"ado" poems
I just had the silliest wish.
I want to drop everything right now,
and play video games
that sounds so great right now.
Just me,
a can of soda,
the tv,
controller,
and a couple games.
I wanna play all night,
until the flash from my tv seems like lightning.
Create crime,
stop crime,
**** zombies,
and play football
on my x box.
Sounds pretty good.
Pull an "all nighter"
I love video games,
so
without further ado,
its time to play
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
burn the light of fire
and wax the ears of injustice.
chide the moon
and bid ado to the reckless sun.
count the blessings of misfortunes
and wave verbs in the air--
breathing the hopeful breaths of married sandals
Label the pains of a billion rain drops and fawn the feathers
of a nightingale over the glory of failed
triumphs known as yesterday.
break the hands of a wristwatch and make a ******* of time--
for through the God in Satan was how Earth was won.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Hip hop. Equals art stop. That crude **** stopped musical fusion
Right in its tracks.
When it first landed, it was still music with a lotta spittle flying.
Not naming names. I listened to a lot of it.
Then Gangsta rap hit. Oh ****
Cant accuse me of blind judgment, I still check it out from time to time
How do you say.Get diverse mud flappers. Know the history.
learn to play an instrument and read it so you can write it. Then come back an see me.
Who am I?.
John Q public.
Pavlov's dog.
Tin Pan Ali.
Long Tall sally.
Sachmo. Scratch less.
Yard-bird.
Donald Bird.
Stubborn ****
Stuff out there is weak as thrice used tea bags. And cost more to get unless you got
a peg leg and a parrot ******** on yer shoulder.
Lyrically, man my six year old says more about less with **** left over. What?
Flame out digitized No talent constructs that make me wanna hurl, url give a dog a bone.
Tin eared, tone def hoochies and synthetic cool cats. Not to mention the rough neks.
Looking like they pooped their pants six times and forgot how to belt up.
There are some real deal talents out there but it is like pickin peanuts out ****
After disco died. Yes I said disco. It has been a circle **** in the cemetery after dark. Naw mean.
But I digress.
.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
i.
Mine admiration for her
Daily doth beam;
Hour's passeth by, with meteor shower's aloft the Sky's
I'll awaiteth a million year's for mine queen.
ii.
In mine sleep, betwixt mine dream's
No ado shalt get in between, none evil, nor fiend's;
Laughter and light, in struck night's, angel polite
Amour in flight, wherein all is right, crystal gleamed.
iii.
I'll dye the scene, a daffodil coloration
I'll be here mine sweet, I'm not leaving, I'm patient;
On other planet's, or nation's, wherever I shalt be
I promise mine lass, mine half, I'll be waiting for thee.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
The Riot Began on a Sunday Evening
My dearest kin, how deceiving
shout, scream, taunt
Shout. Scream. Taunt.
SHOUT! SCREAM! TAUNT!
Ablaze with yells
Bank money, In-laws from hell
Little draw-backs, taxes of life
It kills them, it murders every night.
It grew and grew
Drizzle to Hurricane
Dazed, bruised embrace
I, myself, a teenage girl of sixteen,
I remained curled in the comforter, cotton was my security.
Laying down by the side of shadow
I whimper and wonder
My tiny boy, my tiny love,
He remains as lonely as I
The bedroom is far from escape
I may be used to walking the desert alone
But my little love, he remains unknown.
And for that first night, millionth life,
I rise.
My movement ripples nothing
But my conscience gaping
Death mission death mission death mission
I refuse to sink.
Pitter patter against the stony floor
My footsteps whisper, but they do not stir.
My dearest kin, how deceiving...
I slip into his life, desiring to sooth his mind
"My love, my love," I coo.
He responds without further ado.
"Geetika?"
I desire a cry when I hear this soft, soft, kitten-like
My boy, my boy, my boy.
I prepare to face PTSD
But all I face is a dream within a nightmare.
"Did you know I got thousand points on fruit ninja this evening?"
