O ME, O LIFE! (THE ORIGINAL DEAD POETS SOCIETY MEMBERS STORY)

Chapter 5

'Wait' John shushed them sitting on the sofa in the study room with pen and notebook in his hand. 'What about we pick a poet for each day? Or meeting?'

'I think that is a good idea. What about you boys?' Henry suggested.

They all nodded in agreement with the idea.

'We should make a list of the poets, each one of us, and then we can put them all together in one paper. You know, to make it more in place.' Noah joined.

The boys had been working on all the poets they were entertained by and pick all the poems by them to read for their coming meetings for the dead poets' society.

After every class they meet up in the study room working on their list of poets. So far they had pointed out ten names.

Just like the night before they all met up by the school gate more excited this time to skip the night out for their poets' meeting.

Finding themselves sneaking out of the school made the five boys full of excitement for the night.

For today they picked Oscar Wilde.

To the request of Noah.

It was that or Walt Whitman however, since Henry got his chance to read from Walt Whitman poems on their first time, he though it will only be fair for Noah to pick what to read this time.

Dylan took his place in front to begin the poem and let his friends guess the name of it, he began:

O singer of Persephone!

In the dim meadows desolate

Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still through the ivy flits the bee

Where Amaryllis lies in state;

O Singer of Persephone!

Simaetha calls on Hecate

And hears the wild dogs at the gate;

Dost thou remember Sicily?

He delivered each line with his own touch of dramatic sighs, motions; Dylan made sure to deliver the words with not just spoken methods but with his gentle touch of acting. He seemed as if he was on the theater stage.

His friends cheered and whistle for him praising him for his performance.

'Was that A Villanelle?' John asked noting down the names of the member attended in the meeting.

'Right on my boy' Dylan acknowledges 'you do know your poems.'

'Okay, who's next?' John questioned.

Henry jumped up from his place fixing his glasses; the ones he only wore when reading, he hated them! in his own words; they seem to make me look like a nerd, he told his mother once. But right now he didn't care knowing his friends are not the judgmental type.

Clearing his throat he pulled out a paper began to read:

In a dim corner of my room for longer than

My fancy thinks

A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me

Through the shifting gloom.

The boys all let out an "ohh" voice at the beginning of the poem earning a smirk from Henry, he continued:

Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she
does not stir
For silver moons are naught to her and naught
to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air, the waves of
moonlight ebb and flow
But with the Dawn she does not go and in the
night-time she is there ...

'Is it me or we suspecting a she in the matter?' Stanley asked

'Oh a she?' Dylan joined wiggling his eyes.

Noah couldn't find the fuss in the poem as he answered 'well yes, Oscar wrote it? And he added a she? Isn't this The Sphinx?'

Henry clapped his hands 'Yes! And thank you Noah just because there is a she in the poem doesn't mean there is a she for me; well not as far as I am aware.'

'You cheeky basterd' John nudge him with the shoulder laughing.

Laughing Henry took his seat beside Noah,

'Me next' Noah stood up grabbing his book with him.

'Be my guest' John stood by the side letting Noah take the small "stage" in the front of his friends. Finding the poem he marked earlier Noah read:

He did not wear his scarlet coat,

For blood and wine are red,

And blood and wine were on his hands

When they found him with the dead,

The poor dead woman whom he loved,

And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men

In a suit of shabby grey;

A cricket cap was on his head,

And his step seemed light and gay;

But I never saw a man who looked

So wistfully at the day.

Breaking the line from she to he.

'Now we are speaking' Dylan whistle. So did they other clapped for him.

Noah slowed their cheers down as he continued:

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by ...

A bright smile painted on Henry's lips 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol. Couldn't agree more on Oscars finding his words just in the write position.'

'Not going to lie, this one hunts me only because it is inspired by a soldier's death' John joined.

'Really?' Dylan asked puzzled. 'Wait wasn't it about a man he fancied?'

'He fancied men? Not that I am judging?' Stanley joined in with his question.

'In many words of people they say he did fancy men' Noah added.

Henry gave a lopsided grin 'No one is judging you here Mr. Oscars please don't hunt us' with his hands clapped together he said.

They all burst into laughter at Henrys small prayer in the dark cave.