Best Ides Of March Poems
“Beware the Ides of March,” the seer said to Caesar,
But no one paid him much attention because the seer was a teaser.
Just last week the seer had said, “Beware the rear Cassias,
Whatever it is that he’s been eating has left him awfully gaseous.”
Poor Cassias was so self-conscience that he stopped eating for a week,
It gave him a lean and hungry look that left him anything but meek.
Then the seer said to Brutus, “You need to get out of this joint,
I see that you’re about to get canned unless you show dear Caesar the point.”
“That’s a pretty good idea,” Brutus said, “I think that that’s what we should do,
Both me and Cassias can needle him and some of the other Senators will too.”
But when the seer spoke to Caesar it was hard for the emperor to decide,
What course of action he should take because he didn’t know what was an Ide.
Then people were in awe of the seer’s power and the things that he could see,
They never knew that the things he had said helped to fulfill his own prophesy.
*Image of Julius Caesar by QDT.
The Ides of March
Spun spells pummel our Earth ... as a Sun scanned absence swallow,
vacuumed blues taxes light once deemed eternal ... plus righteousness,
escapism from existence ... edges evacuation,
Birth ere the latter days ... ventured the laurels that were Rome,
the incarnation of iniquity ... masquerade innocence,
like clovers and thistles ... lure eyes above the common grass,
Furtherance besought ... midst tossed bone for multi contentment,
parades that paralyze souls ... usurp minds to sweeping abandon,
celebratory hails the seasoned ... emblem of power,
The gods and goddesses' palms of warring pulse ... 'tis peacetime,
nonetheless ... tributes adorn the temples of Mars in abundance,
'tis time of awash hands of mere grimes ... toxic suffers freely,
Citizens housed upon Palatine ... the triumphant hill,
felicitations honorable legions ... protectors of Rome,
promissory constants ... declared Remus per Romulus,
Roman Senate played a chess game ... Caesar kept them in check,
every move was scrutinized ... made vulnerable and powerless,
autocracy trumps democracy ... seeds gangocracy,
Plans are planted within plans ... schemes are shrouded inside schemes,
the beast entrails read ominously ... Spurina forewarns the marked,
timely debts to be paid in full ... matters to be settled,
At the Courts of Pompey ... the assembly awaits for him,
armorless donning senatorial garb ... metals pierce a man,
till mute ... last recalls *haruspex, "Beware the Ides of March".
*Haruspex; reading of omens from the entrails of sacrificed animals. The subject of Shakespeare's title play came from his thorough accounting of Plutarch's writings.
2022 March 30
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 11
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 April 22
*HMS; 14,16,14 syllables per x 8 stanzas
Upon a sullied, sodden sky
of alabaster and ash,
fantasy's formidable flotilla floats
as charcoal-colored clouds.
And on this mild, melancholy
mid-March day,
they dawdle; dribbling drops of rain
in sporadic Spring showers.
And Winter's whitewashed wonderland
sparingly salted with brown brindled blotches,
magically melts away,
revealing rough, ragged patches
of grassy green.
When Winter's weakened grip gives way;
bulbs freed from frosty tombs
are awakened by the tap, tap, tap, of April's tepid tears.
And straightaway, snowdrops start sprouting;
simultaneously, sending shoots skyward.
Color counters the dullness of this dark day
as a Robin Redbreast abruptly appears,
defying drizzling drops of grey;
with its crimson chest, ornately on display.
The Ides of March, cruel fate’s Spring Cleaning Day,
when solid walls collapsed around his head:
The day his trusted friends left him for dead.
Once mighty kingdoms fall, dreams burn today.
Bull market's passed; today bears rule the fray.
Before the Reaper, the strongest bow their head.
What is Mount Everest's fate? A hill, eroded.
The world's crown runs as silt into the bay.
Soft Yin Chi hides its sharp teeth, bloody horns,
‘Ere Vishnu builds, Shiva must do his worst.
Before a sowing comes the field's demise.
And sunlight passes black before each morn.
In every blessing, this implicit curse,
as naught can grow if nothing ever dies.