I blink.
And blink.
He hasn't noticed a single thing!
They say his specialty is his curse
But I am thanful,
Because he has not heard!
My boy, my boy!
He remains oblivious
My dreamer, my dreamer!
Out of touch of reality,
My little baby.
Numbers and points and games engulf his mind
So consumed
So unaware
But I AM SO THANKFUL!
He hadn't noticed a single thing, my boy my boy, my dreamer...
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 4:35 AM UTC
Defining Lego Moment? What is that, I don’t own one!
Life growing up was unacceptable – it was chemical and dispensable
My life has never been a bed-and-breakfast - early childhood memories got me ill and susceptible
Tryin’ to find a good early childhood memory is like NOT passing “the test”, because I wasn’t in class. So I ask, what’s next?
Defining moments were replaced by worries and doubts, fears and shouts
My, oh my, why couldn’t I have been brought up in someone else’s house?
I’m just me. So why can’t anyone see I’ve got dreams I want to turn into reality?
I know, maybe I’m adopted! Oh, I could only wish that I belonged to a different home
So who knows, maybe I’m supposed to grow old in a world where survival is at the core of my bones
Future me, I hope that you see, I’m not like them, nor do I ever want to be “like them”
-----------------Fast forward to today ---------------------
I thank GOD for the life I was given and the road that was driven
I’m here because of those dreams which started out as fears - I’m what I am because of those years
I know that I wouldn’t’ be here if it wasn’t for those days of dysfunction and tears
I’m at a junction in my life - I’ve realized that my unction in life is an exponential function that shines like a bright light
My tears have been replaced with people who are sincere and true
I no longer have to worry about the black and blue, now I can simply wave ado…
So I chose to become not what I saw, but what I knew was right in my heart. I leaned on God and learned from stressful nights that choosing the road less taken was all part of this plight
And here we are today….
Now, what does this say, about me?
It says that I’m a child of Destiny, not a child of Disney
It says that I’m a child of God not a child of the Devil
It says that I am…
Predestined presently, sensibly created even though I didn’t come from the best pedigree...
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
LOUE LABOURS WONNE
( for Kyle and Laura )
we have
as Shakespeare says
"...neglected time..."
like all lovers we
lost in the kiss
eclipsed the hours
that strive to contain
us leaving Time
to sulk
tapping a toe
waiting upon us so
the world can continue
but ha - do we care
we care - not
for the ticking of the clock
and all earthly what nots
our souls
gone AWOL
our laughter
staining the air
like music we
but away "...away
the scene begins
to cloud..."
and leave these lovers
to do without much ado
what they
will
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
There was once, a girl called Srividya
who ended conversations with a "see yea"
and sometimes with, "Don't wanna be yea"
but had a gentle heart like Mamma mia!
She took it in her head to write
which gave her friends a fright
But, vidya in her heart, was tight
to somehow pour her mind and write
Words from her heart, upon the paper, fell
they came in a tumble; they came pell-mell
when they fell in place, her story, they did tell
and those read said in their hearts, Aawll eezz well!!!
A persistent Vidya never gave up hope
and found some more, when she ran out of rope
She took inspiration from the divine Pope
and in her works, introduced a little operaish soap
Day after day, dawn after dawn
Little srividya wrote like a fawn
She said to herself, lighting the midnight candle on
'Course you can write; you just need to COME ON!
For her words, she used the iambic pentameter
But her cruel friends said, "eyyy, podhum paa peter!"
Her consistent efforts bore fruit; her blog was published
seeing her beautiful works see the light of day, she felt accomplished
Oh you might wonder, what does this tale tell
what is the idea, I'm trying to sell
without much ado, let me just say
A little encouragement goes a long way!
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 5:42 AM UTC
Wow, what even is this?
Terrible, terrible.
Why do you even bother, it’s no good
Thanks, now get out.
I admit I’m not the next Frost
I may not even be the next anyone.
