The Craven - An Adaptation of Poe’s The Raven to Fit Modern Times (not a limerick; by Julie Carpenter-Hubin)

 

The Craven - An Adaptation of Poe’s The Raven to Fit Modern Times

Following a campaign dreary, voters pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a wild and curious volume of absurdist lore----

   Congress nodded, nearly napping, when at once there came a tapping,

As of someone fiercely rapping, rapping at our chamber doors.

“Tis our own voters,” I muttered, “tapping at our chamber door –

Only this and nothing more.”

   Memories that I will carry of that dark bleak January

How each separate riot member brought its madness to the floor.

   Eagerly I wished the morrow; as their actions brought us sorrow

   From our halls surcease of morals – morals of our wondrous land—

For the crazed and riotous throng pretended they were grand and just

              Filled they were with Trumpist lust.

     And the crackling, harsh, uncertain break of window, rip of curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic 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 soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

     But the fact is I was napping, and so harshly you came rapping,

     And so roughly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I knew for sure I heard you” – here I opened wide the door;--

          Madness there and nothing more.

 

Doubting, dreaming dreams of gaining right-wing dominance and sway

     And the madness was unbroken, and the shouting gave its token,

     And the loudest words there spoken were of Trump Forevermore!

As they shouted, and an echo bellowed Trump Forevermore!

     Then this boisterous crowd beguiling my scared fancy into smiling,

By the riotous devotion of the countenance it wore,

     “Though they disrupt with all their ravin’, they” I said, “art surely savin’,

     Myself, beloved self - my seat upon the Congress Chamber floor.”

Thanks be this mob, although unruly, can save the seat of yours truly

          And I shall rule “Forevermore.” 

    And the Craven, never flitting, still are sitting, still are sitting

On the pallid claims of fraud swirling round the chamber floor; 

     And their eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming

     And the lamp-light o’er them streaming throws their shadow on the floor;

And their souls from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

          Shall be despised – forevermore!

No More Mitch

Mitch, you are worse than a coward.

On your belly so long, it’s been scoured.

         You’re a Slytherin looter

         with appendages neuter.

In our history books, you’ll be devoured.

Every Day is a Constitutional Convention

With wisdom and great fortitude

the founders and framers imbued

         in our lawmakers' pens

         so again and again

our Republic is felled or renewed.

 

Conviction

Horse thieves are hung and necks swollen

Not just for the crew that they roll in.

         It’s the way of the West

         The law does not rest

So that horses will never be stolen.

TWO LIMERICKS ON REACTIONS TO THE INSURRECTION OF JANUARY 6

The artful dodger Lindsey Graham

Has his own point of view on the mayhem.

At first he tut-tutted,

Then auto-rebutted

Saying Trump should not get all the bla-ame.

Just as bad was Kevin McCarthy,

Slippery scion of the Republican Party.

While others might pounce,

He refused to denounce,

Thinking this made him the consummate smarty.

 

Anon

LATEST NEWS

The Republicans are all in a stew

As they try to decide what to do.

     They did evict him,

     But will they convict him?

If they do, we’ll all say “Whoop-dee-do!”

Anon

BULLETIN

Trump has now fled to Mar-a-Lago

Not to Houston, Miami, or Chicago.

     Is he biding his time?

     Plotting more crime?

Or just flailing about in a fog-o?

ANON