100 Days of Poetry: Day 46
Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Hii. So can you do 15. for the sambucky fluff diary please..
Thank you so much for the prompt, anonymous! 😆 Idk what you thought was going to come from this prompt, but I think I accidentally made something bittersweet 😂 Whoops. I hope you enjoy it, though, nonetheless! 🥰
Date 8 of 28: Poetry Reading
| - 7 - | - Prompt - | - 9 - |
" - a predilection for scandal and sandals, sling-backs
in silver and gold. Come to me, my little stool pigeons, - "
Tap. Tap tap tap tap. Bucky didn't look as if he could get any semblance of control over his hand, Sam noticing an intense jitter as he watched the woman before them go.
" - spill the beans to Auntie Em, Uncle Walt is in the barn
doing God knows what, but I have the whiff of something juicy - "
Sam held Bucky's hand. It calmed down immediately.
"Stop tapping like that," whispered Sam, "You're going to do great. You're not even writing something on your own. It's just reciting an already made poem."
Sam had taken Bucky to the poetry reading at the local community college. Because Bucky had been taking classes there and they have both done a few couples special one-day classes there throughout February.
" - and you, my little blabbermouths, are just the ones
to clue me in, because you'd double-cross your grandmother - "
Because Bucky had been longingly looking at the poster for poetry night and Sam knew Bucky was trying to feel more in his skin, be able to do things he used to like talking to a crowd.
"I'm going before you. That helps, right?" said Sam, smiling.
Sam was a little nervous about that too.
" - for a kick in the ass from someone who doesn't give a fig
for you. Uccello, old bird brain, where is your perspective now, - "
"You make speeches all the time," said Bucky, "And I'm... I don't... I used to be good with crowds."
"I give speeches. Doesn't mean I'm good with crowds like this," said Sam, "I - I'm better one on one. This is a growing moment for us both."
Sam was going to go up on a stage with at least thirty judgmental college students and a handful of parents, with the name recognition of Captain America, and recite a poem. Which meant he would probably be seeing news stories about this soon. There would be a video of this moment out there for the rest of his life.
He was supposed to be psyching Bucky up, and now Sam was questioning his own decision to do this.
Bucky took Sam's face in his hands, making Sam gaze into his eyes. All Sam could see was adoration and belief.
" - your mathematics, your converging lines? I'm in a twitter,
my sweets, in flutter, a twist. You hippogriff, gorgon, - "
"You got this Sam," said Bucky, "I know you do."
" - minotaur mounting a flailing virgin, don't pussyfoot around
with me, Pablo, I'm on to you, you fink, you spy, - "
"Do you think this is a dumb idea?" asked Sam, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.
" - squawk all you want, while I continue my rumba
with infinite, my mambo with the spheres, - "
"Going after this magnificent rendition of 'Millenium Rave' by Barbara Hamby? Probably," said Bucky, shrugging, "Girl's good at bringing drama to a dramatic reading. But actually doing this?... I think it'd be good for the both of us."
" - because I have a tip, a glimmer, an inkling, and while
the night remains dark and thunderous, I will rave on."
Sam smiled at Bucky, squeezing his hand.
"Yeah... you're right," said Sam, hearing the clapping and cheering, vaguely hearing someone call his name, kissing Bucky on the cheek before Sam found his way up to the stage.
Sam glanced at Bucky.
They exchanged awkward waves.
Someone in the audience coughed.
And at that moment, Sam realized.
Maybe he did actually need this too.
"Hi," said Sam, a little too close to the microphone, stepping back a touch, "Hello. My name is Sam Wilson. And. Um. This poem I’m about to read is dedicated to Riley. Because he sucked at writing back to people. But I loved him despite that. So it's fine. Plus, it was his favorite."
Sam pulled out the poem, knowing people could hear him open it, Sam seeing the square creases on the paper that he scrawled the poem on last minute.
And at the time, he had just thought he chose it at random. Something Riley liked. Because Riley liked poetry. And wanted to take more classes in it. And wanted to write it.
And wow, did Bucky really want to go to this or was Sam just projecting? But looking over at Bucky, he didn't seem to care. He gazed at Sam with all the love in the world, because it was okay for Sam to miss Riley. And Sam was so thankful to have a partner who understood that.
"'All She Wrote' by Harryette Mullen."
Sam took a deep breath in.
Took a deep breath out.
"Forgive me, I’m no good at this. I can’t write back. I never read your letter.
I can’t say I got your note. I haven’t had the strength to open the envelope. -"
And Sam remembered this. When Riley had been showing Sam his collections of poetry. His favorite books.
"- The mail stacks up by the door. Your hand’s illegible. Your postcards were
defaced. Wash your wet hair? Any document you meant to send has yet to - "
Sleeping With the Dictionary by Harryette Mullen. Page three marked with a little green sticky note that represented "favorite".
" - reach me. The untied parcel service never delivered. I regret to say I’m
unable to reply to your unexpressed desires. I didn’t get the book you sent. - "
The book worn from rereading, sitting next to their bed when they were back home in Delacroix, on Riley's cot when they were shipped out.
" - By the way, my computer was stolen. Now I’m unable to process words. I
suffer from aphasia. I’ve just returned from Kenya and Korea. Didn’t you - "
Sam remembered watching Riley read it over and over again when they were together.
" - get a card from me yet? What can I tell you? I forgot what I was going to
say. I still can’t find a pen that works and then I broke my pencil. You know - "
Sam remembered how he returned the book to Riley's sister when he gave her the news.
" - how scarce paper is these days. I admit I haven’t been recycling. I never
have time to read the Times. I’m out of shopping bags to put the old news - "
And he remembered Riley's sister crying as she gave it back to Sam. Told him the book was his now.
" - in. I didn’t get to the market. I meant to clip the coupons. I haven’t read
the mail yet. I can’t get out the door to work, so I called in sick. I went to - "
And how, when Bucky started staring longingly at those poetry night posters as they checked out those special one-day classes, Sam had thought about Riley. He tried not to, but he did.
" - bed with writer’s cramp. If I couldn’t get back to writing, I thought I’d catch
up on my reading. Then Oprah came on with a fabulous author plugging
her best selling book."
Yeah. Sam actually did need to do this, catharsis spreading through Sam. And, yes, there were people clapping, but all he could focus on was Bucky, over there in the corner, getting ready to do his own poetry reading, waving awkwardly at Sam as Sam waved awkwardly back at Bucky.
Sam loved Bucky so much.
❤️ ❤️ ❤️
Want to choose a date for Sam and Bucky to go on during this special February Daily SamBucky Fluff Diary event? Check out the prompts here and send me an ask! I’ll write you a drabble as one of my Daily SamBucky Fluff Diaries!