So, without further ado, I’m sorry.
I apologize.
I’m sorry Blake, Burns, Wordsworth.
I’m sorry Poe, Frost, Ginsburg.
I’m sorry Plath, Petersen, Bremer.
I’m sorry Church, Winter, Dychkowski.
I don’t measure up, I don’t even rhyme
Selfishness is my reason for this
Feelings on paper and thoughts in obscurity
All written without form, no scheme
Is it real if it doesn’t make sense?
I’m not stopping, no, I’ll persevere
But I offer up these apologies to those who are poets
Somehow I got labeled with you
Somehow I ended up here.
Poetry. My one stay. An escape I can always turn to.
I’m sorry.
My apologies.
Forgive my excuse.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Spoon is car yellow air,
Taste the run run bare.
Lie, lied, liar, stare,
Swoosh, arr... I eye dare.
Seven ate nine,
Do you want green legs and lamb?
Stop pew pew mue mu ahh.. ****
I am not a cat but a mue mu ahh... ****
Why are you still reading this crap?
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
Like Falcons, Kestrels and Hawks
They swoop low to look and stalk
Holding breath for silence sakes
Looking for gullible easy prey
Talons around the throats of the genteel and shy
Uncaring of flowing tears, they make them cry
Recalling a sunny day so bright
When clawed and swooped in delight
Not knowing the heart that would break
That day, piercing ties did penetrate
Learning others spirits would wound
As the Falcon made his way around the night for doom
As his blackness did loom
All were hurt, tears were shed
Face after face he did skim
Heart rending cries that were abhor
For them no tears no more
Never spoken to again, they might
the evil kin do they despise
Torment and cruelty they do throw'
Gnashing one's teeth thinking about ado,
Bruises of blue they carry, bleeding of heart
A cold sweat trickling down the spine, apart.
Take away the face oh please
leave life alone, let all be in peace
Pain and heartache that created, O' bemoan
Saying and caring, oh no just want to be left alone ...
For the uninitiated, lonely hearts
Lending tears of sorrow, leaving soul debased
Romance here, a wild goose chase
Holds so many as the Falcons swoop again ...
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
My friends I did not want to be,
With you, I needed, here with me.
The words I said, misunderstood,
I'd take them back, I wish I could.
We can't get up without a fall,
Maybe we will, by autumn call.
Bookmark in place, I bid ado.
With these last three words, I love you.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
BY; ELVIN ADO
SIMULA PAGKAMUS-MOS PAGKAKAALAM KO AY SA LANGIT LANG MAKIKITA,
PERO SA LUPA’Y PWEDE RIN PALANG MAKITA,
KAYA HALINAT BASAHIN ANG AKING TULA,
TUNGKOL SA ISANG ANGEL NA PINADALA NI BATHALA SA LUPA.
DAPIT HAPON, NAGLALAKAD MAG-ISA
SA LUGAR KUNG SAAN PURO KAHOY ANG MAKIKITA,
TAHIMIK , LUNTIANG PALIGID ,MGA IBONG NAGSASAYAWAN SA SANGA
NA NAKAKABIGHANI SA MGA BILOGAN KONG MATA,
MGA HUNI NG IBON NAGPAPAIGTING NG TAINGA,
PERPEKTONG LUGAR PARA ILABAS ANG MGA PROBLEMA.
TINGIN SA KANAN ,TINGIN SA KALIWA,
HANGGANG SA NAHAGIP ANG HINDI PAMILYAR NA MUKHA,
NAPAKA-AMONG MUKHA NA TILA BA ISANG DIWATA,
NAPAKO ANG MGA MATA MULA ULO HANGGANG PAA,
KARIKTAN NA SA BUONG BUHAY NGAYON LANG NAKITA,
MAGULONG ISIP AY NAPALITAN NANG KUNG ANONG SAYA,
PAA’Y DI MAPIGILAN LUMAKAD MAGISA,
PATUNGO SA ISANG PRINSESA NA NGAYO’Y NASA HARAP KO NA,
SARILI’Y DI MAPALAGAY KUNG BAKIT IBA ANG NADARAMA,
KABOG SA DIBDIB AY IBANG-IBA.
