The Raven Reincarnated

by Kevin Lenihan


Once upon a Mid-day dreary, a bad night’s sleep had left me weary,
Anxious over what the Network’s new season had in store.
While I pondered what was missing,
Suddenly I heard some hissing,
Like a steam leak in the kitchen from the pipes up through the floor.
From the radiator pipes that heat the first and second floor.
Merely this and nothing more.

Oh so distinctly I recall, it was cold that early Fall,
And a chill shot through my body as I touched the hardwood floor.
As I stared at some bland Soap,
I felt a decrease in my hope,
Helplessly I fought to cope, cope with loss of my Folklore.
My beloved prime time passion the producers called Folklore.
Cancelled here forever more.

I just lay there like a slouch, stretched out on my old worn couch,
Content to just procrastinate on every household chore.
Last week’s useless TV guide,
Sitting right there by my side,
Uselessness I can’t abide brought my frustration to the fore.
Shook loose all my fears and worries and thrust them to the fore.
I couldn’t stand it any more.

Presently my guilt grew greater, I just couldn’t wait till later,
Procrastination on the troubles just begets so many more.
For a house left unattended,
Is a house that can’t be mended,
So my rest time must be ended, and I must repair the flaw.
Just get off my lazy tuchus and repair the threatening flaw.
Lest the damage breed much more.

But no sooner had I risen, when I heard the television
Start to spark and sputter like I’d never heard before.
Then my brand new TV set,
Thundered like a flying jet,
All these emanations and yet, no picture to accompany the roar.
The screen had turned to blackness while the set belched out a roar.
High-pitched static and nothing more.

All my nerves went on alert, if that blows it’s gonna hurt
And the fear coursed through my body from my skin right to my core.
I could feel my fingers trembling,
Tried to stop my mouth from mumbling,
Fought to keep my strength from crumbling while I pondered the front door.
My only chance at escaping was to make it through the door.
But my feet stuck to the floor

I just stood in silent wonder waiting for the roaring thunder
To smash my television I’d just gotten from the store.
Protected by a warranty,
A salesman’s promised guarantee,
But their no return decree made the sale a perfect score.
My only source of entertainment was the salesman’s perfect score.
I should have left it at the store.

Then the screen on my TV began to glow fantastically,
Brilliant bands of color like I’d never seen before.
Strobes of blue and yellow-red,
Scorched my eyes and filled my head,
But it deigned to ease my dread like a sunset on the shore.
Like the greatest, brightest sunset as if viewed from ocean’s shore.
A soothing scene and nothing more

Then the colors coalesced, the light a form did manifest,
A strange and bright-plumed peacock slowly rumbled to the fore.
It just stood there motionless,
A pleasant looking but obscene guest,
Conjured up at my behest like some dream that had gone sore.
Just some illness-drenched, sorrow-laden dream that had turned sore.
This it is and nothing more.

Then this colorful bird hereafter turned my staunch fear into laughter,
By the querulous and penetrating expression that it wore.
Though thy feathers bright and gleaming,
And thy black eyes stark and beaming,
Certainly I must be dreaming and I’ll awake with my next snore.
Just a figment of dementia that will cease with my next snore.
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four.

I was startled by the shrillness of that voice that broke the stillness,
And the eyes that gleamed with darkness like a shotgun barrel’s bore.
Was that quote a stark prediction?
That my dreams will reach fruition?
Or might it lead to my perdition as I hope for more Folklore?
Will it bring my final ruin if I yearn for more Folklore?
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four.

This is just a game he’s playing, he really knows not what he’s saying,
’Twast just a random utterance that he made and nothing more.
A mimic like a parakeet,
A bland coincidental tweet,
As random as a startled bleat from a shepherd’s stock and store.
Just a harmless, ignorant utterance from a barnyard stock and store.
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four.

Should I search the television? Dare I start a brand-new mission?
Could there be a grand renewal of that epic called Folklore?
Had there been some mass objection?
Might there be a resurrection?
Does this warrant my inspection of the sched on channel four?
Could Folklore be continued another year or even more?
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four.

I grabbed for my remote control, a great hope swelling in my soul.
Could my hero take his place among the greats of TV yore?
Gentleman yet fighting master,
Elicits tears or joyous laughter,
Bringing to his foes disaster made a legend of Folklore.
My hero maintained order in the chaotic world Folklore.
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four.

I just coursed through endless choices, skating past familiar voices,
Useless scenes and schemes, to me, of doubt and nothing more.
Lives filled up with travesty,
People facing tragedy,
Others chasing amnesty for some sins that went before.
Lives of utter joy or sadness from the things that went before.
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four.

Then I reached the destination, I stopped on the predicted station.
But the screen just flowed with static, gritty noise and nothing more.
The peacock simply fanned his tail,
My lonely heart began to quail,
This isn’t right I tried to wail to the peacock on my floor.
Very soon the bird will leave me as all my friends had left before.
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four

That’s the last I want to hear it, you’re ruining my hope and spirit,
Get away from my decoder box and go haunt some other shore.
Leave no trailer as a beacon,
Of the promises you’re speaking,
Scorn me not for what I’m seeking, and just exit my front door.
There’s no Folklore on my TV so be gone though my front door.
Quoth the peacock, Channel Four

But despite all my commanding, the foul Peacock still is standing,
By the snakelike coax cable that meanders ’cross my floor.
I just graze through endless channels,
Moving pictures seem like panels,
Just made up of pointless annals of folks who never went before.
And my own life with the other lives that never went before.
Are entwined on Channel Four.


Liked it? Take a second to support Contributor on Patreon!
Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *