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Link Details for: | Shakespeare |
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| Link ID# | 152 |
| Link URL | http://janenkorth@cox.net |
| Submited By | Zacharia R. Korth |
| Added On | Sun_Nov_28__2004 |
Description:
Bill Shakespeare and I move on by The tended gardens in Westbury Riding on a drunken donkey, we ran Out of water four days ago, so we all Are drinking cheap wine and now Three asses pass by the briar, only the Animal able to walk as we can hardly Even read, he asks what my words intend And I can only reply that they are for the Readers to identify with in a personal manner “Strike”, was the word I used while whipping the Beast of burden who can no longer feel the sting, numb My heart often feels the same, Bill refuses to understand Why an audience should be inclined to read into the written “But you should see her eyes”, repeat in a warm coma, he chuckles Finishing a sonnet to lost loves and setting suns, digging a quill into my back I can feel every word as he holds my waist with one arm and fumbles With parchment and pen with the other, as a mouth pressing against A pair of new lovers lips, the passion overwhelms the senses, a warm coma wonderfully Lost, the soft yellowing lights dance reflections on the Thames ahead, home soon Finally he speaks, crossing his T’s, “I understand young man, muses can see Through the eye of needles”, adding for some reason that he is a Jew or Gypsy I feel it’s time to stop in more ways than one I cannot relinquish her face from my mind’s path as we wind on the West Bank, and we’ve been going for days so I decide To get off the animal and lead it and the poet in a lazy crooked lone, but at Least I’m walking on my own two feet the ache on the Soles is easier Than the pain above, “Please stop rhyming”, clamors the Playwright, he’s Trying to think of a better think of a better ending to comedies and tragedy Maybe I suggest we should just all take an intermission and meet in the dark Corners of the theatre and converse awhile, the show will go on even if We decide not to return for the final act hand in hand we can cross The Vauxhall Bridge as the curtain falls as gentle as the light rain, in The dawn we can reach a Buddhist temple and smoke and drink midnight Coffee, glances of yearning swinging like a pendulum, arms across shoulders Like a loose pearl necklace, conversation warmer than tea The fog lifts as we rise to our feet for a stroll in circles, looking down At our watches only to remind each other the destination is only in the round Silk cogs replace passing of tender moments, the tick and tock and linen springs, Long and quick circles time a dance when the arms of are so often apart, remember We only have a minute when we cant tell each other from another Your small hands taken in mine, five past one, three fifteen, midnight And the beginning of another day with you, count the hours To get lost in the seconds, Shakespeare might not agree but I don’t write for Queens, I write for a women who makes men kings |
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