Saturday, August 06, 2005

The Strangers Head

Part I

The night was dark and dreary
I was feeling kind of weary
The light of the moon
Lit up the room
Like a spot light
In the dark of night
I abandoned my loom
Sensing impending doom
I moved to the window
Brushing the hair from my brow
I looked out into the night
What I saw gave me quite a fright
Standing on the ground below
Staring up at my window
Was a headless man
His head in his hand
I tried to hide my face
Behind the curtain lace
It was then he spoke to me
“Don’t be afraid lady
I come for your help
To reattach my scalp
You see it was said
That you go late to bed
And you were my best bet
To reattach my head.”

Part II

I pondered the strangers request
All the town can attest
I am the woman most prepared
To reattach the strangers head
I went and met him at the door
He looked like he belonged in folklore
I invited him in
I led him to my sewing room
And lit some candles against the gloom
I got some water
And suggested a doctor
Might yield a greater effect
He said “I must protect
the secrets of my people.”
This caused my mind to boggle
What had I let myself into
Looking at the sinew
That protruded from his neck
First I had to check
That I had the correct tools
I gathered some spools
Of thread and my needles
And prayed to my angels
That my stitching tonight
Would be more than alright.

Part III

I bathed the wound
Which made him swoon
I threaded the needle
And with a bit of fiddle
His head upon his neck was placed
There we stood face to face
Starting to stitch
Using a topstitch
Trying to keep my stitches quite small
I tried to recall
A time
That stitching of mine
Held so much importance
I wondered what instance
Had befallen this man
From which unknown clan
Did he belong
Whose song
Did he sing
What secret did he bring
The stranger dressed in capes of black
I pulled the slack
From the thread
As I attempted to reattach his head.

Part IV

The night was growing long
The stitching only half done
It was then the stranger spoke
He was a most mysterious bloke
He spoke in riddle
Of which I understood little
I kept on with my stitching
I looked forward to finishing
It was then he told a tale of woe
That sounded rather like Poe
The wind outside was howling
I could hear a cat meowing
Suddenly the window blew open
And in from the dark blew a raven
Landing on the loom
In the corner of the room
I felt quite frightened
Wondering when this nightmare might end.

Part V

I continued stitch by stitch
Trying not to twitch
With the raven watching over
My shoulder
It was nearing dawn
When the stitching was done
Little had been said
While I reattached the strangers head
The stranger reached into his pocket
And pulled out a velvet
While I settled on the couch
He handed me the bag of gold
Saying it was very old
Thanking me for my kindness
And my stitching quite painless
Then he was gone
Into the rising dawn
The raven on his shoulder

Part VI

I woke at noon
In my sewing room
I thought it but a dream
So it might seem
Upon the loom a ravens feather
And a bag of gold from the stranger.

© Megan Warren August 2005


At 9:15 PM, Blogger Anita Marie Moscoso said...

Welcome to the Halls of Anubis Megan...some people call us Morticians now. But they're ignorant :)

This is great fun to read and if the Spirit ever moves you I hope you'll consider posting it at the Chamber of Horrors too.

anita marie

At 11:28 PM, Blogger Audrey Larkin said...

Love It Megan! What a great poem and great read! I felt sorry for the poor headless man. He did seem ok and the bag of gold was a nice gesture. Perhaps there'll be more? In time for Holloweem...?

Take Care,

At 7:50 AM, Blogger Karen said...

You re-animatrix, you!Good stitching job, I'd say.

At 4:47 AM, Blogger Heather Blakey said...

I think we might just have to give you the Edgar Allan Poe award for this Megan. Intriguing!

At 2:10 AM, Blogger Traveller said...

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