Notes About The Poem
*Amos 2:11
Richard the Third Poetry Contest
Richard the Third
All hope lost in his hunchback.
All hope lost for love.
All love conveyed as mercy.
All mercy a convenient lie.
Attack! Attack!
“Don’t worry, dear Anne,
I have your back.
I pity you!
You’ve lost your husband
and your father.”
“Marry me! I will take care of you.”
He lusts! He must
have her for his wife.
She’s smart; he smarts
from a reddened face.
He wants all her beauty to himself.
What lies! She could have killed him
with his sword. More swords
are stabbing in intrigues, in shadows,
in towers, no mistake.
Did not Cain begin this tale
of brother against brother!
Did not Cain’s blood-jealousy
crown king after king?
Chilling, still more childish,
in the hands of the devil himself,
the innocent. Henchmen
tower over the young princes,
to do the devil’s work.
Die! Death, destruction and lies
belong to the prince of darkness.
He couldn’t, dared not
even look into their eyes.
More eyes’ closed upon a platter;
the splatter of a royal-red robe;
behold its Belial train.
Meanwhile Anne despairs
of such a horrid cradle that held
horrors for her beloved boys.
For three crimes, even four -
using the sword on a brother,
life with no compassion,
incessant rage* - what more
does the merciful and just Lord
need to see? The house will fall.
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