If you knew...
That the one who tore you in two, and
Made you
One with the earth,
And
The one who glues you,
Unites you, petal by petal,
Contributes to your happiness...
If you knew...?
Would you shed another tear?
To ponder or not to ponder - that is the question.
Is it a waste of my precious seconds, minutes, hours
To dwell on the questions that plague my mind?
I spend my waking and waning hours mulling and considering,
Crashing waves of question marks and possibilities
Dance around in my mind's eye, quelling the beast of sleep.
A skeptical girl's dream is a paranoid's nightmare.
The mind wanders the winding path, ways blockaded by the
immaturity of age's eye. Paths extend,
arms outstretched, sclera comes into view. I enter the land
of darkness and trivial trifles, numbers rapidly rising.
To observe then look away - oh what a gift.
The fluttering, juvenile gaze upon life offers a plethora of privileges.
A jovial demeanor, an emaciated ego, a blithe smile -
charities that are given to the majority.
The plights that plague me are mere afterthoughts
in the meandering mind of the thoughtless. Idealizing,
reading, puzzling reserve themselves for the
fragmented, slightly distorted. And now I must
ponder, what the slightly distorted
save themselves from.
“To be, or not to be?” asks Hamlet's soul,
a mind transfixed between the depths below
and life's thin, airy hold: this desperate role,
I still play; although, from despair I know
that meaning consists neither in wealth, pleasure,
nor youth, might, thought: not even in great power!
But in the feet of this poem's solemn measure,
the answer is found: 'tis life, by whose Flower
the gift of meaning is through your love's labor,
the purpose for which you were made and reborn.
In this fact, take heart and faint not nor waver;
but seize at last your life's prize unforlorn!
Though Hamlet ponders still the sleep of death,
I breathe the Flower's scent with life's every breath.
Hamlet, sharpen your sword of trust, for Macbeth is surely waiting.
The specter of ‘Civil war’ stalks the land and the ghosts of senseless violence, so long docile, have come to hollow-eyed attention.
Our cauldron was filled with innocence, as the ever-thirsty succubi require, the glory of war is being shaken, not stirred and the betrayal will be served as quick and cold as steel.
#chefskiss
In that hamlet sweet, where dreams take flight,
Beneath the canopy of day and night,
With each season's change, a new delight,
Where joy and sorrow intertwine, in their might.
Spring breathes life into the earth's embrace,
Summer's heat, a fervent chase,
Autumn whispers secrets, leaves interlace,
Winter's frost, a tranquil grace.
"He sung his 'didn't he, danced he did',
In rhythms of life, where moments bid,
For women and men, in love amid,
Their souls entwined, their spirits hid.
They reckoned not of anyone's stand,
But danced along to nature's hand,
They sowed their nay, they reaped their yea,
Under sun, moon, stars, and rain's array.
For in this hamlet fair, where hearts entwine,
Where myriad bells in the breeze define,
Each soul finds solace, each spirit fine,
In the rhythm of life's grand design.
:: 02.21.2024 ::
“To be, or not to be?” asked Hamlet's soul,
a mind transfixed between looming limbo
and life's thin, airy hold; this loathsome role,
philosophers and poets have played (though
some now sleep). Not wealth, nor the lap of pleasure,
nor thought, strength, health, youth, nor unbridled power,
nor in the feet of this poem's solemn measure,
can be found the answer: life's but a flower,
a precious gift, that lives for a short time.
Still, enjoy its frail beauty and brief glory
while it's here, for in life all that's sublime
and dark in this world is just transitory.
None can say for sure if the sleep of death
is g'ntler than life: so, cherish every breath.
friendship, madness, revenge... what is existence? --- valuable values
My Sweet-Candid Ophelia
Hamlet did loveth your fairness yet frailness
You showed him and the World that Love's pure through your playful kindness
The sweet haunting of your departing has taught us a happy yet bittersweet lesson.
William did giveth you a mercy ending for all the pain in the world.
You'll forever remain in Hamlet's heart
For which you're bounded in eternity
Amen
Post-Script, Love XO Isaiah A. Asangalisah.
The pretty Swiss hamlet was alive with people this morning.
It was the first trade fair of the spring and there was a children’s parade.
This hamlet was bursting with people dressed in native costumes.
No one was wearing a mask, and everyone seemed to have a joyful smile.
Is this a magical place? I wondered, sure that it must be.
I stripped off my hated mask and began to dance to the music.
I could not stop laughing when a man ran up to me and swung me around.
No one noticed I was insane with happiness, enjoying a marvelous balmy day.
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.
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
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
Life of a hamlet dame is,
Akin to a caged warbler...
As it's wings are clipped
So,is the dame's pin...
Confabulating with a lad
Is a sin...
As the warbler sings for freedom
Through the bars of the rages...
So,the dame dreams of freedom
Through the bars of the cases...
As the caged warbler is ignorant,
About the joy of freedom
So,is the hamlet dame...
To see, or not to see, that, too, is the question:
Whether ’tis happier to hail heartless happenstance
With resigned reality, or designed denial,
Twice succored by seductive self-hypnosis—ay, there’s the flub!
For what follies would such fogged perceptions fashion,
And ought not fierce defiance fade if sense has flown?
Thus vanity, that shifty, false defector,
Binds cowards, all, to say we’d sagely see,
But seeing we’ve imbibed its boozy blindness,
In vain we half-close eyes, shake spears, exist.
In the Dane's
Tormented soul
Expectation waited for nightfall
And nightfall for the apparition
Of a noble ghost.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2013.
30/10/18
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