NGAYON AY KAYLAPIT NA NAMING DALAWA,
BIBIG AY BIGLANG NAGSALITA ,
AT LUMABAS ANG KATAGANG ANGHEL KABA?
SIYA’Y NAPATINGIN AT NAKITA KO ANG MAPUPUNGAY NIYANG MATA.
MALA ANGHEL NA TINIG NA LALONG NAGPAANTIG NG KABA,
ANO BA TONG NADARAMA PAGIBIG NABA,
TILA BA SILI NA KAY BILIS MADAMA,
MGA LUNGKOT AY NAPALITAN NANG SAYA.
SA UNANG PAGKAKATAON UMIBIG ANG MAKATA,
PERO ISANG SAGLIT DUMILAT ANG MATA,
NAPAGTANTONG LAHAT AY PANAGINIP LANG PALA,
AKALA’Y LAHAT AY TOTOO NA SA ISANG IGLAP AY NATAPOS NA.
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 6:16 AM UTC
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope -
She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope,
And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
The stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.
Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire
Where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
Where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
Whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
Though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: “her age? a sweet 16,
With child, ***** her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.”
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
In limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
And all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
Which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
Neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -
“She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
But Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire -
Beyond the nave, a gravelled grave, the final Rectifier”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
Lamentation; infelicity through neurotransmitters
Passing fleetly; swift but disturbed
Grids of brainwaves for the degraded
Overhead LED view is negroided
Chapter 1 Migraines;
A klaxon that grains into migraine
From there on out, strolling convulsion lane
Deriving from deception; antibodies start to lead loosely
Throe after throe I choose not to fuss
Laceration in hemikrania is conversing with the rest of my body,
Frequent as days turn nightly
I host the severe megrimly
Chapter 2 Vomiting;
A horendous bile builds up in my throat
Moaning like a ghoul; I banish the gloats
Disgorging from nothing, Heaving and heaving the dry
Although I force myself not, all the nosh turns into emit rye
Vital fluid very crimson soon came
From the cranium, I dislose, head pain
Frequent as the waves harsh blows
I host a ***** hose
Chapter 3 Tumor;
A neoplasm underneath I've found out
Unvisible but there; my flesh will start swelling undoubt
Below I feel like a mutant
All putant and disformed
Like globular liquids dripping from sewage waste
As long as I can still haste
Crescendo and surge won't ado
Frequent as traffic builds a rush hour
I host a cyst that is sour
Chapter 4 Deaf;
An absense of all frequencies
I daze everso daily;
Feeling like an earless statue; sound unaccompanied
Missing the wind's howls that ululate,
Clamors and bellows that spoliate
I can't sight the same verbiage
Without sonancy to inflicit, I see one big mirage
Frequent as birth enfolds
I host a soundless toll
Chapter 5 Brain Cancer;
A malignant fate told today
Disease spreading like a machine,
Programmed to enquire all it knows
A gruesome and hateful dose;
Withering casually away
Grown apart of, I'm the prey
As we hunt the beasts'
An invisible naked eye is poaching
Frequent as a house infested
I host a cancerous clothing
Chapter 6 Death;
A termination soon to unfold
I am as finished and ruined as story told
Biological function ending
Senescence through spending
User maat I haven't seen all wanted
Alas I am greatful for what has been daunted
Frequent as a death anew
I host a dissolution
My evolution; through.
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
I should write a villanelle right now,
without delay—no more ado will do—
I would, except I can’t remember how.
Indeed, my meter mastery would wow,
And always rhyming perfectly would woo—
I should write a villanelle right now.
I bet that I could even court a cow
With deft command of each and every moo—
I would, except I can’t remember how.
