The Penguin--A parody of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven
This is an English assignment that I actually had fun writing. I mean, hello, creative writing? Love it. <333
Once upon a day so chilly, while I sat there shivering silly,
Sitting before the fireplace full of flames with a cup of cocoa so bland and plain,
I finally began to thaw when there was a sudden sound of clapping,
As of someone fiercely slapping, slapping at my patio door.
“Stupid brat,” I thought, “asking for a ball back at my patio door.
This won’t happen any more.”
So I rose up from the chair, feeling cold and deepening despair,
For the floor was rather icy and my feet were going numb.
As I hurried toward the door, I wondered why the brat didn’t knock-
I wondered why he didn’t knock before; before he never slapped the door.
“Must be very impatient, he,” said I, “to slap my patio door.
Should he not cease, I’ll toss him to a wild boar.”
And so I remember that the fire’s lone and dying embers
Were but a little source of light against the moonshine outside the door.
I threw the curtains to each side, and suddenly beheld a black tuxedo,
A strange and oddly placed tuxedo, slapping on the patio door.
“No more chocolate late at night,” to myself I solemnly swore.
“Disoriented I shall be no more.”
But upon a closer inspection, looking beyond my own reflection,
I saw the tux was not a suit, but merely a small bird-
A small bird with flipper wings now gently, slowly tapping-
No longer was the penguin smacking, smacking the glass of the patio door.
“What’s a penguin doing tapping, tapping on my patio door?”
Quoth the penguin “Grocery store.”
Curiously I wondered, in my flustered mind I pondered
Why on earth would a penguin need to visit a grocery store?
I opened the door, letting the penguin see; he would need to stop that annoying tapping
So I could get back to my napping, instead of tapping my foot upon the floor.
I asked “What do you need a grocery store for?”
Quoth the penguin “My arms are sore.”
With that he hopped across the threshold, his head he bopped into my knee-
He turned to gaze up; with beady black eyes he looked at me.
There was silence for a long while, till the darn thing squawked, made me jump a mile.
Angry now I crossed my arms and stomped my foot upon the floor.
“Why come to only give me a fright when you should be seeking a grocery store?”
Quoth the penguin “Life’s a bore.”
Frustration overwhelmed me as I finally began to see-
This penguin was having fun with this; he was confusing me!
“No more!” said I. “Out my door! Be gone with you!
If life is such a bore, seek out the carnival. Vacate the floor!”
The penguin merely blinked at me and yet did not step out the door.
Quoth the penguin evilly “Begone shall I be, nevermore.”
I then stared down at the flipper-winged bird, not quite believing what I’d heard.
“So what?” said I. “You’re going to stay, even after I have sent you away?”
This bird really did wish for me to kick it, but myself I refrained-
I refrained from kicking him, for I felt so very drained.
Glaring furiously at him, I crouched down to the floor.
Quoth the penguin “Hardcore.”
With a shriek I rose once again to my feet-
The little bugger had bitten my nose with its sharp orange beak.
None of this had been going well; I dearly wished to nap a spell.
But this devilish penguin refused to leave me be.
Why wouldn’t this evil creature leave and let me be?
“Because I feel like it,” said he and tapped his foot upon the floor.
Quoth the penguin “Livermore.”
Blankly now I stared at he, and once again began to see.
A psychopathic penguin-how I wished he’d leave!
But the penguin simply shook his head frustratedly at me.
“Psychic, not psychopathic, chéri,” said he.
“Oh, so you’re a French penguin now???” asked I in disbelief. “Take your leave; go out my door.”
Quoth the penguin “Lost Lenore.”
By now I was thoroughly confused, once and over again I mused-
Perhaps he was the one confused, not I-
After a moment I asked him “Why? Why do you say strange things to me?
Penguins aren’t meant to talk, nor want grocery stores to see.
Penguins certainly aren’t meant to wonder about things like Lost Lenore.
Are you perhaps confusing yourself with the Raven from days of yore?”
Quoth the penguin “Nevermore.”
“Ah-hah!” said I, “you do not see! Everything now is clear to me!
You’re not here, nor am I-this is merely a dream!
As strange, surreal, and odd as it may be, this is only a dream.
At this the penguin turned to flee, cackling maniacally,
That penguin fled and disappeared, and I woke with a start on the floor.
Said I “My brain is sore…”
My head was hurting from all that thinking, despite the fact that I was dreaming.
However strange as it may seem, I turned to look at the patio door.
Hanging there was a tuxedo, a dry-cleaned black tuxedo
A black tuxedo was there with a tag reading “Livermore.”
