#macbeth
I love you the way it should be
Instead you break me
I dream walking down the aisle
Singing like American idol
I thought i had love
But I had forbidden love
Across the heart
Of love, of soul
Through mind of thought
Through sea of wave
Through pain and loss
Of love of death
Seeking through eyes of tears
By singing the song of
I never knew what love would be
Like flying butterfly free
Scorching side to side
To find someone better than mine
To find peace like never before
And guide me back to the shore
The sudden of madness gotten crazy and lead me to death
The thought of losing someone hurts through the back bone
So decision has to be to die alone
With empty heart
Deep into the darkness of art
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 10:09 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Disney’s Macbeth
Upon the release of Joel Coen’s version
I want to see Macbeth in Technicolor
Almost Disney-ish, in cheery pastels,
With bright-lit halls and sunny fields of flowers
And maybe Annette as Lady Macbeth
And let Macbeth be a comely youth
With muscular hands that wield both sword and pen
An honest merry face that smiles with ease
Sweet words and penitent Aves on his lips
The world is well-lit ever since the ark -
It is the human heart that lurks in the dark
Feb 13, 2022
Feb 13, 2022 at 8:12 AM UTC
My sisters and I jest
That men never get over us.
We have been named
Muses, angels, succubi, leanan sidhe
But we are les belles dames avec merci
And that is their undoing.
Our breath has left them gasping
With unfilled lungs
We never meant to be their oxygen
But they drink us in like drowning men.
We didn’t ask for this,
But disarming, we are soft enough
For them to float in
Belly up, eyes to distant stars
Singing the sirens song that stirs in our veins.
Behind our teeth rests the love
The world has failed to give them till now
There are holds in the knowledge
that our fingertips find the hollowed spaces,
mother wounds, clefts where trust was carved out,
And they clutch our palms to staunch the bleeding.
We never asked for this,
They cherish the brittle changelings of us
until they are crushed in the coals of our eyes
Eggshell ideals, fragile as egos.
Blown by the sea wind in the strands of our hair
they are scattered, undone.
The distance drifts between, inevitable
And full they turn away to starve
We cut the mooring line
After one too many storms,
And search
For safer
Harbor.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 9:54 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Abraham Lincoln and Macbeth
After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well
-Macbeth III.ii.23
To imagine a modern president
Having a favorite Shakespearean play
Is not to imagine a president at all
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 7:59 AM UTC
__Three Scottish hags brew up a political storm in a...cauldron.__
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 6:15 PM UTC
The rule of king is lonely
Assassination makes the deaths impartial
Leaving the road to glory ******
but the riches are monumental!
Witches say I'm invincible
Was all this premeditated?
Invincibility?the thought is laughable!
Maybe this was fated…
The secret had been discovered
The murders avenged
With the guilt leaving you feel smothered
Oh how I've been challenged
At least the kingdom is ruled by one better than I
Tis a shame that I had to die
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 12:18 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
The king was but livestock,
given to the next in line.
His death was a tragedy,
but another arose from it.
chaos uprooted justice,
and bit by corrupted bit,
the monarch transformed.
A demon came from the monarch,
just as a saint had come from the king.
However, since the king was ill livestock,
the monarch would drop like a rock.
Hail Macduff!
Hail the one who hath slain
a most fearsome demon!
Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 11:54 AM UTC
"A little water clears us of this deed."
We wait and we wonder
If he will show.
He trended too soon, perhaps.
A sinus rhythm about to plateau.
"I have a score to settle,"
He said with his last dying breath.
Nevermind the hearsay,
We witnessed with our own eyes,
He dripped like blood.
And now we'll sleepwalk
With Lady Macbeth,
Looking over our shoulder
For any sound of his return.
A time of iniquity,
Reckoners by proxy.
Put them to bed,
Now they are dreams
Descending into madness.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 11:51 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
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
"She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
~Shakespeare, from 'Macbeth'
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
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.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and the blood and the black and the birds and the gags and the stew and the stewing and the hate and the cries and the wood and the prince and the tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and today.
Curtain
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
i think it's bad luck to say your name, too
when you introduced yourself, it was loud and you repeated your name twice (i smiled and said it back, a confirmation, a dream, a prayer)
and i started to fall, slowly
but i did also fall, clumsy as ever, as you walked me home and you laughed and carried me the rest of the way
and i started to fall, slowly, in love
with the idea of love, with the idea of power
and once i got a taste of what it felt like to rule, i couldn't stop breaking the rules
i was MacB, lusting and craving, and repeating your name at every chance i got, like a chant, like salvation
and when you said my name, i felt every laugh i'd ever laughed warm my body and sing until my ears were filled with kaleidoscopic pleasures
and then i hit the ground, too tired to run
and your name echoed through the glens and i was alone
and i felt the full effects of the Scottish hero's pain
and i drank
and drank
drowned
down
but every protagonist becomes the antagonist eventually, and you let me drop
and so i think your name is the cursed one
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
cursed and plagued and ...
whispered on the candy stained lips of ******** children,
just hoping that something bad will happen
i was one of them, testing the limits and toeing the line and waiting,
baited breath and excited eyes, for the "break a leg" to become more than just a saying for good luck
and maybe i pushed the envelope a little too far,
maybe the bard punished not the production but the girl with wild hair and a wilder grin, sending her the karma meant for lady mac herself
maybe i am that cruel woman
or maybe i am her fairer husband, because the weird sisters that predict my downfall are named Anxiety, Alcoholism, and Anger
i wish i had been superstitious as a child
(forwarding the chain emails and reblogging or ten years of bad luck didn't drive me to the cliff's edge)
because maybe i would be safe now
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Sometimes, through no fault of your own, you will end up ******
You'll get blood on your dress, blood on your shoes
blood in your hair, blood on the walls,
speckled on your lips and clinging to your eyelashes
copper in your mouth, rust under your fingernails
four perfect spatters below you
palms stained, bringing out your handprints
as if to identify that it is indeed you, covered in blood.
So you'll decide to restore yourself
and you'll resolve to wash it all away.
And as you scrub away your shame,
you'll look in the mirror
to see a woman with pursed lips
jewels heavy around her neck
brow dark and furrowed, concentrating
because she, too, is covered in blood.
You will wash your hands with her
and try not to look so pale
because the water is orange and your fingertips are white.
You will turn away from the woman with raw hands
and your palms will smell like lemons
and your eyes will be bright.
Your lips will be crimson.
You'll adjust your necklace as you leave.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
Lady Macbeth washed her hands
cleaner than Pontius Pilate
with a new improved, bio-enzyme
oxy-bursting, 99.9% germ-scouring
recommended by dermato-logists
scented with rose attar
oils from Arabia
and spermaceti soothing
unguents from long dead whales.
She’s going to the nail bar
for a manicure and application
of semi-permanent, diamond-
tipped, acrylic base-coated
in red blood enamel.
She’ll scratch
and etch rich tattoos
on her husband’s back
with every ****** he will shudder
with pain and delight
He’ll soon forget long, dark nights
bewitched by ghosts and ambition.
© M.L. Emmett
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC