Dark Tales of Nightingales:The Story of Isaac Labove
 

This is one of a few poems that I've been writing for a few months now for a book I hope to publish. They are all tales based around the fictional city of Nightingale, which is somewhere in England.

Posted here to see what you all think and to see if my book is worth finishing.

The Story of Isaac Labove
The city is teeming
With tales of regret,
But there’s one in the country
You’ll not want to forget.

Our dark tale begins
With a woman in love
With a dashing young poet
Called Isaac Labove.

He lived with his family,
And there he was hung.
They would not let him leave
For he was still quite young.

He lived in the city,
So they knew from the start,
That love would be tricky
Living so far apart.

They could not meet that often
As he lived far away,
So he’d send her a poem
By letter each day.

He sent them at night
So next day she’d get mail,
And each one began:
“My dear nightingale.”

Each one spoke of love
And how he longed to be near,
And how they would marry
For their love was so dear.

“One day we shall fly
Like the birds, my dear love.
One day we’ll be free
As the birds high above.”

She’d receive each letter
With a smile and a sigh,
And once in a while
She would write a reply.

And so they continued
This written exchange,
But after a while
Things became rather strange.

It began with a letter,
No different at first,
But something disturbing
In the way it was versed.

“Oh my dear sweetest love,
If you only knew,
How I’d rip out their spines
To be closer to you.”

This troubling message
Did have her struck dumb,
If only she knew
There was far more to come.

And as each day passed,
She would get more and more,
With each letter’s contents
Far worse than before.

“I’d cut for a minute!
I would kill for an hour!
I’d open them up
And their hearts I’d devour!”

And when she stopped reading,
For she could take no more,
Each day she would still get
A pile through her door.

The madness continued,
And for weeks she’d not sleep.
For who once made her happy
Did now make her weep.

Until one quiet evening
She got only one,
So she read it in hope
That he’d say he was done.

Her hands trembled slightly
As the flap came apart,
But the note simply read:
“I am close to your heart.”

She read this bewildered,
But then she did stare.
For attached to the paper
Was a lock of her hair.

She staggered in shock,
But was shocked even more
When she saw dearest Isaac
Stood outside her door.

She opened the door
A fraction of a crack,
But Isaac just stood there
And smiled warmly back.

“I’m sorry,” he said,
“For the things I did write,
But it’s all better now
For I’m with you tonight.”

She thought for a moment
And let him come in,
For he looked rather cold
And had quite pale skin.

He seemed very different
From the rage of his letters,
But then she espied
The bloodstains on his sweater.

“What on earth have you done?”
She did suddenly squall.
“They would not let me see you
So I murdered them all.

I only did it
For I love you so much.
I would never hurt you
One iota as such.”

The stunned silence was broken
When soon she did hear
The sound of police sirens
Thundering near.

Isaac took her hand,
And with all their power
They raced to the mansion’s
Highest viewing tower.

The police bashed the door
With a shattering din,
She implored to her Isaac
To give himself in.

“I’ll never see you again!”
He desperately said,
“But we can be free.”
And to the window he led.

She looked at him fondly
For she knew he was right,
So out of the window
They leapt into the night.

The police burst through
But a second too late,
They could only watch as
The two leapt to their fate.

They looked out the window
But no corpses were there,
Just two nightingales
Soaring through the night air.

So yeah, feedback is much appreciated. If you want to read any more then say so and I'll post another.

Peace. Or Armageddon, whatever your tastes.

Sounds interesting...

Sure I do want to read more so please do post another one.:)

You know, this is actually really good. Although I feel that rhymesschemes are holding the poet back of being truly creative (some phrases seemed a little lame and predictabel, especially

He lived with his family,
And there he was hung.
They would not let him leave
For he was still quite young.

He lived in the city,
So they knew from the start,
That love would be tricky
Living so far apart.

Of course this predictability is hard to avoid when you hold on to rhymes, however rhymes usually increase the flow of the poem.

After this phrase:
“Oh my dear sweetest love,
If you only knew,
How I’d rip out their spines
To be closer to you.”
The poem really caught me and I wanted to know how it would end, but of course, and I might say that that is both the strongest and the weakest point of the poem, the phrases
And each one began:
“My dear nightingale.”
and
“One day we shall fly
Like the birds, my dear love.
One day we’ll be free
As the birds high above.”
kind of gave away how the poem would end, however the fact that the prediction comes true proves that you have actually give the poem a good thought, and that is, in my opinion, the strongest point of it.

In short: IT ROCKS!

;)

I think I have to respectfully disagree with Niels on this one - I think the predictability lent a really good effect. It's a personal thing - I like the contrast between the everyday, mundane, happy Enid-Blyghton type world, and the darker one it eventually becomes. I felt like it gradually evolved from predictable, nursery rhyme style stanzas into a haunting song. I like to start with something I can relate to, so that I can feel their world transforming. Of course, I just like rhyme; I think it gives a poem something exceptional (except in rare instances).

Great poem!

thats pretty good....I'd like to read more.

It sounds like Dr. Seuss the serial killer... I love it!

Reaminds me of a Tim Burton movie.

Great poem, great story.
I think the fact that you gave a clue of the ending is a good thing,.
I also like the transition from a happy fairy-tale esque piece to a dark and quite sinister story and then suddenly all is happy again(if you don't count all the people who were killed). Then again most fairy tales are actually dark and sinister if you look only slightly below the surface.