3/15/16, revised 10/6/24
Italian/Petrarchean Sonnet
abbaabba cdecde
sooth said to Caesar
sire beware the Ides of March-
assassins martyr'd
Oh those cursed Ides of the 15th
they brought Julius Caesar death
the soothsayers warning unheeded
mamuralia chased beaten out of city
His clothes animal skins and rags
they set about this scapegoat with glee
hitting him with large wooden sticks
once he was driven out feasting began
All the while in natures ways
comes the madness of march hare
watch as they circle the fields
frequently stopping to box
All this to attract a mate
or is it just wind up their tails
be as may the sight one that stirs
and those mad winds bluster and roar
March arrives full of fury roaring displeasure
and soon is time to sacrifice the Ides Sheep
to bring forth Spring on the vernal equinox
and wave goodbye as march leaves like a lamb
This year the vernal equinox is not on my birthday but on the 20th
Vernal Equinox heralds in spring and the poor Mamuralia is an old man dresses in skins
making him a scapegoat traditionally beaten out of the city to kill off evil the 15th of march
is the date of Caesar s death as foretold to him by a soothsayer
The Ides of March
are no different than of October
just seven months older
and perhaps, a little bit colder.
And had Caesar only stayed away
from the Curia of Pompey
that day
he might have lived, perhaps, a little bit longer.
© October 15, 2015
She was here
There was a doorway
She filled it
(I posted this and found out one line did not rhyme, so I had to adjust the second limerick)
That the Ides of March we should beware
is a quote which is not really fair.
Shakespeare wrote it; it stuck
and it now means bad luck.
Of its meaning few folks are aware!
The Ides of March used to denote
the New Year, and so Shakespeare's quote
might make little sense,
but in his defense -
Ides occurred when Caesar they smote!
“The Ides” of ALL months simply means
the moon is a crescent, but beans
do folks mostly know!
new moons come and go.
The Ides fall in months’ in-betweens!
April 9, 2022 for Edward Ibeh's This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Beware the Ides of March he said
And soon thereafter he was dead,
How intuitive are they who know
How much longer they have to go,
Would you like to know the day
Or more precisely know the way?
I think not when thinking about it
The mystery doesn’t bother a bit.
written August 3, 2021
Crossing thresholds of blooms and dewdrops of glorious spring,
Toward autumn proudly walks season-bride with golden ring;
Her costumes, robes of ballet dancers, as per scenes, changes,
Facets of nature alter her charm to cosmic ranges...!
Scotching sun transforms mossy leaves, to golden-churns,
Clement breeze, once exited the stage, into storm-gust, returns;
Painful to bid goodbye to beloved trees, leaves linger,
Yet, get shaken off by now-twig-turning, dry-tree-finger...!
Constellation composes puzzled riddled strange stories,
Church-bells jingle mingling mysteries and histories;
Et-tu-Brute - one could hear Julius Caesar cry loud,
Senators encircle him, as though, for their goals, they're proud...!
Traces of moon gets gut-split; glowworm-stars glitter around,
Clouds, Indian widows in wild white, move, no safe paths found;
Master Craftsman pursues and persists painting scenes serene,
Brushes, disobliging, spill paints-mixes gaudy and sheen...!
Flocks of tribal nomads grazing on moss-grassland valleys,
Resemble ides-sheep of Jupiter; relishing rallies;
Peacock butterflies float, like goddess Anna in rose-hill,
In marriages of myths and truths, moods merrily chill and thrill...!
Harmonious chorus of sky and seas brings pertinence,
Parameters of perfection pave paths of permanence,
Paradoxes of joys, angst... it possesses plethora,
Ides-of-March! Not time! Not season! It's eternal era...!
28 March 2022
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Brimstone flutters by-
spring's arrival ,nigh
Lately, the hedges go unclipped
as apples lay rotting on the ground
This week is bleak, the birds don’t sing
No sun, no rains, but greyness
Even the churchbells didn’t ring
Have they become atheists
The bellman and the bearded dean
And all the congregation?
In times like this to breathe is sin
No promise of salvation
Can take away the truth it fakes
And like a stubborn stem
Grows through the slab, the truth condemns
The order of the damned
So atheism’s a way to go
Believe in politicians
They must continue this old show
Which you can call fictitious
But wasn’t it meant to be as such?
Just ask the God, if you
Don’t think he is disturbed too much
With millions in the queue
That stretches out through centuries
Dead people want to know
What were their lives about, if this
Was meant to be a show
Beware the Ides of March, in case
The warning comes in time
If there is still a time to waste
You doubt it? So do I.
The Ides of March, oh woe betide
Twas on this day that Caesar died
Stabbed by his double-dealing men
Remorselessly, time and again.
Twenty-three times the knives were thrust;
Take care therefore in whom ye trust.
09.04.2022
Bite Size Poem No.43 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Line Gauthier