil’s stomach churning, And my urination throws red hues on the shower’s floor; And STDs from out that whore that rode my cock upon the floor An erection shall be lifted- Nevermore!


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Arithmetic Mean: 6.4
Weighted score: 5.7
Overall Rank: 1929
Posted: April 18, 2004 10:26 PM PDT; Last modified: April 18, 2004 11:04 PM PDT
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Comments:
[n/a] ggawrysi @ 147.9.151.22 | 18-Apr-04/11:05 PM | Reply
Sorry if anyone read this before I fixed a couple typos. Also apologizing for the format; it looked much better in MSWord :-) Each stanza should have six lines, with a couple of five line stanzas. The last line is meant to sit alone.
[5] Stephen Robins @ 213.146.148.199 | 19-Apr-04/6:49 AM | Reply
A reflex-action spew into a onlooking strangers mnouth.
[5] Stephen Robins @ 213.146.148.199 > Stephen Robins | 19-Apr-04/6:58 AM | Reply
A groaning granny deflated after one too many guffs.
[5] Stephen Robins @ 213.146.148.199 > Stephen Robins | 19-Apr-04/7:25 AM | Reply
A poached poo sandwich.
[n/a] ggawrysi @ 147.9.151.22 > Stephen Robins | 19-Apr-04/9:27 AM | Reply
so much insight... i'm so happy that you took the time to read this poem and tell me what you think!
[0] Shardik @ 66.229.187.185 > ggawrysi | 19-Apr-04/9:47 AM | Reply
He didn't, he skimmed it, and fired, you tit.
[n/a] ggawrysi @ 147.9.82.227 > Shardik | 19-Apr-04/3:20 PM | Reply
no crap, i was being sarcastic... note the dry nature of my comment.
[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 131.111.212.215 > ggawrysi | 19-Apr-04/3:30 PM | Reply
Sarcasm is much more biting when you angrily inform people you were being sarcastic.
[5] Stephen Robins @ 213.146.148.199 > ggawrysi | 20-Apr-04/12:48 AM | Reply
Sarcasm : A cutting, often ironic remark intended to wound.

Ouch!

Incidentally, I have read your poem, it stinks of microwaved arse.
[0] Shardik @ 66.229.187.185 | 19-Apr-04/9:46 AM | Reply
God, that was bad, long and bad.
[7] deleted user @ 68.66.196.168 | 19-Apr-04/10:22 AM | Reply
Dear Mr. Poe
I liked The Raven better, more fluid somehow, but you've made fine try here with the same Lenore, and even brought a chuckle where the former did not.
[n/a] ggawrysi @ 147.9.82.227 > deleted user | 19-Apr-04/3:16 PM | Reply
Believe me, I liked The Raven better too; I don't pretend to be able to match or better Poe by any extent. I simply enjoy a little comedy, and if I gave you a chuckle than my goal was completed.
[8] Shuushin @ 207.5.211.177 | 19-Apr-04/5:00 PM | Reply
quite an ambitious ditty - but I think too long?

Still, enjoyable enough!
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