Something weird is in the air. It’s in my nose and ears and hair. Last night, I read a lot of Poe, and now, I can’t talk right no mo’.
The things I say come out in rhyme; not just once, but all the time. The sun is shining, bright as can be; the whole world’s fine, except for me. The coffee’s hot and black and strong, it hasn’t helped; I still talk wrong.
I needed food, got in the car; the grocery store would not be far. But even there, this weird affliction was still with me, to ruin my diction.
The chatty clerk asked, “How’s your day?” I answered, “Fine, except for what I say.” She smiled and shrugged; I said no more but quickly headed for the door.
A virus or a rare disease? An illness brought on by a sneeze? I have no clue from whence it came nor even if it has a name. I just hope it goes away so I can talk the normal way.
Poe’s works are genius; they’re superb, each spooky noun, each eerie verb, but maybe with tomorrow’s sun, this rhyming thing will all be done.
There’s just one thing of which I’m certain–if a breeze disturbs my front room curtain and a raven raps upon my door, I’ll not read Poe, no, nevermore!
Not to compare my cozies with the great Edgar Allan, but if you like a mystery, delicious chills, a bit of history, just click on this and you will see the books that were written by little ol’ me.
I hope your poetic streak stays with you. I want to speak ‘normal’ too. But once that poem gets in my brain, it’s very hard for me to train. I think I’d better leave you now – while I still know how!!
I understand the way that goes, but writings, whether mine or Poe’s, stay on my tongue throughout the day and I can’t speak another way.
Be very happy for that poetic brain as nothing in my life caused more panic than my English teachers during school years saying, “our assignment is to write a poem”! My brain is entirely un-poetic!
Maybe it’s a hidden talent, and is actually waiting to make itself known, some spooky midnight, dark and dreary, while you ponder, weak and weary.