This is the Stu up at 4 am meme when told in the same style as E. Allen Poe's The Raven, the classic horror poem.
I urge you all to read my story "Come and Go with Ed" on the Ed, Edd, n Eddy board. It is a great read.
I am not a poet at all, and tried to keep the same meter as Poe, with the story flow and suspence, not to mention rhyming. Hope you like it.
The Pudding.
One time at 4 am, while I laid quite adorned.
Because of a girl whose leg was torn,
while I dozed, practically sleeping, there came a creeping
Of a voice from beyond my bedroom door
"Just Angelica" I gaffed, creeping beyond my bedroom door.
Only that, not much more.
Oh, it was a night with my niece, I tell ya.
And each her screech pranced upon the door
Quickly I went to see, thought it was plain to me
From my looks of sleepy be, sleepy from Angelica
Endless her scream seeemed to be.
Then my fatigue grew stronger, listening to her no longer.
'Angelica,' I sighed, 'or darling, my ears are really sore.'
But I am trying to sleep, and you keep making a peep.
You kept a-creep, a-creep at my bedroom door.
I wasn't sure I heard ya,' then I opened the door.
Angelica there, and not much more.
In her room, I was glaring, she sat there staring.
Truely, seeing things I'd never know
but she spoke up, and her voice did cup.
And the only thing she said was 'Uncle Stu'
Again she uttered 'Uncle Stu.'
Not much more.
She sat there crying, my heart sighing.
'What is it dear?' I asked, 'why am I here?'
I could tell it was trivial, and what she was proving
She spoke, and said 'Make me some chocolate pudding.'
I asked her shy, why I would make the pudding.
Just that, not much more.
At her word uttered,
down the stairs I fluttered
I fluttered through the kitchen door.
I cut on the lights as I went in the door.
Not much more.
the clock above the entrance door
what would it implore, the hand moving more.
It tick-tocked just as before,
It showed 4 am, just as before.
Just this, not much more.
As I stumbled upon the pantry door,
I saw the box, the one beyond the stocks.
As I pulled open the pantry door,
it sat at the front of the door.
Just this, not much more.
There sat the box in store.
the picture on it looked at me, for it could see
the very writing on the wall it did tour
I would have to stir some more.
With the milk did I pour,
in the blackened pot, the whole milky lot.
with the ox I opened and the packet tore
the pudding, the pudding in the packet tore
Just this, not much more.
For the spoon I did grasp forelore
moving the pot to the stove, the pudding gave a rove.
The brown mass looked at me sore,
The liquid mass looked at me sore,
Quoth the pudding, 'Stir some more.'
For the custard's words did bore,
Those words hypnotized, they demonized.
The word spoke just as Angelica before.
The pudding sat, just as Angelica before.
Quoth the pudding, 'Stir some more.'
As this, my wife came imploring.
She asked 'Stu, what are you doing?'
I told her, 'Making chocolate pudding.'
'It's 4 in them morning, why on earth are you making chocolate pudding?'
she asked, I continued stirring.
'Because I've lost control of my life.' my voice did soar.
So looked on my wife, I was really stirring my life.
My thought I did stir,
My thinking I did stir.
Quoth the pudding, 'Stir some more.'
My deep thoughts it did implore,
My possible suicide, did indeed conicide
with the pudding that I stirred more.
with the pudding that I stirred more.
Quoth the pudding, 'Stir some more.'
I handed her the pudding bore
The very same I had stirred
The pudding I had made for,
the niece I had made fore
the pudding I had stirred more.
She looked at the pudding with eyes sore.
The pudding I had made, the sanity I had laid.
she said, 'I'm not hungry anymore.'
She was hungry no more.
My brain stirred evermore.
And so at 4 am the burden I bore.
doing nothing with my life, being hated by my wife.
This sad life I do not adore.
This sad life I will never adore.
My thoughts will stir some more...
THE END