#caliban
"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.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:28 AM UTC
.
Though my boat is tossed
high upon these crests,
I fear not the deep sea
where the sailors souls rest.
Cast adrift, alone to float,
my mother Sycorax had planned.
But lo! I reach sanctuary
and dance ecstatic on the sand.
My grotesque form I treasure
but loneliness soon must end.
Yes! A monster I might be,
but Caliban needs a friend.
Paradise is mine and ripe.
Behold! A kingdom and a home!
The sun blisters all day long,
oh Muses why am I so alone?
“Hush boy! Careful of thy wish,
the scheme is so much grander.
For Prospero prowls the island
with his witch daughter Miranda”.
Run ugly Caliban. Run away.
Disappear, you must be brave.
For the Wizard has loosed Ariel,
your wretched body to enslave.
The girl holds you enchanted,
with promises of fair romance.
Feel her pull puppets strings,
watch her make You dance.
Oh Caliban! What darkness befalls,
a prisoner tithed with no trial.
Yearn, dear boy, for isolation
and the loneliness of your Isle.
© Pagan Paul (28/02/17)
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC