Best Hamlet Poems
A whistling wheezing hamlet, whispering and emanating, tunes euphonic,
In a remote isolated valley, far-flung from the abode of the temporal,
Warbling quietly to whistle scads of tranquil cryptic songs;
Lying spasmodic, a sparsely inhabited mellifluous hamlet, Kongthong!
Not to hyperbole, a singing utopia, uncustomary to the core!
Where innate and mellow are the naive dwellers' rustic tinkling timbres!
A rover's riddle, the natives' pride, a unique heritage, their blissful strains!
Ringing with an ancient tradition of tune-giving in honour of the root ancestress,
Customary to the matrilineal surviving unknown folk of the thorp!
The chirping region's dispositions and practices outlandish, vague and obscure,
Primitive and bizarre, mere to merge with nature's absolute accord!
Voices buzzing in whistles, murmuring and chattering, lilting,
Arcane, pervading the virgin thicket of the sacred thorpe!
To entangle, passerby and wanderers in dream like metaphors!
Those magical murmurs in quirky tunes, mingling the breeze of the secluded hamlet, intoning own tinkles!
Blessed are the tuning terrain's offsprings, nameless!
Rared by ditties, hailed sacred by the clan's conviction!
Outlying, by the uninhabited enchanting wilderness of East Khasi Hills,
Sleeping quietly the untrodden, nature's lulling lullaby, the whistling Kongthong!
Yell! Immaculate and serene, the saga of their undeciphered airs, mumbling in exquisite ethos!
Inimitable and gripping to eye, how the denizens of the tribe,
Are crooning to dub and call each other by indigenous intonations!
Pitching and whooshing, to tune their melodic identities unique!
Whew! The picturesque terrain is tweeting, whooping, and whizzing!
Heaven! Bless anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
The ringing Kongthong, God's own whistling hamlet!
The quintessential of nyctophilia, wrapped in bridal attire, slowly and slowly as in somnambulism there goes the heroine of timeless tragedy to supersede her lovers feigned insanity.
Her beloved father is no more, being killed by her suitor's intrigued tyranny;
ignored to be drowned, to burn in the flame of plotted felony.
Jilted, to be startled by the selcouth performance of her handsome wooer's vile strategy;
there goes the most beautiful heroine ever to be the victim of fated irony,
immersed in senseless lunacy, to vanish from the sight of Hamlet's fatalistic eyes to bid adieu to the agony,
slowly and slowly to be disappeared into melancholic darkness from the dazzling maniac opaque sight;
there goes the Danish heroine of evergreen tragedy.
I met that star, with my name on; I met
That twinkling star, a beacon, lovely one;
I met her in a hamlet—less spoiled—yet
We met when homeward sun his cart did run.
She often tip-toed with her mother star,
To the field to cut grains or feed her cow,
While blinking slyly, like an angled spar
At her love, as she’s doing here, just now.
She was the peahen, and I...the peacock.
Drowned in our astral love, we did dance;
Just forgetting how other stars did flock,
We danced, diving in our hypnotic trance.
I gaze in my dreams at blue star-lit sky
And then see two lovely stars gleaming high.
Revised
* A 3rd Place* in the following contest (judged on Dec. 31, 2020)
Dec. 29, 2020
Podium placing promise (2) Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Brian Strand
* A 2nd Place* in the following contest (judged on Nov. 12, 2020)
Nov. 10, 2020
There is a star with my name on it Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Silent One
TO BE OR NOT TO BE HAMLET'S QUOTE FROM HAMLET, WRITTEN BY SHAKESPEARE
Hamlet spoke these words at a low ebb of life
How would he do it, perhaps with a knife?
To be or not to be was foremost in his troubled mind
A solution to which he had to find.
His ravaged and innermost thoughts,
Caused a madness, a frenzy, in which he was caught,
For to live or to die meant so little to him,
And the dawn of each day was beginning to dim.
But death was for Hamlet a thought so near,
With Ophelia now gone who he had held so dear,
Suicide was an option, but after death was his fear,
So staying alive, was becoming more clear.
As death was to Hamlet and all, quite unknown,
He thought it better to sit on earth’s throne.
For who had come back to admit or deny,
That you return to life after you die?
