Edgar Allan Trump’s “The Raven”
By: Frankie G.
Tags: Poetry, Horror, Satire, Election 2016, Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Trump’s “The Raven”

Once, upon a midnight sad, while I pondered, very mad,

Over many a rigged and so bad volume of terribly run polls,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my beautiful golden chamber door.

“ ‘Tis some loser,” I muttered, “tapping at my tremendous chamber door —

Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the sad November,

And each separate dying campaign staffer wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to be President.

But so many people said I’m a flabby, shabby, grabby rich prick —

And nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with big league flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Republican of the rich white days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord (not lady) perched above my chamber door —

Moved like a bitch on a black marble bust of me above my chamber door —

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this wrinkled GOP beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the mad and bad decorum of the countenance it wore.

“Our party be shorn and shrunken, our election,” I said, “needs a Mulligan,

Ghastly grim and ancient Republican wandering from the Nightly shore —

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the Republican, “Nevermore.”

Much I marveled to hear this ungainly old white guy discourse so plainly,

Though its party little meaning — little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was cursed with seeing a Republican above his golden chamber door

Not GOP nor beast upon the bust above his amazing chamber door,

With such name as “Nevermore.”

And the Republican, sitting lonely on the wonderful amazing bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered — not a dollar then he fluttered —

‘Til I scarcely more than muttered, “All my friends have flown before —

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”

Then the GOP said, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing so bad! — prophet still, though GOP and mad! —

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this beautiful and amazing land enchanted —

In this condo by Melania haunted — tell me truly, I implore —

Is there — is there money in TrumpTV? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Republican, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing so bad! — prophet still, though GOP and mad! —

By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we pretend to adore —

Tell this orange husk with jowly glower if, within huge Trump Tower, It shall grope a Miss Universe maiden who can tolerate my snore —

Grope a barely-legal maiden who can tolerate this boor?”

Quoth the Republican, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign in parting, Republican fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting —

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no white hair as token of that big league lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!

Take thy hate from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Republican, “Nevermore.”

And the Republican, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the black marble bust of me just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a rich white guy’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted — nevermore!