Happy Halloween, everyone!

I thought it might be fun to celebrate tonight’s show with another poem. In keeping with the occasion, though, this one is quite a bit more dark, so I hope you enjoy this Phishy re-imagining of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven.”

Also, in the spirit of the Reading food drive, Worlds That Inspire Community Service Organization is making a push to get donations of winter gloves for the homeless in New York City via NYC Rescue Mission. Look for more information on this later this morning, but bring a good pair of gloves for donation to Boardwalk Hall tonight and pitch in for a great cause!

See you in AC!

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The Prussian

Once upon a Jersey midnight, while I lounged beneath the moonlight,
Over a friendly and so helpful volume of forgotten lore—
While I polished medals proudly, suddenly a thud came loudly,
As of someone knocking soundly, knocking at my chamber door—
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."

I sit still and mull it over; it was in the bleak October;
Jack-o-Lanterns casting ghostly shadows on the floor.
For the sunrise, I was pleading;—vainly I had started reading
Saddened eyes with tears were beading—pining for the land of yore—
For the green and pristine land of Lizards I had seen before—
Gameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of my southern curtain
Shocked my brain and filled it up with terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my voice grew firmer; quieting my heart’s queer murmur,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
For as I sat here deeply thinking, and in musings deeply sinking,
When you, like a damsel winking, knocked so gently on my door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Colonel ever dared to dream before;
But although the earth was turning, and my herthfire ceased its burning,
Still I stood there, yearning, yearning ever for that land of yore;
So I whispered, pleading for the world that I had known before—
Silence answered, nothing more.

Back into the chamber, sadly, tearful eyes now stinging badly,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Ah, then," said I, "now I gather that’s my flea-hound who would rather
Enter here in such a lather; what has gotten him so sore?
Let me turn my ear a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Prussian of the wicked days before;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lordship made he for a perch above my door—
Perched upon a bust of Icculus above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this blackened bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the regal-seeming avaristic countenance it wore;
"Though your crown’s a feathered ring,” I said, “you’re surely no such thing,
Not a ghastly, evil king who’s wandered in from Prussia’s shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Evening's murky shore!"
Quoth the Prussian "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this disturbing speech from creature so perturbing,
Though its answer little moved me—little relevancy bore;
For we know in time eternal that no living knight or colonel
Was so cursed with such infernal sight above his chamber door—
Bird or multibeast upon the bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Prussian sat there, silent, on the prophet’s bust, defiant,
While his blackened eyes into my very soul began to bore.
And the Prussian simply waited—in my chest a breath was baited—
Till I scarcely more than stated "Other things have passed before—
On the morrow he will vanish, as once did that land of yore."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled by the air unmuted, and with word uniquely suited,
Nervously I fumbled for a cloth to mop my worried pores.
“Surely,” said I, “there are found here birds who have a talent quite queer—
Taking words from lips to their ears, from the keepers in their stores;
This is one who learned to heft the burden that another bore,
Crying, 'Never—nevermore.'"

But the Prussian, still amusing, lulled me into idle musing,
Straight I rolled a cushioned rug in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet wading, many thoughts began parading,
As the fire continued fading, what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat exploring, with the silence ever roaring,
While the hourglass still was pouring grains more quickly than before,
But whose time would never find the hour where I’d return once more;
I shall see it, nevermore!

Then it seemed a sound came lilting, and my vision started tilting,
And it seemed that mockingbirds took flight above the velvet floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "the Prophet lent thee—with his friends here he hath sent thee
Surely-surely he has meant thee, Take these memories of before;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this land of yore!"
Quoth the Prussian "Nevermore."

"Wilson!" said I, "thing of evil!—tyrant still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Oceans freeze yet still undaunted, in this northern land I’m haunted—
Only one thing that I’ve wanted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm for longing?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Prussian "Nevermore."

"King of Prussia! Thing of evil!—tyrant still, if bird or devil!
By that Jewel we wish would love us—by that Jewel we both adore—
Tell me true if that fair maiden will release my soul so laden,
Will it see a verdant glade inside that fabled land of yore—
Glimpse a new and radiant morning in the land I knew before?"
Quoth the Prussian "Nevermore."

"Be that word the last you utter, bird or king!" I shrieked and sputtered—
"Get thee back into the night and back to your own Prussian shore!
Leave no feather as a token of that filthy lie you’ve spoken!
Leave my longing still unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy sceptre from my heart, and take thy crown from off my door!"
Quoth the Prussian "Nevermore."

And the Prussian, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the bust of Icculus that’s just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the malice of that wicked Wilson’s palace,
I drink from them like a chalice filled with tears like none before;
And my soul from under tyrant’s rule, there lying on the floor,
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

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