Best Ophelia Poems
O luckless maid! such beauteous
blush with modest blandishments
did'st flash to woo a Prince
o'erthrown, in madness' grasp!
Still-born, ne'er meant to flourish,
true love was the hapless prey,
Polonius lay cold, extinguish'd
by the Dane's misguided sway.
It drove thee mindless, to a frenzy,
death thy only destination,
borne by rippling river's eddy
to thy final resting place.
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.
From my teenage daze
She was getting down to a guitar groove
She could rock and roll ( boy could she)!!
When her mom and dad raised her
'Bet they broke the mold
She was wearing cool black leather jeans
Just like a second skin
"Said Hi..My names Ophelia!
Wanna take a sawdust spin
Ophelia..asked me to dance
(did it..did it..did it)
That pretty little amber blonde
Put me in a black leather trance
I thought...Girl if you've got a mindset
To give my heart a thrill
Ophelia......Well I think I will!
Then she put her little satin hand in mine
The softest touch I had felt in a long time
I saw magic in her warm brown eyes
If it is really real
She might turn this sawdust into silk
Ophelia...asked me to dance.........
Protected by Broke Poets Insurance Inc.
I sing the songs of childhood
A forgotten time...
Before illusive fantasies of womanhood
Before hearing of the murder of my dreams
By the hand of my lover
Who demands of me
Things I cannot give
Forcing issues of loyalty
Between people I love
And a woman’s heart rends
Behind the curtain
Hidden concern bleeds to death
Overwhelmed
By the accusations
The violent demands
The questioning eyes
Slowly going insane
Wearing my mourning gown of pain
I sing
I dance
I twirl
Ophelia’s songs
Running through my head
Flowers in my hands
I dance
Traipsing towards….
The water’s edge
I wade in
Clothes and all
Looking for my cradle of solace
I lie back
Looking up at the azure sky
Songs of childhood
Of innocence lost
And heartaches won
A bird catches my eye
Soaring free
I stop singing
Slowly tilting my head back
The water covers my forehead
Nestles over my open eyes
Soothing me
Singing its own lullaby
A lullaby of childhood
Of happy times
Welcoming me
I push further back
And let the water
Surge into my open mouth
Through my nostrils
I drink it in
A moment more….
And I’ll be soaring free
I cough out water
Gasping for breath
I hear noises
A young girl crying
“Mama, Mama….breathe!”
A man’s arms are around me
Holding me to the side
Patting me on the back
As I cough out more water…
Spent
I lie back
And look into the sun
Close my eyes
I open my mouth
And sing songs
Songs of my childhood
I hear the young girl cry
I hear the man sigh
I hear the people around whisper
“She’s gone mad”
I sing
I open my eyes to search the sky
For a lone bird
Flying high
Singing….singing
Ophelia’s songs
Till my day turns into night….
For Anne Currin's Suicide Contest
August 2, 2013
I feel solidified
Captured in blue-green horizon
They are eternal and faceless
My lungs; brown paper bags deflating
My milk structures are curdling
There are tiny mouths taking microscopic airs
Aerated and heavy as oxygen in a stone sphere
Gaumless and watched by black-ochre shadows circling
Compacted as mud underfoot and crushed
By reaching hands exploring my hollow flesh
Taking me further down and circles of dust
Rosaries in waterlogged,
In blue moonlight where Lady Ophelia drifts
the whispered streams in winter's beauty, her eyes
reflecting starlight vaguely float and fade
quietly to grey.
As the breeze kisses her soft white breasts, she sighs
a zephyr to carry her to sleeping worlds
where soporific trees roam the joyful earth
and a goddess dreams.
The curve of her cherry lips that still the dark
waters of a Bardic heart as a poet
feasts at the perked teat of her inspiration
and suspires the breeze.
By starlit springs that let a bard sail rivers
to the shadow lands with flesh perfumed blooms
and perceptions of ancient dreams fall back to
slumber in her arms.
Ophelia had cancerous breasts
According to all of the tests
But old Doctor Kaiser
Was simply a miser
Who plundered the most treasured chests
O luckless maid! such beauteous
blush with modest blandishments
did'st flash to woo a Prince
o'erthrown, in madness' grasp!
Still-born, ne'er meant to flourish,
true love was the hapless prey,
Polonius lay cold, extinguish'd
in the Dane's misguided sway.
It drove thee mindless, to a frenzy,
death thy only destination,
borne by rippling river's eddy
to thy final resting place.
