"caliban" poems
If I had last words they would be…
Well… I mean… I see in those streams of invectives
I see especially people who drink, eat, sleep,
who make all human functions
Which are quite rather ******
And I shall say that they’re heavy
It never stopped being heavy
I noticed
I’ve read so many verses and particularly
verses from the 17th century
Verses, so-called courteous verses
I found 3 or 4 good ones in thousands of them
There’s little lightness in man
He’s heavy... isn’t he
And nowadays he’s extraordinary in heaviness
Since automobiles, alcohol, ambition, politics make him heavy
Even heavier
It’s mostly like that, he’s extremely heavy
Maybe one day shall we see a mind rebellion against the weight
But it isn’t for tomorrow
For now... we’re heavy
So I’d say indeed
If I had to die
I’d say
Man is heavy
That’s all
Oh! They were mean but...
Because they were heavy
They were heavy
They were heavy… jealous of a certain lightness
Jealous... jealous like a woman who wears a clothing burlap
instead of another who wears lace
Like someone who owns a workhorse
instead of a thoroughbred
Jealous...
Jealous of being heavy... that’s all
Crippled...
They weigh... they're crippled
Heaviness makes them *******
Therefore we can beware of them
They’re ready to do anything
Oh sure
They’re ready to do anything
And to activate heaviness
They drink, aren’t they
So when they drink, they turn into sledgehammers
It’s frightening, isn’t it
Sledgehammers without control
Yes, they’re especially like this
They activate... increase their weight
Instead of making themselves lighter
Oh! They’re not in Ariel’s side
They’re more like Caliban
More and more
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
me no spit English, me no no Englis, OK?
me barbarrrian, why u one me speak Englis?
u teach me inglish then u want me slave, ya?
u teach me englis and mik mee go from nuture,
from da trees and de lakes and hum of me ancesdors, ya?
and you teach me englis
glive me your stinkin additudes
mik me pollute wold and **** wold like you, yes?
I del u, me spit no englis but sdill u offer skolarsips
and mik me shange name, and then tick on Englis name, ya?
then peeple call me englis name like tom, ***** hairy
or my wife become susan or margate
and me become kristian, yeah?
why I say no englis still u want to tich me englsi
and give me book and mi say, mi say,
luk at my nikid bady laik da die I was born
liiiv me one
don't tiich me englis
or wan day I will kurs and swera in inglis
like who, who, who, like that monster I hard play story
is he nime Caliban, yeah?
me barbarrbaian, dun't mike i civilized like u;
me no no inglis;
me happi with me lunguge and me hum
and my trees and likes and annncesdral places¦
I no wants to spit engilsi and khanges my name and culturte!
and un I no wan to go fom humen!
leave me lone wan, I say! me no spit englis!
or I put u in *** if you no go!
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 3:06 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
He's looking at me again.
Eyes fixed like he was insane.
Clay pipe propped on lips, pondering,
seriously sepia wondering.
No name on the severe brown frame.
He stares but doesn't see me.
I don't see him for what he was.
I see a fictional facsimile,
conflation of another's fantasies
- comic working class
- salt of the Earth
- his own man
- hero or Caliban.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
I am a Caliban groaning
Oppressed by Prospero
In an Isle unknown spring
My urge to freely flow.
Desires of Prospero his bridle
***** and nag me ; my Ego resists
The Cultural pressure they girdle
To shroud my Peace and past fast.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
If the whole worlds a stage, shouldn't you have to pay to watch my show?
As the tempest whirls around us, don't we all wish for a prince to rock up and save us?
Or is Caliban searching and hoping we'll succumb
To the horrors that fall like stars.
In a midsummer nights dream, the boys are all beauties,
All blue eyes and magic and promise.
While he plays an *** is he mirroring us?
As we double, double, toil and trouble,
The fire burning and bubbling in the inferno we call a heart.
We call out in the dark for our Romeos
Wanting to leave our names behind us
So watch as I unfurl
Like a lily on a pond
Eight petals,
Eight walls,
My globe,
My stage.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
"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
Not the vast beauty,
Thy lovely petals hold
Grew my crowdy love for thee
For even if monster thou were
Like unwholesome caliban
Same pollens of love
I would have filled thee to the brim
I love not thy beauty
For not forever I may have it,
Truly,my love sprang,
Before thy beauty I saw
And lives it
when thy beauty is gone
Beauty is just a lender of love!
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
MUCH ADO ABOUT SOMETHING
My Prospero, I admit
is, yea, badly drawn
& keeps falling off
his lollipop stick.
My Caliban, on the other hand
well drawn and forsooth...sticks to...his stick.
I wiggle each
character’s characteristic
and they come alive
speak the lines, I pray you,
trippingly upon my tongue
“Come to me with a thought!”
I command my paper people.
“Your thoughts I cleave to!”
they flash into my consciousness.
“Ariel, my Ariel...”
fine-tooled from foil
that comes from fabled Consulate
& Woodbine packets.
“Ah, my trusty sprite...”
dangles from a purple thread that
is borrowed from
me **** sewing basket.
