Thursday, September 2, 2010

The Bird


Once upon an America dreary, while she pondered Obama weary,
Over birth certificates in forgotten lore,
While she nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at her bankers door.
" 'Tis some visitor," she muttered in a snore, "tapping at my financial door;
Only this, and nothing more......"

Ah, distinctly to remember, it was in that bleak November,
Two thousand and eight, Obama cast America to the floor floor.
Strangled, tangled and badly mangled,
From that debt surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Treasure store,
For the rare and radiant city whom the angels named before
Named here trillion dollar debt forevermore.

And this looting was so certain rustling as the coffin curtain
Chilled her---filled her with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of her heart, she laid repeating,
" 'Tis some Marxist entreating entrance at her sacred door,
Some late debt collector entreating entrance at my sacred door.
Empty Treasury, and nothing more."

Presently her soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said she, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my sacred door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
But darkness was there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long she stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming nightmares live no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was a nation broken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered words,
Of empty stores, This she whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Empty stores" Merely this, and Obama more.

Back into the nation turning, all her soul within her burning,
Searching peace, she heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said she, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat there is, and this bankruptcy to explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery to explore.
" 'Tis the reaper, and nothing more."

Open here she flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately teleprompter, a halo headed teleprompter.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
Just with a birdy perched flipping off, a skunk eat sh*t smile and smoker's cough.
Perched upon that glowing screen, just above her sacred door,
Perched, and grinned, and nothing more.

Then this tan bird beguiling it's sad fancy into smiling,
By the 10 year old boy's face it now wore,
"Though thy halo be Mooselum absurd," she said, "sure thou art no bird,
Ghastly, grim, Kenyan native, wandering from the Hawaiian shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on this desolate shore."
Quoth the bird, "Spend some more."

Much she marveled at this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly foul,
Though its answer had little meaning, little relevancy it all bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with witnessing such crimes behind their sacred door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured Rushmore,
With such name as "Spend some more."

But the bird, sitting lonely on that placid vacation, spoke only "spend",
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did out pour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till she scarcely more than muttered, "Other Presidents have been impeached before;
On November will a new law come, as her hopes have been plucked before."
Then the bird said, "America Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said she, "what it utters is its only Marxist store,
Caught from some unhappy cartel master, whom unmerciful in this disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope and change that melancholy burden bore
Of "the Never---America, nevermore."

But the bird still beguiling crushed America and still was smiling,
Straight she wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, kneeling upon the floor;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, she betook herself to thinking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of third world yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "America, Nevermore."

Thus she sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose blow fly eyes now burned into her bosom's core;
This and more she sat divining, with her head at ache reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall change, and, ah, be nevermore!

Then, she thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by hanuman demon whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," she cried, "thy devil hath lent thee -- by these demons he hath thee
Sent thee chains---poverty and slavery from thy memories of spend some more!
Be a President of some nation, bankrupt her stores, steal her stores!"
Quoth the bird, "America, Nevermore!"

"Islam's Prophet!" now said she, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this now desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, she implored:
Is there--is there only coffin grave?--tell me--tell me she implored!"
Quoth the bird, "America, Nevermore."

"Conjurer!" said she, "thing of evil--conjure still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God I once adored--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within that distant Eden,
It shall clasp a sainted Liberty, whom the angels named before---
Clasp that rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named before?
Quoth the bird, "America, Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" she shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest you brought from Kenyan shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my nation once unbroken! -- quit this nation leave my door!
Usurping pirate, and take thy form from off this shore"
Quoth the bird, "America, Nevermore."

And the bird, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pall of ruins just above that American door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And her soul from out that shadow that lies there floating on the floor
America in hope and change--- America nevermore!


My compliments to E. Allan Poe



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