Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                        When Caesurae Go Bad

The dramatic pause-dash that - holds its breath
Is meant to create a – sense of tension
For dramatic effect; that’s what they - say
John Wayne uses the - caesura a lot

But since neither writers – nor editors – know
How to employ the worthy – caesura
They just - shoehorn it in any old place
Dramatic effect even in a - recipe

Stop using those dashes for pointless pauses
And save them for really important - causes

storm clouds rising            somewhere up ahead
blossoms tossing              shadowed on the wind
skies are changing                  blue is running red
searching for forgiveness                    for our sins
in the darkness                         under forest cover
eyes that hide from hunters                 passing by
we hold these truths
                               clutched to us like our mother
we tell these stories hoping                they're a lie
raindrops splashing             fat upon the flowers
shaking leaves and          dampening the ground
summer's waking thunder              tolls the hour
what never has been lost            cannot be found
young buds open          now their time has come
senescent giants falling                       free the sun

"Caliban must have dinner."
Let him have first a bit of scansion
Of the vowels marooned to his feet
Along with the consonants washed ashore
By a called up mock storm
Inhabited by catalectic trochaic Trimeter, hexameter or pentameter
Name it !
This muse is his.
For his is the muse
This muse is his island
And every storm of hers is a beatitude
Passed on him by his  Sycorax.
So blessed is Caliban
For his is the musedom of light
This muse is a perfect antilabe
He has pampered her with caesurae
He has spoiled her with feminine
Stressed and unstressed syllables
Kissed her with iambic pentameter
Caressed her with hemistichs
A trochee here
A spondee there
Caliban is beatitude in scansion.
Blessed is Caliban
For his is the musedom of  light.

Sicily is the golden caesura of history,
Where the human poem is paused to hear
The exalted precipice of its own sigh.