'twas chesthair and nothing more
Halloween - it's just around the corner. I think it's supposed to be fun...until some old hag gives you PENNIES. T.P. that lady's house, man!
Anyway, we digress.
Tonight on Poetry Corner, we look ahead to that Hallow's Eve and take you on a journey to the gothic, shadow-strewn world of Adler Allen Poe. Picture it - a dark and stormy night. Nothing but candles around, and, luckily, a lantern for light. This way, children, this way. Listen as we hear the tale of....
The Chesthair by Adler Allen Poe
Once upon a midnight tipsy, while I pondered, woozy like a gypsy,
Over many quaint and curious photos of DL on some chairs,
As I nodded on the toilet, suddenly I was dreaming,
Of some ginger gently gleaming, gleaming ginger chesthair.
"'Tis some wire," I muttered, "gleaming golden and so fair -
Only this, and not chesthair."
(Ah, indistinctly I recall, t’was while I shat matter so fecal,
And pissed a stream like an overworked and -watered mare.
Eagerly I wished I’d taken Chaser; dumbly, I had thought it later.)
From DL’s photos a surcease of failure - failure to believe it there,
The rare and radiant mane whom the angels weave of air -
Never forgotten in this journal ‘ere.
The imagined silken certain rustling of each russet strand
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic tremors and a red-hot glare;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some devil entreating entrance near my underwear -
Some posh rough entreating entrance past my underwear;-
This it is, and not chesthair."
But presently my dream grew stronger; hard to hesitate much longer,
"Sir," mumbled I, "or Devil, truly you must not mean to scare;
But the fact is I was surprised, as you must have surmised,
That so brightly you arrived, arrived as such rich and curly hair,
That I scarce was sure I knew you"- here I was more prepared
For the onslaught of DL’s rich red mohair.
Deep into that burnished shearing, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no gurl had or could before dare;
And the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word now spoken was the whispered word, "Chesthair!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Chesthair!"
Merely this, ‘twas not an err.
Into my drunken slumber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I dreamed somewhat stronger of ginger flair.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something not of this earth:
Let me see, then, what it is, and explore with care -
Let my heart be still a moment and explore this type daguerre;
'Tis a carpet and not chesthair."
Open here flung the bathroom door, and, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately man of the devil’s own heir;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute delayed or paused he;
But, with mien of lord and laborer, perched above my potty chair -
Perched upon a counter of tile just above my potty chair -
Perched, sat, and was quite bare.
Then this robin was beguiling my weary fancy into smiling
By the dominant and stern countenance of his stare.
"Though thy not be shorn and shaven," I said, "art sure no craven,
Redhead lunatic a-ravin’, wandering about unaware.
Tell me what thy lordly name is, from those lips so pink and fair!"
Quoth the robin, "Chesthair."
Much I marveled this sleek fowl to hear a name so plainly,
And plain the answer was to see, for the answer he did wear;
And we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing DL above her potty chair -
Bird or bete upon the smooth, clean counter above her potty chair,
With such name as "Chesthair."
But the robin, sitting boldly on tiled counter, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did declare.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a curl then he fluttered -
‘Til I scarcely more than muttered, "Other men have used Nair
In the morning in the shower, as a way to remove such fine, fair--"
And the robin said, "Chesthair."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "such men have more than their wanted share,
Caught from some unhappy and unmerciful genetic pool,
Fastly-growing and growing full, his chest an o’ergrown layer,
An unruly, matted, weedy, seedy, Tom Jones-looking bear.
Not your lovely chesthair."
And the robin, so beguiling, glimpsing my shy smiling,
Straight and piercing into my wondering, wandering eyes did stare;
Then upon his thick thatch stroking, I found my fingers poking,
Gently oh so gently, soaking in the luminous chest of hair -
What a soft, delightfully curly, full, and glorious chest of hair -
And me without a breath to spare.
Thus I sat engaged in caressing, but no syllable expressing
To the robin whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's lair;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the toilet paper’s quilted lining, the robin gloating there,
And from whose eyes I could not, would not, nor would want to tear,
Trapped like a rabbit in a snare!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an obscene censer,
Emitted from my pickled colon and loosed out of my bottom bare.
"Wretch!" I cried. "My God, I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to offend thee,
Please please accept these apologies! Hold your nose against the air!
Quash, oh quash this dire and stinky and so offensively polluted air!"
Quoth the robin, "I don’t care."
"Posh rough!" said I, "you are evil! Pretty still, if bird or devil!
Whether Temptation sent, or whether Heaven tossed here thy derriere,
By your wild and woolly I am planted, and on this toilet I’m enchanted,
In this bathroom I am granted a private audience with your hair.
Why is it so, what is it thus, which makes you, posh rough, so rare?”
Quoth the robin, "My chesthair."
"Be that word your only brand, bird or beast?" I asked, now standing.
And so I stood before the robin, though no pants did I wear!
But in my dream there was no shame for all my shyness was overcame
By a fever which shall go unnamed - of which he was quite aware.
But he didn’t flutter, flap, move a muscle; move to take up my silent dare,
Only whispered once, "Chesthair."
And the robin, never flitting, still was sitting, still was sitting
On the grouted, shiny tiles just above my potty chair;
And his eyes were all the seeming of a demon's, such was I dreaming...
But the toilet still was streaming as I drifted up from drink’s drowsy air,
My soul not yet recovered, the memory of ginger still clear and fair,
Now-wake thoughts just of Chesthair!