Soon, I’ll lose my grasp on “thee” and “thou,”
And I’ll be barely left with “me” and “you”—
I should write a villanelle right now.
But first, maybe I’ll try to find some chow.
I could make a hearty soup or stew—
I would, except I can’t remember how.
Before I storm the stage to take a bow,
Uncertain if I’ll get a cheer or boo,
I should write a villanelle right now—
I would, except I can’t remember how
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
You all know how I died,
And I do not.
But I hope it was a fantastic
Spectacle of how to make your heart stop.
I hope I died flying backwards
in a crimson ball of flame,
Or fighting off a tiger
that never could to tame.
I hope I died with a smile on my face,
Beaming from ear to ear,
Or laughing so that everyone around
Could hear.
I hope I died doing something
To which my mother always said “No”,
“But if we don’t try,
How will we ever know?”
I hope I died not waiting for
Air to no longer suffice,
Lying in a bed with a tube
In every orifice.
I hope you did not let me age
And forget you,
Because I would be
Filled with regret too.
So I hope it was a spectacular expression
Of more than just existing,
I hope they oohed and aahed while
I flew through the air a-twisting.
And I can see some of you are grieving,
yet I know not why,
Because this is a celebration of
Life having been lived
And not a sombre lullaby.
So fill your glasses,
Cups and jugs,
And let’s see a smile on those
Ugly old mugs.
There’s a lesson too be learned,
and that is clear to see.
So without much further ado,
“Here’s to me!”
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
the man nearby on the train clacks his laptop offensively
like the annoyance of noisy writers in school exams
when I was stultified by writers block
I wonder what the black girl would taste like
passengers feed their fatness with crinkly cellephane food substitutes
did you have a good weekend?
conversation openers start to chorus
corporate cockwombles
talk in jargon tongues
as they sell their souls
to white shirt organisational ambition
common sense takes a back seat
in the street car of Progress
there's talk of profit and effiencies
from men who never made their wives moan
there's talk of scalability and security
from those who know nothing of flexibility and risk
there's talk of innovation
from those whose personal best
is a smart phone
have you seen the latest?
what do you think?
hey, that's what I think!
we must be brothers!
in a cozy co-ordinated mediocrity.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
I'm not here to leave a legendary impression,
these poems are merely syntactical confession,
and if you find in your own personal expression,
the mutual feels from the scheme of grand depression,
felicitation, aggression, commiseration, obsession
all of the above, et cetera, the thorough digression,
glory will be given to the one in succession
of the ethereal destination we hold in compression
with the wordly oppression and greedy possession,
without further ado and much indiscretion,
tis time now to reflect upon my next spiritual transgression.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
The waves go marching two by two
In the deep ocean blue
As the whale splashes and spews
Yet, The waves go marching two by two
The waves go marching two by two
As the whale splashes and spews
And seagulls cry and the wind too
Yet, The waves go marching two by two
The waves go marching two by two
As the seagulls cry and the wind too
And a child rowing in his canoe,
Yet, the waves go marching two by two
The waves go marching two by two
And a child is rowing in his canoe,
Where the waters are big and ado,
Yet, the waves go marching two by two
The waves go marching two by two
Where the waters are big and ado,
And the ocean vast and a child subdue,
Yet, the waves go marching two by two
The waves go marching two by two,
And the ocean vast and a child subdue,
As a child’s last cry and the sea brews
Yet, the waves go marching two by two
The waves go marching two by two
As a child’s last cry and the sea brews
A child dies in the deep ocean blue
Yet, the waves go marching two by two
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
their clocks tick. sure, his
is off-beat much like his life
and hers ticks along
sluggishly. o how
a heart can stumble into
another in the
most inopportune
manner! this doesn’t make sense,
she whispered that first
night, and he could do
no more than agree. this is
pointless, he rejoined,
and instead of that
expected sombre moment
they both just snorted.
death’s conventional
and the night is young, though their
days are old and mourn
for the loss of hope.