"No more romance" she said
A seductive brunette trying to hide her age
And get what she wants
Come as a guest
Leave as a paramour
It's not my fault
No, no, no way. Look at her
She have already ransomed her fault
Notorious and lonely at the same time
I believe in godesses, yeah I do
Oh my God, you are real
I see you every time I get lonely
You are everywhere
Past don't want to let me free
Freedom is my inspiration
I want to be free
I want to recover my inspiration
No more one-night stands just creation
Lying to myself
Maybe I should change my name to Ophelia
It sounds so enchantingly
I believe in godesses, yeah I do
Oh my God, you are real
I see you every time I get lonely
You are everywhere
Past don't want to let me free
I feel afraid and I call your name
I love your voice and your dance insane
I hear your words and I know your pain
With your head in your hands and her kiss on the lips of another
Your eyes to the ground and the world spinning round forever
Asleep in the sand with the ocean washing over
Asleep in the sand with the ocean washing over
Asleep in the sand with the ocean washing over
I believe in godesses, yeah I do
Oh my God, you are real
I see you every time I get lonely
You are everywhere
Past don't want to let me free
umbrella graveyard
broken spines, dead in the street
hurricane hits hard
We are currently in the grips of the aftermath of hurricane Ophelia - there has been some damage on our little Island but so far everyone is safe although there have been several fatalities in Ireland where the storm seems to be centered:-(
10/16/17
She was taken away from me,
At such a young age,
We were just newlyweds,
When she fell deathly ill,
To an unknown sickness.
The doctors could do nothing,
But hope that the sickness would pass,
Each day; she grew frailer and sicker,
Till the sickness consumed her,
And she no longer could hold on,
And passed on that fateful night.
Till this day I still hear her,
Begging me between coughs,
To stop smothering her with her pillow,
Watching her squirm weakly,
Until she layed limp,
My hands were once so gentle,
Now that of a murderer.
I felt her heart give way,
Heard one last word,
Escape her muffled mouth,
As she sipped her last breath.
Now on this night,
She stands before me like a silhouette,
A horrid creature of decay,
Smelling of death,
With blackened eyes,
And blue peeling lips.
“My dearest Ophelia,
Forgive me” I cry,
Falling to my knees,
Seeing a sneer run across her lips,
As she blows ashes into my face,
Burning my eyes.
“Please I cry” as blood pours like tears,
Spilling from my dry throat,
Feeling my innards as they burn,
As my charred body falls,
Falls to the ground in ashes,
As I part this world,
Into my own hellish torment.
O luckless maid! such beauteous
blush with modest blandishments
did'st flash to woo a Prince
o'erthrown, in madness' grasp!
Still-born, ne'er meant to flourish,
true love was the hapless prey,
Polonius lay cold, extinguish'd
in the Dane's misguided sway.
It drove thee mindless, to a frenzy,
death thy only destination,
borne by rippling river's eddy
to thy final resting place.
ACT 1, SCENE 1
Opening night of a new West End Production called
‘Shakespeare: Ode to a Character’
Curtain rises
Enter BENEDICK (in full costume as Ophelia from Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’)
BENEDICK:
‘An Ode to Ophelia’
I have a heart,
Which is bound in its own chains,
Arteries crystallised in bleak light.
I want to love,
I want to be loved in return –
More than anything, I feel.
Walking alone,
The ache of an empty life can crash in,
Breaking your tongue,
Cracking like frozen words.
All I want,
Is to hear once the songs you sing,
To think you could love me,
Or even know who I am.
I would wrap my hands
In feathered garlands,
Flowered rings
That may decay with my dying heart.
But, oh god,
I know,
How you drowned in your elemental beauty,
How you collapsed beneath the patriarch.
In your sunken deathbed,
Hair betrothed without such wedded bliss,
Voice silenced in unspoken vows,
You shone like an icon and deity.
Goddess, Diana,
One soliloquy, one heartbreak, one funeral.
Lunar.
But how dare I,
Ophelia,
Ever compare myself to you.
(Exit)
My Lord, you dance between two Queens, confused
a mourning martyr and a morning dove
both cleaved of hope, of thought, of voice,
or so the multiples of men would think.
But I'm no less the babe, no more the witch
than what imaginings might trace your mind
I've overflown the mold you've cast me in
and altered all the fashions you've designed.
I've sinned, excusing flows of sinfulness
inscribing them in heart as boons of love
but, ah, the blade you've burried in my chest
I cannot wrest from in my vengeful bones.
I would exact a justice for his death
with your companion Madness in my soul.
'Tis you or I will die, but I can't live
to trip o'er bodies in my shadow's fall
and find you there, the face upon my heart
with your obsessions bleeding black at foot.
I could forever sponge the poison spewed
so long as lips of Hamlet smiled on me.
'Tis life of victim-hood I could endure
but I can't make a victim out of you.
'Tis not Ophelia, "sweets to the sweet" there,
not 'neath the feet of unlovables loved.
I dwell in hamlets between Life and Death,
companioned by a Hamlet's, earthbound vice
because I loved a Hamlet; madness sworn
a man romanced by madmens victory.
'Tis not Ophelia, drown in bitter pain
but mine own madness quelled, a victim claimed.
Reading Shakespeare, I used to smoke Ophelia’s garland for a better understanding: crow-flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples that liberal shepherds give a grosser name, but our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. Fingers caused hypnogogic hallucinations, daisies – hypnopompic ones. Alas, crow-flowers and nettles didn’t work, but on the plus side, it got me thinking whether predetermination is predetermined. Hamlet is just in time to throw drowning Ophelia an inflatable crocodile and they live long and happily together, having left Shakespeare holding the bag.
is there a free will
in a predetermined world -
that is the question