100 YEARS OLD AND STILL A TRUE EDGAR ALLAN POET...

ACCORDING to the Oxford English Dictionary, “Corbin” is an obsolete noun meaning “a raven”, which brings to mind a glorious poem of Edgar Allan Poe, so here goes with some Edgar Allan Poetry. I call it The Raven – 2017. Once upon midsummer bleary, while I

pondered weak and weary, Feeling far from pleased or cheery,

bruised and battered, weak and sore, Suddenly I sensed a rattle, like a herd

of angry cattle, Challenging me, waging battle,

knocking at my office door. “Calm yourself,” I thought, “stay steady, strong but patient, focused, ready, ‘Tis a gust of wind, an eddy, rattling at

my office door. Nothing but a harmless eddy, Only this and nothing more.”

But the sound grew ever stronger, I

could suffer it no longer, “Sir,” said I, “begone! Desist from

rattling, or I’ll call the law! Cease your noisy interrupting, vital

business you’re disrupting, Go, before I start erupting,” – here I

opened wide the door; ‘Twas a Corbin, nothing more.

Just a raven who’d been lurking,

smirking with his beak and jerking Both his wings as I was napping,

flapping on my office door. Then the raven started speaking, with

a voice like hinges creaking, Creaking, squeaking, havoc-wreaking

all at once upon my door, Sounds I’d never heard before.

“Since the General Election,” it began,

“you’ve faced rejection. This has placed a fresh complexion on

the land you knew before. I’ll provide a new direction following

your prompt ejection, Having won the state’s affection, I

deserve your genuflection, I’ve begun an insurrection, you shall

rule us nevermore.” This he said, and nothing more.

I replied in tones entreating, “Go away

and stop your bleating, I have work that needs completing ‘ere

I exit out the door, Work in Europe, work in Britain, work

on statutes not yet written, Always working, never quittin’, I’m in

charge and won’t withdraw. That’s a fact I’ll underscore.”

“All your rage I’m just absorbin’,” said

the hefty Lefty Corbin, Simultaneously daubin’ spray paint

slogans on the door. “You’re deflated, I’m so merry, I’ve

been cheered at Glaston-berry, Your proud heritage I’ll bury in the

ground beneath your floor. Then you’ll rot there, evermore.”

“Sir,” I said, “I find you boring. Cease

your repetitious cawing. Check your own mendacious scoring of

the vote we had before. Your presumptions leave me snorting

(if the DUP’s supporting). Count your seats and don’t be shifty, I

beat you by more than 50, Do it now, flap off, be nifty, don’t come

back for ever more. Please don’t come back any more.”