But Hamlet’s fate was indeed to die,
Ophelia if alive would shudder and cry,
It was Ophelia’s brother Laertes
Who brought about Hamlet’s demise,
He poisoned the sword and also the wine,
So once and then twice,
Surely from one he would certainly die,
Laertes had always wanted to try!
But as the poisoned wine,
Killed Hamlet’s mother,
Hamlet in turn killed another,
Laertes, Ophelia’s brother,
Claudius although kin, Hamlet disliked,
Nigh was the end of this family’s plight.
Claudius was forced to drink the remains,
Of the poisoned wine,
Then Hamlet died,
And no one cried,
For no kin were left
To feel bereft!
What a drama and sad end,
To a Royal family’s line.
Willow, Willow from 'Hamlet' by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
(Painting By George Dunlap Leslie)
* * *
Pale and fair, she gaily sits awhile,
As if a lily, but not the child
who seeks her private solitude
and climbs across the wooden stile
to find herself a magic land
here at the quiet Willow Pond
Old Willow Pond, her second home,
She often comes, a lonely bird
Praying for wishes to be heard
Deep in her magic dreamer's trance
Pretending today, upon the prince
Who will ride a white stallion and offer the world
Shallow edged kingdom, with twigs, and sodden leaves
with odors of the earth, green moss and peat
With roots of Willow trees and rotting logs
and a crumbling bank where cattails wash their feet
She will watch the minnows dart with lightning speed
among the roots where wild ducks come to feed
The very core and essence of the earth
Born of melted snow, and sleet and rain
The company of birds who roost amid the tree tops high
And breathe the wholesome fragrance of the sky
Trees that sway and swoon along the bank
Remind her that love is restless as the wind
Shedding leaves of amber, rust and gold
Where ashes turn to dust, or blossoming dreams begin
She listens, for the sound of horses hoofs
O'er twig and stone, with watchful eyes so keen
Across the mirrored face, a restless ripple seen
Where tangled grass and weeping willows lean
Upon the shores her struggles soon will cease
Her favorite place to wish her splendid dream
Pale and fair, she gaily sits awhile,
As if a lily, but not the child
who seeks her private solitude
and climbs across the wooden stile
to find herself a magic land
here at the quiet Willow Pond
_____________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored By Isaiah Zerbst
For a Link to the Painting:
http://www.1st-art-gallery.com/George-Dunlop,-R.A.,-Leslie/Willow-Willow-From-Hamlet-By-William-Shakespeare-1564-1616.html?s=20x16&gclid=CK3jpO_TvrcCFep7Qgod0AgAsA
wanted to recall
start of Hamlet act iii but
it was not to be
A Lady Hamlet
I’ve been tied in with such a clever lady, It’s my fate
Has in-built, reverse-forward button ready, It’s my fate
When she is in good humor the forward button is on,
Make an adverse statement, reverse is ready, It’s my fate
A lady Hamlet who faces a dilemma never,
To be or not to be not question really, It’s my fate
But she is always forward in things conjugal ever.
Tend to get what I desire ultimately, It’s my fate
In case if Ram is cross with somebody & criticize,
She’ll make enemy’s enemy a buddy, It’s my fate.
================================
DATE 25-10-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
7th place win
Contest: Take the leap by Debbie Guzzi
A lonely ghost loomed out
of the unknown mystery,
Bringing a halt to darkness
and showing life in misery.
Hamlet was told
but there was no reason to be cold,
This is a confession that is old,
what is gilded cannot be gold.
For those seen as heroes
in the tarnished human history,
are nothing but condemned
on the cess of lofty mastery.
* * *
Hamlet was mad,
truth is a man
whose head is bald,
Hamlet was sad,
illusion is a woman
that nods to be sold.
It is respect that
generates respect,
Humans are in February;
No wonder the proper study
of Mankind lies in January.
Being their tamed slaves,
what should we do but scold?
So cold is the heat,
so dry is the feast,
no fire is to hold.
* * *
Birds are weeping,
freedom is dying,
life is in boundary;
Flowers are fading,
trees are shambling,
O devine mastery.