Anyway, we digress.
Tonight on Poetry Corner, we look ahead to that Hallow's Eve and take you on a journey to the gothic, shadow-strewn world of Adler Allen Poe. Picture it - a dark and stormy night. Nothing but candles around, and, luckily, a lantern for light. This way, children, this way. Listen as we hear the tale of....
The Chesthair by Adler Allen Poe
Once upon a midnight tipsy, while I pondered, woozy like a gypsy,
Over many quaint and curious photos of DL on some chairs,
As I nodded on the toilet, suddenly I was dreaming,
Of some ginger gently gleaming, gleaming ginger chesthair.
"'Tis some wire," I muttered, "gleaming golden and so fair -
Only this, and not chesthair."
(Ah, indistinctly I recall, t’was while I shat matter so fecal,
And pissed a stream like an overworked and -watered mare.
Eagerly I wished I’d taken Chaser; dumbly, I had thought it later.)
From DL’s photos a surcease of failure - failure to believe it there,
The rare and radiant mane whom the angels weave of air -
Never forgotten in this journal ‘ere.
The imagined silken certain rustling of each russet strand
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic tremors and a red-hot glare;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some devil entreating entrance near my underwear -
Some posh rough entreating entrance past my underwear;-
This it is, and not chesthair."
But presently my dream grew stronger; hard to hesitate much longer,
"Sir," mumbled I, "or Devil, truly you must not mean to scare;
But the fact is I was surprised, as you must have surmised,
That so brightly you arrived, arrived as such rich and curly hair,
That I scarce was sure I knew you"- here I was more prepared
For the onslaught of DL’s rich red mohair.
Deep into that burnished shearing, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no gurl had or could before dare;
And the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word now spoken was the whispered word, "Chesthair!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Chesthair!"
Merely this, ‘twas not an err.
Into my drunken slumber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I dreamed somewhat stronger of ginger flair.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something not of this earth:
Let me see, then, what it is, and explore with care -
Let my heart be still a moment and explore this type daguerre;
'Tis a carpet and not chesthair."
Open here flung the bathroom door, and, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately man of the devil’s own heir;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute delayed or paused he;
But, with mien of lord and laborer, perched above my potty chair -
Perched upon a counter of tile just above my potty chair -
Perched, sat, and was quite bare.
Then this robin was beguiling my weary fancy into smiling
By the dominant and stern countenance of his stare.
"Though thy not be shorn and shaven," I said, "art sure no craven,
Redhead lunatic a-ravin’, wandering about unaware.
Tell me what thy lordly name is, from those lips so pink and fair!"
Quoth the robin, "Chesthair."
Much I marveled this sleek fowl to hear a name so plainly,
And plain the answer was to see, for the answer he did wear;
And we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing DL above her potty chair -
Bird or bete upon the smooth, clean counter above her potty chair,
With such name as "Chesthair."
But the robin, sitting boldly on tiled counter, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did declare.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a curl then he fluttered -
‘Til I scarcely more than muttered, "Other men have used Nair
In the morning in the shower, as a way to remove such fine, fair--"
And the robin said, "Chesthair."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "such men have more than their wanted share,
Caught from some unhappy and unmerciful genetic pool,
Fastly-growing and growing full, his chest an o’ergrown layer,
An unruly, matted, weedy, seedy, Tom Jones-looking bear.
Not your lovely chesthair."
And the robin, so beguiling, glimpsing my shy smiling,
Straight and piercing into my wondering, wandering eyes did stare;
Then upon his thick thatch stroking, I found my fingers poking,
Gently oh so gently, soaking in the luminous chest of hair -
What a soft, delightfully curly, full, and glorious chest of hair -
And me without a breath to spare.
Thus I sat engaged in caressing, but no syllable expressing
To the robin whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's lair;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the toilet paper’s quilted lining, the robin gloating there,
And from whose eyes I could not, would not, nor would want to tear,
Trapped like a rabbit in a snare!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an obscene censer,
Emitted from my pickled colon and loosed out of my bottom bare.
"Wretch!" I cried. "My God, I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to offend thee,
Please please accept these apologies! Hold your nose against the air!
Quash, oh quash this dire and stinky and so offensively polluted air!"
Quoth the robin, "I don’t care."
"Posh rough!" said I, "you are evil! Pretty still, if bird or devil!
Whether Temptation sent, or whether Heaven tossed here thy derriere,
By your wild and woolly I am planted, and on this toilet I’m enchanted,
In this bathroom I am granted a private audience with your hair.
Why is it so, what is it thus, which makes you, posh rough, so rare?”
Quoth the robin, "My chesthair."
"Be that word your only brand, bird or beast?" I asked, now standing.
And so I stood before the robin, though no pants did I wear!
But in my dream there was no shame for all my shyness was overcame
By a fever which shall go unnamed - of which he was quite aware.
But he didn’t flutter, flap, move a muscle; move to take up my silent dare,
Only whispered once, "Chesthair."
And the robin, never flitting, still was sitting, still was sitting
On the grouted, shiny tiles just above my potty chair;
And his eyes were all the seeming of a demon's, such was I dreaming...
But the toilet still was streaming as I drifted up from drink’s drowsy air,
My soul not yet recovered, the memory of ginger still clear and fair,
Now-wake thoughts just of Chesthair!