Tho' not with a dagger in the library
nor candlestick in the conservatory
someone done the dirty deed
and yet of bodies none were found
perhaps the evidence had been concealed
interred deep down underground
so no one's doing time
it was eventually revealed
for the heinous crime
of thuggery and skullduggery
terrible as it may be
where the skeletons are buried
only the gravedigger knows
and after all allegedly it was purportedly
merely a murder of crows
Categories:
yorick, bird, death, fun, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
When old friends awake
I have lost my voice totally, not even a whisper
I pretend to stay on stage lift my left arm pretend there is a skull in my palm
“Is this you Yorick? It's difficult to tell in this night
so dark” Yorick, comes out OK, but the line disappears. Behind me, a theatrical murmur: “ I knew him well.” Turning around, and there, disappearing in the glare of the glorious sunlight flooding the flat
I sensed my old friend Tom.
His literary hero was Shakespeare and recited him
whenever we had drinks on the table.
I met him in Algarve, he was a semi-retired actor but sometimes had a job in clubs as an entertainer.
He had tried in vain for me to act in his revue, in a comedy role.
Well, if he saw me now he would have laughed.
Categories:
yorick, absence, allusion, anger, bangla,
Form: Blank verse
In my time I looked at my hands and I understood:
I resemble my mother.
Life flows out from my joints and comes back to itself through my fingertips,
according to the season. I juggle with life, I give it and take it back.
Either I keep my hands in prayer, or I place them on the bare ground,
I am just like her.
Yorick died to me not so long ago.
He was gentle and subdued in the hands of Hamlet
and it was him looking back at me from the mirror of Mary Magdalene.
From the smoke of my cigarettes, little black spiders appeared
between my fingers and I smashed them one by one...
but today they are resurrected, sadly jolting on the dirty floor.
I did not know that even they can come back to life.
Today I speak to Yorick's son, whilst through the pulse of my fingers
yesterday's sun still passes towards tomorrow:
you too, your Kindness, you are alike your father.
Categories:
yorick, parents, philosophy, spiritual,
Form: Free verse