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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471389" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mister Ebberman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the bloodcurdling stretch of blind alleys<br>Akin to thawing sewers reeking with malice<br>A moniker, a sobriquet, his ambiguity hocked<br>Mister Ebberman, he sat like a frozen rock<br>A forlorn rummy with a violent brandy on his left<br>And on his right, a rod apt for a conceptual theft<br>Mister Ebberman, sober and pale as the liquor<br>Held his heart on the seams with flagrant squalor<br>Mister Ebberman mused past the stagnant river<br>Darker than the black bile of his abused liver<br>As he cajole to steadfast his ambidextrous hands<br>Trembling like the rocks of the floor, cold and bland <br> <br>From under the river where winter rest its arms<br>And the albino sun forgot to provide with warmth<br>Mister Ebberman prayed in his vehement silence<br>He cowered and sighed for his river's decadence <br>Pensively, he waited amidst the toppling milieu<br>To reel in a fish and hope back in the view<br>Though his wan lethargic bait had failed to lure<br>And left sobriety as something too obscure<br>Yet he held on his rod like and almighty king<br>With a scepter augmented to a lissome string<br>Taking pleasure in his pseudo-revelry, clandestinely<br>Mister Ebberman's eyes grew a little bit too tawny<br> <br>Canoes with mutual oars will always past and glide<br>Mister Ebberman's stance in a coveting rueful stride<br>And with a gas lamp illuminating scarcely with the misery<br>That would blind his eyes form the drifting mirthful party<br>That tinkers inside interlaced fingers of lovers in fancy<br>And he would waft brooding to avert the guffawing idiocy<br>With atrocious mobility, he would vie for a languid night<br>Where he can never fold his eyes so he can write<br>With his rod as his plumage and the river as his page<br>And haul out one worthy dime before he desiccate with age<br>And the colossal rats gnash on his downtrodden moccasins<br>Mister Ebberman, can you really picture a handsome scene? <br> <br>Frantic mister, how long have you been wishing? <br>And how often do you pull out from your fishing? <br>Desperate fisher, it will never reimburse your endeavor<br>To seek in a river long subdued in a deathful pallor.<br>Mister Ebberman, your hands are charred and calloused<br>From cleaving faithfully into a scythe fashion too spruced<br>With your downtrodden fedora screening your iron eyes<br>You would never reel in all the time that ticks and flies<br>In your gossamer refuge, could you forever hide? <br>In a guise of an ebberman pensively stumbling for the tides<br>To dispense your succulent faith of bogus fate and find<br>That there's an ocean of amiable strings you have left behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471389" data-title="Mister Ebberman de Norman Santos" data-description="In the bloodcurdling stretch of blind alleys
Akin to thawing sewers reeking with malice
A moniker, a sobriquet, his ambiguity hocked
Mister Ebberman, he sat like a frozen rock
A forlorn rummy with a violent brandy on his left
And on his right, a r..."></div>
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