kiss, touch, **** love. it’s enough
for two criminals.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
In all ado
ten months in misery
It wasn't me
nor was even you
shrills at the back
of my aging doors
I mind my business
As you—
you only mind yours
Red laces tied to leave
forget twas before
Nothing—
nothing was concealed,
we leered in uncertainty
As we're losing—
losing our vast imageries
our bond was never—
just never denote to be
Cease by now
of these tortured schemes
lashing out and say
"wish it was all a dream"
departing to nowhere
as each wing soars
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before**
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
Hi
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Is that your favourite beat as well
Hi
Pretty cool to meet you
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Hi
Never had a childhood friend
Nothing close to this feeling
I love binnies too
Hi my man
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Care for a laugh my friend
I like talking all kinds of **** too
Hi I am Dumisani
oh Hi Emmanuel
Is your name Wow
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Malo is Venda for eight
**** I love train rides too
Train rides on old Zambia rails
Hi
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Too late to start over
Done danced to many a beat
My uncle said new friends
Come with new songs
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Hi
WE can hold hands for a moment
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
No need for fist bump
We like like each other brother
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
A friend almost like you was shot up by pigs
I carry his picture always on the left pocket
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
His name Andile Amakhwenkwe
Ado for short
Rockville evening under the apollo lights
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
A friend almost like you died
For some reason you remind me of someone I've never met.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 7:24 PM UTC
Unfelt unheard, unseen,
I've left my little queen,
Her languid arms in silver slumber lying:
Ah! through their nestling touch,
Who---who could tell how much
There is for madness---cruel, or complying?
Those faery lids how sleek!
Those lips how moist!---they speak,
In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds:
Into my fancy's ear
Melting a burden dear,
How "Love doth know no fulness, nor no bounds."
True!---tender monitors!
I bend unto your laws:
This sweetest day for dalliance was born!
So, without more ado,
I'll feel my heaven anew,
For all the blushing of the hasty morn.
1.6k
Take a group of chimpanzees
used to swinging through the trees,
and sit them down at keyboards in a row;
lots of paper, lots of ink,
lots and lots of time, I think,
and what the theory says I’m sure you know.
Yes, along with all the junk,
all the gibberish and bunk,
somewhere there’d be the full works of the Bard:
As You Like It, Cymbeline,
Richards 2 and 3, the Dream,
though Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, might be hard.
But I’m sure the little blighters
would get on fine with *Titus
Andronicus*, The Taming of the Shrew,
The Moor of Venice (that’s Othello),
the other Merchant fellow,
and Antony and Cleopatra too.
The Winter’s Tale would hold no terrors,
nor The Comedy of Errors,
and Verona’s Gentlemen would turn out right;
Love’s Labour might be Lost,
or it might be Tempest-tossed,
but All’s Well That Ends Well, even on Twelfth Night.
Lear, King John, and Much Ado,
Henry 4, parts 1 and 2,
Henry 5, and 6 (in three parts), Henry 8,
Troilus, Timon, Measure for Measure,
Pericles (a neglected treasure)
and how Romeo and Juliet met their fate;
all the Sonnets, and the ****
of Lucrece* (typed by an ape!)
and if they worked for ever and a day
they could fit in Julius Caesar,
that Coriolanus geezer,
the Wives of Windsor, and the Scottish play.
I grew more and more excited –
even thought I might be knighted
if I could be the one to make it work.
But to realise my dream
I had to try a pilot scheme,
to prove I wasn’t just a reckless berk.
I bought one chimp from the zoo -
didn't have the cash for two -
and gave him a typewriter, just to try
for a short while. Well, a fortnight
was the time-scale that I thought right.
You see, I’m quite an optimistic guy.
Now everyone who heard
of my project said, “Absurd!”
when I told them of my striking new departure.
“Get a chimpanzee to type
the works of Shakespeare? Oh, what tripe!”
Still … he did produce the works of Jeffrey Archer.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC