O, somber sonneteer of midnight’s hour,
Who wove the velour shroud with silver pen,
You found a throne within a crumbling tower,
Far from the waking minds of mortal men.
With Raven’s plume, you painted stark despair,
And chased the radiant ghost of lost Lenore,
Amidst the gloom, you found a beauty rare,
And taught the heart to weep—and dream—“Nevermore.”
You dove beneath the surface of the sea,
Where shadowy dreams in silent waters dwell,
To wake the spirit of Annabel Lee,
And toll the bell in sorrow’s deepest well.
A mind of terrors, madness, yet so bright,
A tortured soul that sought the star-lit shore,
You turned the deepest darkness into light,
And hold us in your melancholy lore.
Oh, Poe, who sat on Pallas’ sculptured bust,
And felt the horror of the phantom wind,
You transformed ashes, longing, and the dust,
Into the finest music, refined and thinned.
Though you have left this world of pain and fear,
Your shadow lingers, haunting evermore,
A master of the strange, the dark, the drear,
We bow before your lonely, haunted door.
What you are to me, must you ask?
Then let me say and say it well.
In the past, you once wore a mask,
a face of what I could not tell.
Then, like a god, you take to task
my proud conceit cloaked in a shell.
Today, intense and raven-haired
with wisdom fit for Pallas Athene,
you are the souls that seldom dared
to be the friends who've never been,
the confidantes with whom is shared
my hope of things that's never seen.
Now, like the Atlas map and chart,
you're a compass to guide my paths
through hopelessness that filled my heart.
And so, life's trials and downdrafts
are less severe because you part
my sea of pain so I can laugh.
I am a wild Pallas, so get out of my way.
I am determined to get back to my kits today
They are high away from people in the Tibetan Plateau
Please leave me alone, for I can be aggressive, you know.
I am trotting to my kits, so stay out of my way.
I am the fluffiest cat, but not here to be social or play.
I am heading toward rocky terrain, my bushy tail held high.
If you think we are going to interact, you have got the wrong guy.
My stocky build makes me kind of slow, all right.
So if you insist on engaging, I will stay and fight.
I have adopted to the cold, which is what I prefer.
Don’t expect a housecat, I have no gentle purr.
Of towers and castles this land can account
None can eclipse this Acronian Mount
A donated token from cardinal minds
Fools of their worth, this city reminds
Whose former professors were junkies and crooks
For genius impermanent luck he mistook
Oblivious yet, he outfaced the arena
Th’Academy—nation of pallas Athena
Their reason remote like art to the blind
Discussions ascended, yet he was behind
Potential negated by mere competition
Unwieldy ideas unfit for addition
The knowledge developed, he could not compete
Their language transcendent, his skills obsolete
The scholar responded, although not distraught,
“All that I know is that I knowest not.”
Lets take a journey back, back in time,
back in time to twelve million years ago;
and high in the Asian Steppes lets climb,
up thirteen hundred feet to cliffs narrow.
There we will find the Pallas cat unchanged,
this solitary creature still exists;
but because of man this cats life has changed,
and though illegal fur hunting still persists.
Some think these wild cats will make nice pets,
this is crazy to even consider;
killing, capturing and now survival- threats,
this stupidity leads me to anger.
Oh, leave this beautiful creature in peace,
yes, admire but please- the hunting must cease.
__________________________
October 28, 2017
Poetry/Sonnet/The Cat Time Forgot
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9532-90-0
All Rights Reserved.
Of a raven wrote Edgar Poe
That came but would never go
From its perch upon Pallas
Cuz it liked watching Dallas
On the TV picture show.
Alternate, sillier version:
Of a raven wrote Edgar Poe
That came but would never go,
Whilst it dreamt of its Muses,
Two of The Stooges;
Of Larry and of Curly but never Moe.
Pallas bat sips nectar from rare flower
This bats tongue has extraordinary power
The bat needs lot of nectar to devour
So he flies hour after hour
Flower blooms for only seven days
Bat on its nectar like antelope on grass would graze
Bats huge tongue nectar towards its mouth will rise
Using blood to expand the tongue adaptation that can amaze
Because if human had this kind of tongue
The tongue
Would be nine feet long
Our tongue is not but we can use it to sing complicated song
This is evolution at work
But what if evolution needed no reference point to work
Would it not be an interesting quirk?
And from orb controlling time view no need of reference point now that would be a quirk
But since continuity can always go beyond
The divine like power from this base would have spawned
And new amazing day would have dawned
Creating something that can touch the very soul and beyond
When the Parakeet increased his squawking
with the noise box ceaseless talking
far louder than the muted city roar.
Then I pondered that curious poem about the lost Lenore
About that bedeviled man and the raven Nevermore
How I envy Poe his quiet midnight
when he could hear a tapping however light
through the window pane or was it a chamber door
when quoth that famous raven Nevermore
I agree oh raven, Nevermore!
Nevermore what power lies in that word
I'm trading my parakeet for a silent gallows bird
that knows only that single solitary noun or did he mean it as a verb?
Nevermore the nightly noises that disturb
television gunfights, cabs screeching off the curb
neighbors who are seldom seen but always overheard
The raven sought a bust of Pallas
as a quiet place to perch
They took me to the rest home
between the firehouse and that bell ringing city church
so to the end of this as must all tales
for now I contemplate Poe's bells, Bells, BELLS!
Athena Lady Pallas - Francis Bacon's muse.
Hyperactive Children Emerald calming may they use.
Metaphysics, Wendy Chung - sofwtare ideolu-shuns.
Aeliological tragectories; Logically fulfilled Possibilities.
Logos is replaced by code, source authority erodes.
Positive computational transformative change,
fundamentalist complexity backlash no shame.
iON Hilarion arChangEl Raph!
How does green 5 niCEly fit in your graph?
Code's generative difference of 2 addresee's:
Emplied mediation tween humand machines.
Robert Petit,
sounds great mate,
used 2 be a bouncer once,
but that was back awhile,
wake up with some tartly tart,
to escape with half a smile.
Poe was he the raven guy,
with the bust of pallas,
who nevermore was unsure,
struck oil down there in Dallas ....
yes im being infantile?
Don
Wings, as black as night
Casting shadows on light
Always, always tapping
Disturbing those napping
Tapping, tapping at a chamber door
He never knew why I came
Only hoping for something sane
Hoping for lost Lenore?
Nameless here forever more
For I shall come, ah nevermore
Nevermore be my name
And with death I came
To tame
His depression, but for him it is all the same
Now I stand on bust and Pallas
Exposing nothing but Malice
He quivers on the ground
As if listening for the sound
Of tapping
The cold air of December
Cooled each proud ember
As he soon remember
The soul of lost Lenore
Nameless for him evermore
But he thinks me a demon
Or, a craven
But I am only a Raven
From the Night's Plutonian shore
The shadows of my wings adore
But a Raven I am
Nothing More!
Set this proud man's troubled soul free
For only then shall he be
With the radiant maiden whom the angel's name Lenore
Nameless, Nevermore!
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