Grendel's Dog, from Beocat

Evil Kitty Cats Soldered Glass Art Charm Pendant Necklace Reversible

by geelizzie

Grendel's Dog, From Beocat

Brave Beocat, brood-kit of Ecgthmeow,

Hearth-pet of Hrothgar in whose high halls

He mauled without mercy many fat mice,

Night did not find napping nor snack-feasting.

The wary war-cat, whiskered paw-wielder,

Bearer of the burnished neck-belt, gold-braided collar band,

Feller of fleas fatal, too, to ticks,

The work of wonder-smiths, woven with witches' charms,

Sat upon the throne-seat his ears like sword-points

Upraised, sharp-tipped, listening for peril-sounds,

When he heard from the moor-hill howls of the hell-hound,

Gruesome hunger-grunts of Grendel's Great Dane,

Deadly doom-mutt, dread demon-dog.

Then boasted Beocat, noble battle-kitten,

Bane of barrow-bunnies, bold seeker of nest-booty:

"If hand of man unhasped the heavy hall-door

And freed me to frolic forth to fight the fang-bearing fiend,

I would lay the whelpling low with lethal claw-blows;

Fur would fly and the foe would taste death-food.

But resounding snooze-noise, stern slumber-thunder,

Nose-music of men snoring mead-hammered in the wine-hall,

Fills me with sorrow-feeling for Fate does not see fit

To send some fingered folk to lift the firm-fastened latch

That I might go grapple with the grim ghoul-pooch."

Thus spoke the mouse-shredder, hunter of hall-pests,

Short-haired Hrodent-slayer, greatest of the pussy-Geats.

-- From Poetry for Cats, by Henry Beard.

Translated by the Editor'scat.

Ninja Kitty
by simplyhibiscus

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Nevermore

Poe's Raven

by Middleburg

The Raven

Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -

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

As of some one gently rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -

Only this and nothing more."

...

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.

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

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

...

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, withing the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

...

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

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming

and the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

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

Shall be lifted - nevermore!

This poem has always been a favorite of mine - so dark and Sartre-esque. It seems like the worst kind of personal hell to be trapped in that deep of despair with no way out and the very devil himself unwaveringly watching... watching...

(Incidentally, the opening lines of this poem have forever been ruined for me by Blues Traveler. Thanks HEAPS, guys!)

Enjoy these items inspired by Poe and The Raven from our friends at Etsy:

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