I wrapped my arms around this tree
as tightly as I could,
until there was no trace of me
upon its ancient wood.
Category Archives: Other
Macbeth: Act 5; scene 5 ½ (a lost scene)
Macbeth is standing beside Lady Macbeth’s bier
Macbeth– How came we to this lowly state,
marred by jealousy and by hate?
So loathsome is this wicked strife
which robbed the breath of lady life.
If only I could turn back time
when nights were serene, and sublime.
Lord of that gent, I cannot be
and now I float in sordid sea.
At times it was a thankless treat
subsisting with this bitter Sweet,
For she ruled with an iron hand
which shook the waters and the land.
Although my dame was hot and strong
to me, her deeds could not be wrong.
Our love was ardent, rare, and true;
a kind those hags shall never brew.
This tribute that I grant her ghost,
my body cold can barely host.
By God’s grace she vacates this skin
to stand and answer for her sin.
Curses upon such endless shame
for which I alone bear the blame.
Enter an attendant
Attendant– I know that this most tragic loss
burdens you with a heavy cross.
But good Sir, you must come away.
Hasten thy heels without delay.
Macbeth– After I shroud her faded form,
I shall follow, to greet the storm.
Exit attendant
Macbeth covers Lady Macbeth with a shroud
Slumber soundly, fair dreaming dear
there is nothing for you to fear.
Exit Macbeth
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This is one of my oldest creative works; I originally penned this when I was in high school some 15 years ago. I dusted it off today and cleaned up the verse. I would have been far too embarrassed to post the original.
Shakespeare never wrote a scene where the title character deals with his wife’s death. This is my version of what *could* have happened in the play. I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to the Bard for butchering his work. Also, this is not in iambic pentameter. Perhaps, one day it will be!
The Treaty of the Veil
My hazy head slumps down by the river of forgetfulness as
it mumbles of the shadowed land which waits for no one.
Paralyzed eyes lead listless limbs towards the winged
zealot who shall transport me to the realm of oblivion, yet
I do not fight the persuasive hands that grab at me for
this daunting day has already slithered into history’s
grip; the poppies pull is far too powerful.
At your cave I stand.
Beyond the Lee
A skirt of stars falls to the earth
as mischievous men drink in mirth
to celebrate their trying trek;
all hearts and hands are now on deck.
What shall tomorrow’s sunrise bring?
Into which waters will they spring?
Neither man nor beast truly see
what terrors lie beyond the lee.
Wounded Centipede
Nine knees scurry up Devil’s hillside whilst
bed heads haloed in heaven’s brilliance fling
roaring hearts towards Denka’s den.
Walls of cold stone silently sally forth by the
mottled bend to challenge our leprous band,
setting the stage for a war of discretion which
shall expose the contents of hesitant homes.
Winds that rattle callow keys embrace
this melting face.
Dahut
As she gasps for air on King Gradlon’s banks,
the red waters of her petulant petticoats part
to reveal the slick ultramarine fin that shall
propel her through this sea of bloody roses
by Providence’s judgment.
Our ocean which had once been her savior now
swallows her, dragging rotting rogues and spirit
spotted tongues down into her open arms
for eternity.
The bells still thunder – can you hear them?
An Elegant Year
I blinked and a year had passed.
The dialogue that we spun at dawn with
slippery tongues forged the shining stone
road that we now amble along.
Languorous masks with smiling eyes that
we knew so well have vanished and have
been replaced with new ghosts to contend
with and so tonight we clink glasses again
and drink to the nights that spit fire
into our hearts.
When the grim olive bottles on the table
murmur that our passions have not yet been
tempered we choose to believe their false
flattery and then you offer up the bonny
conceits that I shall pillage come morning.
I hope you do not mind that I have stolen the
luxurious threads with which you would have
woven your own tapestry.
I am not ashamed.
Hunger
In this moment of perfect pain,
tears wash away within the rain.
And as frail feet meander home
wet worlds descend from heaven’s dome,
soaking skin in salty splashes,
driving me on with lusty lashes.
As night approaches, fear sets in
then grim visions begin to spin.
Do demons linger by the fire?
plotting to place me on their pyre?
My feet tarry at this divide;
pupils careen from side to side.
A critical choice must be made
no one will come to offer aid!
This way? That way? How do I pick?
Silent clocks tick loudly, quick! quick!
I shall follow this unknown lane,
in hopes that I might live again.
In the Absence of Monsters
In the absence of monsters,
Aquila’s angels beam down
upon soft cheeks resting atop
mother’s shoulder.
A flying eagle soars through
slender stems carrying golden
garments of majesty.
In the absence of monsters,
we cannot possibly conceive
of the
pear blossoms reclining at
the end of the rainbow.
It is the autumn of needles.
Our Future
Lonely hearts bloom in old country homes
where rice wine once flowed through
uneventful existences; now, sophisticated
city wombs decline rural lips while sharp
mouths lament of lost traditions
beneath a blushing strawberry moon.
New paths need new feet.
Life is hard on dusty roads of discontent;
bright lights beckon young ladies with
promises of luxury and liberty as brothers
stay behind to reap a hollow harvest in
an era of transplantation and transmutation.
Would-be wives stretch for the stars above
forsaken farmers who dig their heels in,
waiting for clock hands to turn back.
New paths need new feet.
From foreign ports, fair faces appear to
work in familial gardens, seeking a better
life within sunrise’s coveted serenity.
Shall these hopeful flowers take root in
the domestic fold? – Or, will their
petals wither with the lavender ladies?
New paths need new feet.
sundry folly 