#ladymacbeth
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Except for the title none of this is mine; the direct quotation following is from Shakespeare:
Jill Macbeth
…Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s *******
And take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, “Hold, hold!”
-Macbeth I.v.41-62
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Macbeth, by William Shakespeare
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 12:22 PM UTC
Judgment, misunderstandings, self-protection,
all weapons of mass destruction:
wounding others and ourselves,
with each thought and resulting action.
Lady Macbeth knew this,
why did we not heed her justice?!
Warning bells clanging,
freeing us to step onto a new precipice?
There's blood on my hands,
every time I don't trust and understand,
but think I know it all,
and make my many, many demands.
Perfectionism has been my cleansing balm,
but, in the end, it's just caused more harm —
Relearning is my matrix,
continuously transforming and claiming calm as my healing balm.
Feb 3, 2024
Feb 3, 2024 at 8:13 PM UTC
My life may have been taken from me
My names just a shadow of another
But these hands can still hold a knife
And take a man’s life
I can crown myself
And become my own god
Of blood, of sacrifice, of vengeance
And if I fall
Let it be by my own hands
Let them them slit my throat
And let no man even think
Of touching me
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
Do i dare speak of him?
The fie which corrupted the soil of our Inverness?
T'was a dream conjured deep in my heart, darkened.
One might say, it was thy hand that grasped the dagger
Yet thy refuse to perceive it so.
Refrain me from the sweetness of Hope's spiteful tongue
Let not it take my naked frailities, my valour.
T'was not my vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself and falls on th'other.
Though his eyes spoke of his intent, he could not bear the ****** dagger himself.
I pity his fragility, his virtues clear yet no more a man than i.
Too full is he of the milk of human kindness. I hath unsex myself, to therefore bear the fruit of Cawdor.
Unsex me i say? Strip me of this pity. Hie thee, sightless substances enter my home and make me fell, the golden round is merely a breath away.
The Sun shall not see me as it wakes, soon I will no longer be heat-oppressed.
Macbeth does ****** sleep, and so shall i.
Hurry, sweet equivocator.
The guilt spilt stains my skin, as does thine.
I had liv'd a blessed time, yet now there's nothing serious in mortality.
The hell-fire spits at my feet, yet never reaches my heart.
Oh, torture it is, hell-gates open not.
Must i stand by, licked by the flames of Beelzebub yet never truly entering?
Oh woe is me.
My mouth is bitter, the taste of my near'st of life cold.
I see no need to wail, alas the time has come for the devil to cast me.
Please't be readily and alight.
God plead for this to be my final night.
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
Okay, yeah, sure, a little domestic strife
A resume written with a big ol’ knife
But if you want to get ahead in life
Even a king should listen to his wife
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
Dunno why, but I've wanted to write this for days...the first lines, that is.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCVII)
Macbeth's wife wrung her hands, to then bewail
The blood which nary washing could fr'intents
Clean of that stain. I've wondered lately whence?
That's all. The coven's three hags' shrill detail
In howling incantations like to scale,
Erst wont to ring thus in mine ears for sense
And eerie visions of wild spectres thence
Too ghastly for my taste, could haunt sans bail.
Tis just her cries naught can assuage which stir
Vague questions I maunt pin down. If I do,
Where will they end? Her failure as it were
To cleanse the clinging bloodstains, if we knew,
Could we find aught forgivness? If in tour
I do not preach the Scriptures, I'll e'er rue?
21Mar19c
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
Come dear night,
My veil from all the
Dreadful tales of the world
As the sun spirals down
I welcome you with open arms.
Lie with me
Beaneath the moon
That’s not the least
Ashamed to spy on our
Little meeting.
The silence
Left in the wake of dead
Seems to be our piece,
Our cue for the ball
That didn’t happen till yet.
Perfect twirls—
I can’t help but
Feel your loneliness as comfort
To me ;
The night and I —
Perfect companions.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC