This is a sequel to my poem Ricky Raven, which was in turn a sequel to Edgar Allan Poe’s similarly titled poem.
Once upon a midnight dreary, I did ponder, weak and weary,
On a story I had written a few minutes before,
For you see, I am a writer, a thriller, an exciter,
I stay up at night to write stories of horror,
Yes, I am a writer of horror,
Tales of terror and nothing more.
I am known far and wide, as one who’s terrified,
Many a reader with books filled with blood and gore,
The tales I like telling, they have people yelling,
And they are best-selling; they want more and more and more.
Yes, my readers, they want more,
Of scary stuff they want more.
Well, once I wrote a story, and it wasn’t gory,
In fact, a humour story came from my keyboard,
It featured Frankenstein, drinking beer and wine,
And having a good time with goofy jokes galore,
‘This,’ said I, ‘was an accident, I’m sure,
An accident and nothing more.’
Yet when I tried to write, it all came out too light,
Jokes and puns that’d make one laugh and roar,
‘But I’m supposed to be scary, not jolly and merry,
I write of monsters that are hairy and bring forth lots of gore,’
Said I to myself, ‘Don’t write fun any more.
Frightful tales and nothing more.’
I tried writing something creepy, though I felt very sleepy,
I knew I had to force myself to write terrifying lore,
While I tried to keep from napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my front door.
‘It’s the raven that says Nevermore!
‘Poe’s Raven that says Nevermore!’
No longer tired, I thought I’d be inspired,
Of that ghastly raven known to bring horror,
What came to my haven, was indeed a raven,
But not what I was craving, for he stood smiling at my door,
‘Hello,’ said he at my front door,
Hello, he said, not Nevermore.
‘I know you’re having trouble, so I came on the double,
I am here to help you, so please don’t shut the door,
You wrote stories cold and chilly, that gave people the willies,
Now you write things that are silly and you throw them on the floor,
Well, take those stories off of the floor,
You should shun the humour world no more.
‘Now here’s something funny: a story of a mummy,
And it is a satire rather than a tale of horror,
And you should really know, it was made by E.A. Poe,
You also made a hoax, in a newspaper, I’m sure,
He wrote funny stories I am sure,
He wrote those things and much much more.
‘Don’t be ashamed, it won’t ruin your name,
If you write humour along with tales of horror,
It’s a good thing to see, that you have variety,
And writing your stories, in just one genre is a bore,
The same old thing is just a bore,
Don’t try one genre, try some more.’
So I took his advice, and I must admit it nice,
For me to tackle something other than horror,
New genres can be tricky, but with the help of Ricky,
It won’t be so sticky, though his singing I abhor,
Ricky, could you sing no more?
Please, please, sing never more!