All is well
in this my make-shift
Shakespeare theatre
made from Kellogg’s
Cornflakes packets.
See the great **** crow
under the proscenium!
Weetabix boxexs
construct the wings.
Rows of Nite lights
serve as footlights.
And, so...let the Masque begin!
I hum bits of Adeste
Fideles....then sing
as Prospero & Ariel
do their thing.
“Solua domus dagus!”
my voice rings out
but see how
dangerous a nine year old knee
can be
to paper theatre.
The floodlights being knocked over
the stage flames in amazement.
My patchwork Globe
of Cornflake and Weetabix boxes
burns to the ground
only Ariel survives
in an all too blackened shrunken
crumpled piece of foil.
I exit
( pursued by a clip on the ear )
the profession of producer of
the plays thereof the only begetter of
this ensuing story
lost, alas my lack, to me!
But wait, is this a football I see
before me?
Then play on Dinger Dwyer!
And ****** be him who first cries hold!
We cry ******** and let slip
the dogs we are!
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
He’d been away for any number of years,
Days cascading over the spillway of time
Into pools of weeks, oxbows of months,
And though the town was much as he remembered it
(Though a little more tattered and careworn:
Another broken windowpane here,
A wall in grave need of paint there,
One or two more storefronts gone to plywood)
The cemetery was all but labyrinth to him,
A corn maze of granite and narrow drives,
The plots having metastasized, the stones having spread
Like so much crownvetch overpowering the simple grass,
But he’d been able, after any number of false-starts,
Uncounted instances of double-backs and do-overs
To locate his father’s marker
(The man gone some forty years now,
Taken by…well, who knows what
His mother, stunned by the prospect
Of having to step into the dual role
As nurturer and breadwinner,
Too stunned to even think of requesting an autopsy.)
He’d come, ostensibly, to make his peace
(Whatever that hackneyed phrase entailed)
But he’d ended up, if not as mute as the stone he faced,
No more than a cow-country Caliban,
Haltingly sputtering bits and bobs of half-phrases
Concerning the implacability of accidents, the vagaries of chance
The coffin-lid limits on mere men and women.
He’d given up the ghost, finally,
And as the daylight slipped away on the bumpy old horizon
He’d simply brushed some dried bird guano from the gravestone,
Then picked the dead bits from the flowers
Doing their level best to hold on
In the urn he’d wrestled from his mother’s ancient station wagon
Two, perhaps three, days ago
Before settling back into the car to try to divine the way
Back to the main road
(He’d found it in surprisingly short order,
And perhaps a quarter-mile or so down the road,
He’d come upon a small rabbit,
Frozen mid-lane by his headlights,
Finding himself in a world not of his making
Not knowing whether to flip or fly;
He’d missed it by mere chance, nothing more,
And he wondered if the poor thing
Would be so lucky with the cars behind him.)
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC
He wants to love the people
of the United States and others
around him. Heat and let you
cool. However, my heart
is very full and strong. Advertise
carefully, to be sure of the name
of wheat. I do not like this stupidity.
I'm on my own but I'm a passionate
driver. "So, there are time tactics
to" talk "about infection, breathing,
fear, sadness, depression, pain,
depression, sadness, syringe
and the other two" when there
is agreement. "I lost to save my
life." I did not know that, but he said.
"Sadness, depression, definitely
at hand, cheating, poverty, hot salt
and hope of losing a word, instead
of bringing doctors, teachers, teenagers,
Guggenheim and Sicily, California,
Father Gregory, Caliban and true
democracy; Megan: John Milton,
Blessed Laura, Our formation
is not only the face of the people,
our sun is our heart, we are cold
and we're touching "now", Saint
and word; The reason for the process.
"A little pain, the cat" I do not know,
I do not know, but I can not say it.
"The dog in New York and Tom Ham,
John Dryden, John Keats, the teachers,
the teachers, our teachers, our teachers,
our teachers in Arizona every year,
18 and over at 21 The Gypsies (g)
California, the real boyfriend
and the Holy Spirit are the new Boy,
Megan and useful leaders in Africa,
Money Money, Muslim Women
and Holy God, "Holy God." Holy
God is truly local, but It's a bit hot,
but my heart is very careful about
the name of the grain; Nonsense
for me, I hate but you know
"As you have." Saint: the text
of the processor, the life conflict,
the fear of the child, the sadness,
pain and sadness of Valentine.
"I was so, I did know, but I cannot
say." Unfortunately, with sadness
comes self-control, Thomas because
I'm a child and I know Pilates, said
John Carpenter and Professor,
Captain's Team 18 "An interesting
****** orientation - has acted,"
said John E's corporation, "Muslims
and Children's Beds "by Hallyu Bly,
Achini LE of the printed Tululani
Geryrich, called Abu Ibrahim,
the gym, Megan's Gothic Islam,
Women and Healthy Saints, Gemini
Qinqing T (100) California State.
"Powerful" global developer "
For the people of the world ...
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 10:35 PM UTC