Chokri Omri
Tunis, 2006
murder and madness
first non-Hollywood winner-
Oedipal complex
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
First published 2018 in "Hollywood Haiku" via wattpad.com
Ancient Hamlet
Houses around me are emptying, the old reaching
the age of dying, are passing away. A timeworn man
went missing on Monday he was found miles away
by the police who drove him back home, he had tried
to flee didn’t know where and he had no money.
Behind locked doors in darkened rooms he tries to
stave off the preordained. The sunlight, unbearable
reminds him of future suns he will not live to see, or
for that matter, the rain that falls. When a car stops he
shakes with fear, is it a hearse coming for him? Voices
of happy children are like derision of his elderliness.
He longs for peace but fear death’s cruel endlessness.
He born in a hamlet
He became favorite
He healed leper(s)
He is said helper
He shed blood
For the sinfully dead
When they saw HE star they celebrated CHRISTMAS
When HE was crucified we commemorated GOOD FRIDAY
When they saw empty tomb the world celebrate EASTER
Views of fertile valleys,
Vast blue sky above and
Verdant green fields mark the
Vibrance of my hamlet;
Vacation trip to my
Vivacious village fills
Voidness of my dull soul.
Date: 05/05/2021
Submitted for: Pleiades V Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Hamlet's story
is sad and gory.
From the start the outlook's bad.
The king, i.e. Hamlet's dad,
got bumped off by his loving brother,
who then had the nerve to wed Ham's mother.
One night Hamlet met his old man's ghost,
who said: "My son, while I here roast,
your uncle, who murdered me,
is having a rave-up for all to see."
He added, "I 've got a job for you, my lad,
"Do to 'im what he done to your dad."
But Hamlet never decisively acted,
by doubt and scruples got distracted.
So as he dithered
things slithered
till everyone got killed , alas,
'cept for Horatio and Fortinbras.
Goethe's Faust Part One
is all about this horny don,
who gets browned off by all that learning,
for all he's missed in life much yearning.
Mephisto, you might say the devil,
promises Faust a helluva revel,
on one (see the small print) slight condition,
After the party it's straight to perdition.
Then prancing witches chant "hubble bubble",
Faust goes and gets his gal into trouble.
(Faust may have knowed an awful lot,
but on birth control he weren't too hot).
Things get so bad it can't be true
They perk up a bit, though, in Faust Part Two
And in mortal men
we often find, in the end,
we are our own mortality.
In that we drive the spitfire beast of ambition into the sun
to dance among stars
with the reins in our hands like firey wings
and control lying limp beneath our legs.
In search for the supremacy, of justice and truth,
through mastery of sheilds and inflections
imposed by the perceptions and delusions of a conceived reality,
and the illusions they inspire.
Tantalizing, they breed the bitter coils of regret with the face of such obscenities as lust and pain,
and watch their offspring bloom as the evening primrose and deadly nightshade quick
like a promise.
That time then leaves no room for fathers
or Fathers, nor are their hearts swollen enough for mothers to wrap
their leathery wings around their throats
and kiss them with familiarity cold on her lips.
Just lessons, drunken in through needles and swords and words tipped with poison on the breath,
seep through the heavy condensation of nonsensical speak and falsified craze.
And in this game of thrones,
death is the jester
and all hail the King.
Come see the play and be with me this night,
the players take their places scene’s just right.
House lights dim low and thunder greets our ears,
the castle pikemen brave begin our fears.
The ghost of father murdered seems most real,
it speaks to Hamlet asking oath to seal.
Revenge and retribution guide the play,
against that knave of uncle having sway.
Man marries mother incest we now see,
a hateful situation loathe to be.
With anger Hamlet takes his blade all keen,
in chapel he now finds the fiend unseen.
Decapitate his uncle no remorse,
end Claudius’ bad rule a right true course.
But Claudius is kneeling ever low,
a new contrite heart seems anon to show.
For blade can’t take the life of soul that prays,
away with fate deceiver great of days.
Do shuffle feet and seek another place,
thou strumpet Fortune whore with mobled face.
King sees a play depicting deed of late,
as by ear poison he kills liege in hate.
This scene doth make for instant heated rage,
that Hamlet deigned to make upon the stage.
In league with Laertes willful scheme is made,
to slay Prince Hamlet heinous way is laid.
Duel having Laertes’ blade in poison soaked,
Alas, poor Hamlet meets his fate and’s croaked.