Hurray, it's the worst day of the year. Even worse than Remember Hitler Fondly Day (observed). But I'll try not to let it get to me.
If you've listened to one episode of my show in particular, you'll know I'm no fan of poetry. I have written my share of poems in the past, but they've nearly always been inspired by some unrequited infatuation thing that either ended badly or never started at all.
I guess that's left a bad taste for poetry in my mouth. We don't do poems on our show, and truth be told, I've never done a poem for anybody else's show. Until now.
Graeme Dunlop over at Cast of Wonders asked me to read/perform a short poem, and I recorded it this week (twice, since the settings were off the first time). I'm so unfamiliar with poetry that Big Anklevich had to tell me how to read the meter, where to pause, and correct me when I kept doing it wrong (and my guess is, I still did it wrong, but he just threw his mental hands in the air).
Even so, I was reminded of being in Ms. Collins's class, which would've been Sixth Grade, and everyone being assigned to read/recite a poem in front of the class. I thought about it, and presented "The Earl-King," a creepy ode to terrors of the night that I hope caused unrest in at least one of my fellow students.
For gits and shiggles, I present that poem here (a recording I did a year or two back, with the good old craptastic microphone). Enjoy?
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