ideas4writers.co.uk: Competition Winners

One midnight minute somewhat late, Gilead lies caught napping,
heard front window shutter swung wide, suddenly, faintly tapping
tinkled, while tempest press air, and wind tossed louder, both repeating.
He, upstarting, though startled stood fast, vainly entreating,
marvelled long, guessing at what visitor, prophet, ghost of yore,
floor separate, has shorn fiery head, floating ungainly above open door.
Its mystery, crest, saintly mien, nodded, nothing murmured, plainly seeming
gaunt, decorum broken, expressing fact, stern desolate meaning.

Quoth "Once nameless songs, echo whispered sorrow,
filled these haunted dreams, lent such uncertain morrow"
croaking "I explore memories, whose lore thee borrow, but cannot remember,
see doubting unmerciful evil eyes, whom have you leave, just days before December"
Then engaged by Pallas, ominous, ebony raven demons fluttered
made many deep, black plutonian devil dirges, now only uttered.
Some rare ancient bird thing, wandering beast, gloated, wrought disaster
as ghastly, hesitating unbroken footfalls, came faster.

Craven being, wretch, gloating fiend, agreeing wheeled, beak turning grim
shrieked "Sir, clasp thy books, adore thou tufted angels, for fowl hear no Seraphim."
So my Lord, mortal core linking his little human form did us implore,
sought forgiveness, shore, dared flirt, stock hope from God, truly fearing more.
"Take off radiant lamplight, get perfumed censer burning here, divining"
Lordly soul lie pallid, parting, dying, flown, him reclining
as unseen horror, tempter, terrors, feather plume flutter nevermore,
thereat sainted, ashore, betook unto heaven, other land, sent evermore

Home, there in quaint fancy chamber, named Aidenn
stayed an enchanted, placid, sculptured maiden
name Lenore, sat melancholy, lonely, presently thinking
pondered nightly, on violet purple velvet seat cushions sinking.
Within grave silence, beguiling, wore fantastic silken stately art,
wished stillness, balm o'er bosoms than bore distinctly beating heart.
Lady gave shaven discourse, muttered a weak, weary token
Yet throws this sign with scarcely word, volume, or syllable spoken.

Curtain lining rustling, lattice rapping, darkness streaming,
till Nepenthe quaff cushioned further bleak, unhappy dreaming.
Reply myself "we shall not forget our master, oh outpour, help loneliness ease,
tell your dreary laden shadow, ah nearly still, quit, surcease."
She gently cried upon hopes followed, store flung, forgotten, relevancy merely flitting
over into distant dream, bust, burden much lifted, sure, curious, stopped sitting
Madam undaunted, methought doubtless, stepped out surely, each ever longer,
felt opened, blessed, obeisance smiling, countenance grew stronger.

Aptly perched, peering, seeing kind friends, thrilled, soon least sad
said "respite is scarce, tis something that was never meant to be had,"
spoke "if all ember hath burned, denser nights lost, …" wondering whether, when,
will it desert, utters "let me entrance, back straight, eagerly living the moment again."

Part 2: Write a short story using each of the words in The Raven as many times as you like

Winner: Ruth West

Enchanted

“I have a visitor,” she whispered. “A maiden, sitting upon my sculptured seat. I cannot tell whether she is human or ghost, or by what name she is named. There she is; see?”

In the dreary darkness of long December days and nights, reclining on velvet cushions with plutonian books, my lady sought to ease the burden of loneliness. My ancient, saintly lady, whom I adore, is gaunt and ungainly now, tossed and lost in the tempest of the living. Nightly, whether napping or dreaming, she will see the maiden sitting on the sculptured seat, placid and smiling, over seeing the shore. Doubtless she is merely wandering.

“What relevancy hath this maiden?” was my nightly reply; thinking it was just fancy and not fact.

“It is a mystery to me… and yet, in some ember of forgotten memories, she has meaning….it is a sign.” my lady muttered.

Peering into the midnight stillness, my heart suddenly beating faster, stronger; flitting from window to lattice window; just for a moment I truly wished she was there. She is entreating me with sad countenance, weak and weary, with melancholy memories that filled violet eyes with sorrow, to see what is there, but all I ever see is a raven, perched stately upon the seat and nothing more.

Presently, stepping to the door, I heard a rustling. Was it a feather floating by? A shadow or a perfumed ghost? I stood stock still. “Will that be all, my lady?” It was late and I wished to take leave that minute, thinking of the morrow nearly upon us. Suddenly, she throws the books to the floor, eyes streaming, burning deep into my soul.

“Ah! I remember, oh God,” she cried in horror. I nodded, hesitating for a while. I was still curious and though fearing demons and other unseen terrors, undaunted, I stayed. She flung the open window wide; the purple curtain fluttered gently in the wind. My kind, placid and stately lady spoke with fiery volume, while beating louder and louder on the shutter.

“Thou nameless, beguiling wretch,” she shrieked, “sitting on my seat with such little token of obeisance. You shall have thy head shaven and shorn; thou art nothing but a flirt and flutter mortal, with no decorum at all. What evil you wrought. So many lies and unhappy days thou gave me, unmerciful madam. At least tell me thy name.”

A grave silence was only broken by the foot-falls of the raven tapping on the seat, its tufted crest vainly lifted.

My lady shrieked again. “Thou art the devil in my dreams. With thy silken mien, you sought my disaster, gloating over my broken heart, you betook my lord from my chamber. My lord Gilead was engaged to me. God will not forget you made him desert me. You sent no word of respite, not one syllable uttered, expressing sorrow from your craven heart. Answer me, what is thy name?”

Then there was unbroken silence. The lamp-light, broken into lattice shadow, burning deep into sad, pallid eyes that implore me to hear and see what is there. I cannot lie to my lady. The bleak, black raven is plainly there, but nothing more.

Suddenly, I heard the ebony bird; its beak tapping on the sculptured seat and heard it croaking ominous dirges to the midnight air.

"I have not forgotten thy desolate heart. I came not for thy forgiveness, but for surcease from all sorrow and to take thee home to Gilead.”

Aptly startled, she pondered; “whether devil or fiend, ghastly ghost or seraphim, God help me, the maiden hath spoken to me,” she cried faintly.

“Tell me your name, or quit my land for evermore,” was the stern reply from my lady, uncertain of the meaning of such discourse.

“My name is Lenore.”

Then I was startled, by the raven as it wheeled above, croaking an echo;

“Lenore.”

My lady was sitting so still, smiling, radiant, as if dreaming. I gently lifted the sinking, dying form. Something fluttered by the window; I scarcely dared to see; in front of me stood a divining prophet whose perfumed censer gently swung over me and opened my eyes. A soul had flown unseen into the bosoms of long lost friends, eagerly entreating from a distant shore. I marvelled at the angels and I wished to explore further into that enchanted land. But the angels, turning me back whispered;

“Not yet, not yet.”

“I implore thee, my lady, quaff this blessed nepenthe, let the wind take thy burden of loneliness, outpour your sorrow. Let God clasp thy heart and be sad no longer,” I murmured, upstarting as more angels followed, each lining the fantastic entrance to heaven, linking the living with the dying. My heart thrilled to hear the rare songs of balm that tinkled distinctly over the grim sculptured seat, I was filled with wondering and I felt myself being blessed to the core of my being.

The only sign of the raven now is one lonely, separate plume that lies caught within the broken shutter.

Though my dreams be haunted by the parting, I dream with hope of heaven and seeing my lady again, nevermore fearing my dying moment.