Quoth the Doughboy…

Hmmm let’s see… many years ago I took a self portrait on a mountain ridge.  Many, many, many years before that I read “The Raven” for the first time.  Since today is Halloween, for some odd reason I also decided to celebrate and graft a flaming pumpkin head onto my body (don’t ask why, it’s been a long few weeks).  The rest? Well let’s just say Edgar Allen Poe is spinning wildly in his grave.  Enjoy the ride you macabre bastard!


Once upon a long ride dreary, while I pedaled weak and weary,
To pass the time was thinking of curious volumes of forgotten lore,
While I hammered on the pedals, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
Of my chain gently rapping, rapping as if at my chamber door.
`’Tis some dirt or muck,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chainrings old –
Only this, and nothing more.’

Back in the saddle with pedals turning, my lungs within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something within my bearings;
Let me see then, without too many swearings, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Then this strange sight beguiling my sad fancy into screaming,
By the pumpkin stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and flaming, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient biker wandering with a head of flaming gourd –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the Doughboy, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, gourd or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –
`Get thee back onto thy bike and ride without speaking words from forgotten days of yore!
Leave only tire tracks as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the ridge above my mountain’s door!
Take thy flame from out thy pumpkin heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the Doughboy, `Nevermore.’

And the Doughboy, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the ridge above my mountain range’s pallid valley door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light inside him streaming throws shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

Kinda wish I was standing on a mountain ridge today (without the flaming pumpkin head of course) yet here I sit, evermore.  Happy Halloween!

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