The Pigeon

A pastiche of Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Raven’. I wrote this years ago and recently used it in a Poetry Man lesson. Click the link for a coherent explanation.

The Pigeon

Once upon a Tuesday morning,

While I staggered, slowly yawning

Out of bed, the day was dawning

Rubbing on my dozy head.

Groggily, I slowly lifted

Weary arms, my neck I twisted,

Slowly my attention shifted

To the crumbs around my bed.

Biscuit crumbs around my bed.

As I stood there, fingers scratching

At my head, I heard a flapping,

Banging at the window, slapping,

Fast and furious, blurred in grey.

Wings and beak and eyes unblinking,

Strong, ferocious, hard, unflinching,

There he was: the damning pigeon,

Damning in his pigeon way.

Perhaps accusing, you could say.

Barely had I thought or spoken

When the window pane flew open,

Came the pigeon, tranquil broken,

There’s a pigeon in my room!

Whirling like a helicopter

Through a pile of dirty boxers

Tried in vain I did to stop the

Pigeon, in its flight of doom.

In its fateful flight of doom.

Just when I had been defeated

Then the pigeon did retreat, it

Landed on my crumpled sheets and

Motioned to the biscuit crumbs.

There a little pile had formed of

Broken custard creams and bourbons,

Tasty snacks that I had gorged on,

Snacks I’d taken from my mum.

Stolen from unknowing mum.

All at once the night’s adventure

Came to me in grisly splendour,

Creeping through the kitchen went a

Crouching, creeping biscuit thief.

Oh so stealthy, oh so naughty,

Coaxing out a garibaldi

Silently, so no-one saw me,

Nibbling with dishonest teeth.

Leaving crumbs all in my sheets.

Suddenly, no prior warning,

In the air a distant calling:

“You’ll be late for school this morning

If you don’t get up,” it said.

Stirred the pigeon, moment fleeting,

And my heart was fastly beating,

Evidence of biscuit-eating

Left in crumbs on sheets and bed.

Crumbs in sheets and crumbs in bed.

Now my mind is really reeling,

Lift my head to face the ceiling,

Sinking dread is what I’m feeling,

Nervous twitch toward the door.

Ready for a speedy exit,

Then what happened, who’d of guessed it?

Took the pigeon one deep breath, it

Had a big surprise in store.

SAID the pigeon: “Nevermore”

One cold word – nevermore.

Surely were my ears deceiving,

Trouble did I have believing

What I’d heard and what I’d seen, a

Pigeon talk so plain and free.

Then again, the grey bird opened

Wide its beak, again it spoke a

Single word, my heart tore open,

“Nevermore,” it said to me.

Looking at me steadily,

“Nevermore,” it said to me.

Then so low I almost missed it,

Said the pigeon: “Biscuit… biscuit…”

Dare I answer? Dare I risk it?

Hesitant and so unsure.

“Biscuit, biscuit,” said the pigeon,

So deliberate, much precision,

Then once more in repetition,

Said the pigeon: “Nevermore!”

That chilling word, “nevermore”.

Suddenly, in awful dawning,

Realisation filled my morning,

Would I ever have another

Biscuit treat on which to gnaw?

Staring in the pigeon’s eyes

My fear I could no longer hide,

The pigeon’s beak, it opened wide

And screamed the pigeon:

“NEVERMORE!”

Nevermore, oh nevermore!

The ghastly truth I had in store-

Nevermore, oh nevermore!

A truth that I could not ignore.

Nevermore, oh nevermore!

Not three, not eight, not six, not four,

Not even one, a single crumb of biscuit,

For me?

NEVERMORE.

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