Have you seen the world outside the window?
Come and let our curiosity find us;
Oh, there is so much to see out there, you know!
As the Time flies by, and the seasons pass.
Trees are dancing as the birds are singing,
Children of the Earth, dance and sing and play!
Celestial bodies above, glimmering;
All day and all night, all night and all day.
But despite the beauty, a storm there is.
Of thunder and lightning's lullaby,
Open your eyes and feel the morning bliss
Then shall you see the rainbow in the sky.
Glad I am for God has given me eyes—
The window of the soul, so splendid and nice!

I struggle to grasp the remains of Denmark’s warmth
As silent tears of grief run down my porcelain cheeks.
Each night grows colder in the emptiness of my bed,
The crown a deadweight.

Black fabric cloaks the kingdom,
Blending in with the grey clouds that gather in the sky,
Weighing down the crown,
Drowning everyone in a dark sea.

But I saw the face of my husband--
No, the face of a brother.
Yet he shares the same slanting eyes
The peaks on his forehead
And the curves of his lips.

That face washes away the pain in my heart
As he smiles with kindness that reflects that of the old King.
He warms the silk sheets of my barren bed
And shares the weight of the crown.

Now, white silk touches the hearts of Denmark,
A contrast to the grey clouds looming in the sky,
Lightening the gold of the crown,
Lifting everyone onto a bright cloud.

I close my eyes and my thoughts drift to dear Hamlet.
What a tragedy for him to lose a father
And it is my duty to give him one.

All that lives must die,
But my husband is not one life that must.

Light of my life,
The slings and arrows
Of outrageous fortune
Bloom a rose
In the deeps of my heart.

And so I came forth
But could not behold the stars.
The slings and arrows,
They trespassed upon my thoughts.

And I cried that I came
To this great stage of fools,
But it echoed loudly within me
Because I am hollow at the core.

That outward existence which conforms,
This inward life which questions
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece of.  

I don't exactly know
What I mean by that,
But I mean it.

Arm me against my troubles
With slings and arrows borrowed
From the backs of the naked and famous
Blind by blind but I ain't aimless
What's a crow to the shine
Dearest darling, love of mine
Take these arrows and give them to your enemies
But never forget they came from my own spine
So, let's become the thing that we hate most

Common, complacent, and unaware that the world has moved on
And we still can't see for the dust clouds our eyes and chokes the words in our throats
We did this to ourselves, we built our houses too tall, and too far removed, afraid to let anyone get too close

Give me back the words I gave you once, in a year long gone
I can hear the fire outside, and it feels like the sun is moving on
Can you feel the lethargy in the dark that comes

You would do well to learn the art
For love is more than sweet kisses and little sleep
Love is war and peace and all the uncertainty between
To be certain the only certainty is how much she will make you bleed

So arm me against my troubles
Slings and arrows and sleeves
Worn thin by time and hunger
My breath, abandoned, from under the table
I'm not dreaming anymore
No, stillness contrasts the flicker
Call me famous, call me nameless, call me anything but love

It's interesting being argued with to your face regarding getting your work on the market and published.  They are too kindly in my local poetry group at the library.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXLIX)


La, to my face, ere from a distance' pale
Voice bits and bytes denote, some worry hence
I'll be like mousy Dickinson, as whence
They urge me publish these fraught lines' detail,
Lest after Death seals that font in betrayl,
What **! but shall these perish sans defense?!
Come, let us now observe a winking sense
Of hallowed silence, shall we?  Have I bail?
Where Shakespeare trusted he'd be loved ah, fer
Was that until this earth be done? He knew
Him cherished face to face.  Besides, in poor
'Scuse we but parse his lines or lisp the crew
Of them sans knowing Will.  I'm not loved.  You're
Appreci'tive, and my loves:  I  love y'all too.

05Oct16

among the days
that happen to be nice,
there are the ones,
when I have to a-cry,
the days of loss,
the days of bitter sorrow,
that make less pleasant the tomorrow,
and, then, I pray,
and, then, I read Shakespeare,
becoming Romeo or Hamlet, or King Lear.
  by Ivan Petryshyn, USA
Іван Іванович Петришин, США

Unrequested,
Cloaked figures surround your little bubble,
Poking and probing your armor.
You shriek every time they attempt to penetrate
And they shriek back at you, startled and confused.

Unsolicited,
They follow you around,
Picking up your footprints just after you
Mark them on the ground.
They drop petals of dead roses behind in your place
To show that in the end, you can leave behind beauty
If you so choose.

“They’re actually quite pleasant,”
You think to yourself.
You look back at them on occasion,
And they simply mumble amongst one another in a lull murmur.
Content.
Like nomads without destination in mind;
Like dreamers without expectation to find.
“I wish I could be more like them…“ you ponder.

Finally,
You’re near.
You see the edge getting closer.
The vastness of the ocean crashes against
The stone walls beneath your feet.
You wiggle your toes aloft the sharp edge,
Just enough that you can still keep your balance.
You notice in that moment the figures are finally silent.
You turn around
And with complete composure
They bow their hooded heads in sympathy,
And you realize then that your thoughts
Are not a secret to them.

Throwing your arms in the air,
You let the breeze caress your every pore.
For the first time
This nakedness doesn’t feel defenseless.

You smile at your friends
As they wave goodbye,
And fall backwards toward the water just as you would a feather down bed.
You watch the sky expand above you,
And the figures free whatever petals they have left
into the wind like doves’ feathers.

Patron: "...And can you add the diced Hamlet to that omelette?"

Waiter: "Jolly good sir, and do you know if you'll be having dessert?"

Patron: "Oh yes, I'll have a strawberry Shakespeare."

Waiter: "Brilliant, your omelette will be out before you can say 'Ides of marshmallow'."

Patron: "That was dreadful and you know it."

Waiter: "Deary me, sir."

END SCENE

Shakespeare, gazing into a waning sky,
said that her eyes were nothing like the sun.
Collins, picking fruit from trees, said that she
is not the purple wind in the orchard.

To follow this long trend of un-blazoned
poetry, I want to share with the world
that you are not the Charlie Parker jazz
jumping from the mouth of a black Phillips

radio, nor are you the paper that I
am writing this first draft on, nor
the morning coordinate geometry
that puzzled me today (or maybe you

are). Even more so, you are not the moon-
light staining trees, the stack of 18th
century British literature in the study,
your grandmother’s painting in the dining

room. Nonetheless, you are you: masterful,
opinionated, understanding; a
beloved whose beauty is better left
unmentioned in some new age poetry.

you say you never gave me aught. i find this funny, because you gave me confidence before you gave me heartache, but both of them you gave to me. i try not to sit and wonder what if? what if i was there for you when you were at your worst? would you really have loved me?

nothing but late night whispers as misterwives covers that song about wendy.
wendy grows old, her window will close, and peter will still never grow up.

ready, set, stop. we don't go anywhere, although i'd love to go everywhere there is with you. i'll be a mermaid- my hair will be wet, my soul soaked in misadventure. i'll let you duck my head under for as long as you want, and if it kills me in the process, you can swallow these jelly beans whole.

my jelly bean soul will be with your gummy bear heart, and it will be pretty.
your smile is so bright it glows in the dark- i wonder where it's gone?

this ultralight beam is carrying me home. home away from home. home away from the heartache, and away from all of the things i lost when i thought i was in love with you. i lost a part of myself. it's still over where you are. singing songs i want to forget.

i've been spinning like a record, seeing you in the city, in the red of stoplights.
i once said i'd wait for you there but i'd rather float face down in the water.