An Early Halloween Poem

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An Early Halloween Poem

Postby pressure=9Pa on Wed Oct 05, 2011 4:11 pm

With apologies to E.A. Poe.


Bruce Boudreau & The Penguin

Once upon a long off-season
As I ponder o’er the reason
For another playoff series loss, this time in only four,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my coach’s door
“Tis my dinner order,” I muttered, “finally getting to my door
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah distinctly, I remembered,
it had been a bleak December,
with HBO’s cameras rolling, each loss hurt a whole lot more
Eagerly I wished next season; though there’d be another reason
Why my club would make an exit even sooner than before.
Strangely I could take no comfort in my President’s Cups galore.
“I just need Stanley, and nothing more.”

And the silken slow unwrappin’
finding meat within a napkin
Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic hunger never felt before;
I was interrupted by beating, at my door it was repeating.
"'Tis a player entreating entrance at my office door
For I’m certain they all know that we should prepare once more;
This it is, and nothing more,"

Presently my heart grew stronger;
Hesitating then no longer,
"Laich," said I, "or Ovie, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was eating, and so gently you came beating,
And so faintly you came beating, beating on my office door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that hallway peering,
Long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Caps fan ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the losses gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, "No More!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words "No More!"
“No more hockey – swept in four.”

Back into my office turning,
all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is, something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what the threat is, and this mystery explore
Let my heart be still 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 skated a stately Penguin, a throwback from the days of yore.
I knew not from hell or heaven, came this number eighty-seven;
But, with toughness and pure talent, skated to the office door
Perched upon a bust of Bettman just beside my office door
Scored and yelled, but nothing more.

Celebrating just by smiling,
Contrasted Ovie’s showboat styling
By the great professionalism of the confidence it wore,
Though now slowed by a concussion, he’s still better than my Russian
With talent discovered and developed on the Nova Scotia shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is and how many goals you’ll score"
Quoth the Penguin, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled at this ungainly
Player to hear discourse so plainly,
And not swimming in the swearing that most my speeches bore.
For we cannot help agreeing, that no living human being
could motivate a desperate group of players, unless of course he swore.
But this confident, skilled Penguin who had skated over to my door,
Had such a name as "Nevermore."

But the penguin, sitting lonely
on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul on every shift he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered "All my teams have failed before
This next season will be different, as my hopes have grown once more."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken
by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what he utters is its only stock and store,
Yet I have an unhappy master, to whom unmerciful disaster
of exiting each playoff faster than the playoff year before.
The bird knows all my hope and yet all my burden bore.”
Saying only “Nevermore”.

But the Penguin still beguiling
all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned chair in front of Sid and bust and door;
Then, upon the leather sinking, I tortured myself in thinking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking how many goals he’d score
and what this player who had beaten many of my teams of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing,
but no syllable expressing
To the man whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
He and his teammates I sat hating, with their skill at shots and skating
How they made the plays that make the lamp light up with every score,
How that team from Pennsylvania adds each year to hockey lore,
That seemed to stop but nevermore!

Then, I thought the night was tenser,
like after my speeches with no censor.
This penguin stared from his spot near my office door.
"Wretch," I cried, "Bettman hath lent thee - by a rigged draft he has sent thee
to Mario’s team so they might compete for Stanley Cups galore!
When will my Capitals see the Cup and have our pride restored?"
Quoth the penguin, "Nevermore."

You cannot, will not always beat me!
With a trap I will defense thee.
Like New Jersey, ruin the game and make it boring like before,
You’ll give the puck up at the red line, and this year is the said time,
The Cup will be in the Capital and parade routes we’ll explore
Is this the year I win it? Tell me, tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Penguin, "Nevermore."

"Goons!' said I, "Men of evil!
We would even sign the devil!
By tough play I will defeat thee like those called to Long Island’s shore
For the next time that we meet up, your whole team will be so beat up,
Then I’ll have the chalice that all hockey men adore.
My name will then be engraved on the Cup forevermore?"
Quoth the penguin, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting,
Sid the Kid!" I shrieked upstarting
"Get thee back into the tempest and along three rivers’ shore!
Leave no gold medal as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my losing ways unbroken! Quit the bust above my door!
Take thy puck from out my net, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Penguin, "Nevermore."

And this Penguin, never quitting,
still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Bettman just above my office door.
And his eyes have all the gleaming of a champion that is dreaming,
And his cup reflection o’er him throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted nevermore.
pressure=9Pa
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby SoCalPenguin on Thu Oct 06, 2011 12:11 am

No Halloween poem could be complete without a reference to "Count Steigula".
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby jeffshly on Thu Oct 06, 2011 1:27 am

Somebody dig up the old Bud Light "Doobie Doobie-Doo" Beware of The Penguin ad!
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby pressure=9Pa on Thu Oct 06, 2011 10:49 am

SoCalPenguin wrote:No Halloween poem could be complete without a reference to "Count Steigula".


If you find me a rhyme, I'll work it in.
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby pressure=9Pa on Thu Oct 13, 2011 9:36 pm

Bumping because I want to imagine BB unhappy.
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby Kaizer on Thu Oct 13, 2011 9:53 pm

Epic.
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby Penguiny on Thu Oct 13, 2011 9:54 pm

great poem - loved it!
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby pressure=9Pa on Thu Oct 13, 2011 10:00 pm

Thanks. It's the product of a few rainy lunch hours when I would usually be walking outside.
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Re: An Early Halloween Poem

Postby pressure=9Pa on Sun Oct 30, 2011 8:54 am

Another shameless bump for Halloween Eve.
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