Tuesday, April 21, 2020

THE BLUE JAY...by Edgar Allan Cramps (nocramps of course silly)

By nocramps13
(Inspired by the drunken park bench altercation of Joe McD.)

Once upon a spring night sadly, while I brooded, breathing badly,
Over many a strange and spurious posting of a season tore-
While I pointed, predicating, suddenly there came a scraping,
As if something lay in waiting, waiting at my bedroom door.
"Who the heck is that?" I sputtered, "scraping at my bedroom door?"-
And a Jager I did pour.

It was near the start of April as I typed while at my table;
And as much as I was able, the noise I just could not ignore.
Mournfully I missed the season;- and for no specific reason
Dreamt the team that moves and frees one - frees one from the neither nor,
And the proud and perfect players that the virus might make for.
Gameless here for some time more.

And the clumsy clunking clinking from the drink I had been drinking,
got my thoughts once more a-thinking, thinking of my visitor.
In a matter of two seconds I got up to see who beckons,
And to transmit my objections to the stranger at my door-
Yes, to transmit my objections to the stranger at my door-
And ask what they want me for.

As this all seemed somewhat bizarre I reached down and grabbed a crowbar.
Fearing that I may have to spar, I flew towards the opened door.
And there standing at the threshold, the image that I did behold,
Gave my skin goosebumps Covid cold, unlike I'd ever had before-
Oh, those cold goosebumps on my skin unlike I'd ever had before-
And it stood there in the fore.

With a rustling of blue feather it then drew it's wings together,
And I wasn't sure if whether my courage I could restore.
Fast it flew towards the ceiling and it's frightful horrid squealing
Sent me reeling, had me kneeling, on the dirty hardwood floor.
Perched upon the bobbleheads that no one wanted anymore,
It had a lot to answer for.

Then this blue and white sky flyer, this unwanted occupier,
Gave me cause then to inquire what this visit could be for.
So I asked what was the matter, and the silence it did shatter.
And surely no idle chatter could then be heard above it's roar-
The feathered fowl did screech and scowl and from it's black beak it did roar-
Quoth the Blue Jay "What's The Score?"

Well, this Jay left me quite amazed about the question it had raised,
And though my eyes were dazed and glazed I got myself up from the floor.
But the Blue Jay sat there forlorn, o'er a season that was stillborn,
and you could sense that as it mourned, it's mourning would be evermore-
You could sense that this birds mourning would carry on for evermore-
And it repeated "What's the score?"

And of course I had no reply for this Blue Jay that had come by,
As the season was a far cry from the one that we had hoped for.
But then my fright I overcame, as our thoughts seemed somewhat the same.
"Do you mean the Blue Jay ball game?", guessing the team that I adore.
I guessed that it was asking me about the team I did adore.
Quoth the Blue Jay "What's the score?"

Then in it's eyes I saw a tear, as if the answer it might hear
Would pierce it's heart as would a spear. Twas then that I could not ignore
That this bird and I were as one. And since no season had begun
We both knew now that it was done. And that the games would be no more-
That all this seasons games were done and gone and there would be no more-
So I answered "There's no score."

And I'll be darned the bird did cry, I did not have to ask it why.
But wondered why it had come by, knowing no season anymore.
Then perched upon a bobblehead, it's mighty wings The Jay did spread,
And with a sigh that Jay dropped dead, it's screech to be heard nevermore-
It's screech had gone silent and you would hear this Blue Jay nevermore-
And I thought "Nevermore?"

And to this day that sad Blue Jay, it's feathered form in deep decay,
Silently stares from where it lay, up on the shelf beside the door.
And now and then I'll glance on up, my posting I will interrupt
and to it's shape I'll raise my cup and remember those days of yore-
I'll raise my cup up to it's shape and remember those days of yore-
Knowing they will play "Nevermore".

Behold the genius of Edgar Allan Cramps (nocramps), Resident Bard. We are damn lucky to have him. So say all of us. Thank you sir.