“No more chocolate late at night,” said I, “and perhaps then my sanity
Shall be questioned-nevermore.”
Once upon a day so chilly, while I sat there shivering silly,
Sitting before the fireplace full of flames with a cup of cocoa so bland and plain,
I finally began to thaw when there was a sudden sound of clapping,
As of someone fiercely slapping, slapping at my patio door.
“Stupid brat,” I thought, “asking for a ball back at my patio door.
This won’t happen any more.”
So I rose up from the chair, feeling cold and deepening despair,
For the floor was rather icy and my feet were going numb.
As I hurried toward the door, I wondered why the brat didn’t knock-
I wondered why he didn’t knock before; before he never slapped the door.
“Must be very impatient, he,” said I, “to slap my patio door.
Should he not cease, I’ll toss him to a wild boar.”
And so I remember that the fire’s lone and dying embers
Were but a little source of light against the moonshine outside the door.
I threw the curtains to each side, and suddenly beheld a black tuxedo,
A strange and oddly placed tuxedo, slapping on the patio door.
“No more chocolate late at night,” to myself I solemnly swore.
“Disoriented I shall be no more.”
But upon a closer inspection, looking beyond my own reflection,
I saw the tux was not a suit, but merely a small bird-
A small bird with flipper wings now gently, slowly tapping-
No longer was the penguin smacking, smacking the glass of the patio door.
“What’s a penguin doing tapping, tapping on my patio door?”
Quoth the penguin “Grocery store.”
Curiously I wondered, in my flustered mind I pondered
Why on earth would a penguin need to visit a grocery store?
I opened the door, letting the penguin see; he would need to stop that annoying tapping
So I could get back to my napping, instead of tapping my foot upon the floor.
I asked “What do you need a grocery store for?”
Quoth the penguin “My arms are sore.”
With that he hopped across the threshold, his head he bopped into my knee-
He turned to gaze up; with beady black eyes he looked at me.
There was silence for a long while, till the darn thing squawked, made me jump a mile.
Angry now I crossed my arms and stomped my foot upon the floor.
“Why come to only give me a fright when you should be seeking a grocery store?”
Quoth the penguin “Life’s a bore.”
Frustration overwhelmed me as I finally began to see-
This penguin was having fun with this; he was confusing me!
“No more!” said I. “Out my door! Be gone with you!
If life is such a bore, seek out the carnival. Vacate the floor!”
The penguin merely blinked at me and yet did not step out the door.
Quoth the penguin evilly “Begone shall I be, nevermore.”
I then stared down at the flipper-winged bird, not quite believing what I’d heard.
“So what?” said I. “You’re going to stay, even after I have sent you away?”
This bird really did wish for me to kick it, but myself I refrained-
I refrained from kicking him, for I felt so very drained.
Glaring furiously at him, I crouched down to the floor.
Quoth the penguin “Hardcore.”
With a shriek I rose once again to my feet-
The little bugger had bitten my nose with its sharp orange beak.
None of this had been going well; I dearly wished to nap a spell.
But this devilish penguin refused to leave me be.
Why wouldn’t this evil creature leave and let me be?
“Because I feel like it,” said he and tapped his foot upon the floor.
Quoth the penguin “Livermore.”
Blankly now I stared at he, and once again began to see.
A psychopathic penguin-how I wished he’d leave!
But the penguin simply shook his head frustratedly at me.
“Psychic, not psychopathic, chéri,” said he.
“Oh, so you’re a French penguin now???” asked I in disbelief. “Take your leave; go out my door.”
Quoth the penguin “Lost Lenore.”
By now I was thoroughly confused, once and over again I mused-
Perhaps he was the one confused, not I-
After a moment I asked him “Why? Why do you say strange things to me?
Penguins aren’t meant to talk, nor want grocery stores to see.
Penguins certainly aren’t meant to wonder about things like Lost Lenore.
Are you perhaps confusing yourself with the Raven from days of yore?”
Quoth the penguin “Nevermore.”
“Ah-hah!” said I, “you do not see! Everything now is clear to me!
You’re not here, nor am I-this is merely a dream!
As strange, surreal, and odd as it may be, this is only a dream.
At this the penguin turned to flee, cackling maniacally,
That penguin fled and disappeared, and I woke with a start on the floor.
Said I “My brain is sore…”
My head was hurting from all that thinking, despite the fact that I was dreaming.
However strange as it may seem, I turned to look at the patio door.
Hanging there was a tuxedo, a dry-cleaned black tuxedo
A black tuxedo was there with a tag reading “Livermore.”
“No more chocolate late at night,” said I, “and perhaps then my sanity
Shall be questioned-nevermore.”