"rosencrantz" poems
On the sea-shore, smell of iodine,
and square as in Sicily, and dancing.
An intellectual that came from the common people,
preparing himself to be Rosencrantz.
He decides to serve Claudius and therefore
spy on Prince Hamlet from the fountain.
All over the world — the prison. At the world's
end a certain John plays the piano.
Already darkness, and the end is in sight :
Ophelia crying in an empty hut.
And Hamlet walks to and fro with white headband,
in order to be recognized by the Ghost in the gloom.
6.8k
every night since Rosencrantz died,
I've had dreams about dead goldfish,
their silver and gold scales gleaming sickly
red roses of blood blooming from beneath them
dead and bulging eyes staring at me.
every day I come home to find
Guildenstern still swimming is a gift
but the goldfish are still dead in my dreams.
They are always there
and I never know why.
Their bodies are piling up.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Darkness calls on us like the Siren's Song,
with the optimism of Candide, we charge on
because we know "things are exactly how they should be,"
But we're ignoring the fact that we cannot see!
We cannot be free!
No wonder Yossarian went so **** crazy,
trapped with no way out...
Like the old woman protecting her individuality in her burning house.
In this day and age,
Individuality burns out faster than paper in flames.
As fragile as Hamlet's mental state,
**** it's gone.
We're left as scared and self-conscious as J. Alfred Prufrock.
Questioning ourselves,
We don't dare disturb the universe.
Forced back by scrutinizing hands
through the shrunken entrances of our comfort zones,
Left torn and scarred
because they don't accept who we are.
I walk the halls with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
Watch identity evaporate without concern.
Ignorant voices, the poison dripping into my ears.
I walk the halls a ghost.
They think I'm weird,
Maybe a few screws loose,
but I'll tell you what...
"Crazy" Orr is the one who escaped Catch-22.
Though I fear there is not an Odysseus within all of us,
I fear we are not prepared.
For when Darkness calls on us like the Siren's Song,
temptation is seldom overcome.
6/13/14
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Under this grave deep in beneath all the dirt,
Heads of two men pulled an opposite Kurt.
Together skipped through the state of Denmark,
Pestered Hamlet 'bout madness till he barked.
Kissing the hands that always seems to feed,
Loved to be servants to the King and Queen.
Promoted to the most difficult task,
Cruise to England to rid Hamlet at last.
But Captain Jack Sparrow saved the poor fools,
Left them sailing in a sea of their drool.
Letter in hands they had it delivered,
Words in it though will have them bewildered.
Turned to the King they asked what's it about,
Twas the last time the two ever hanged out.
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
for Kate and Nicola and Wayne and Paul and Cameron and Skye and Kylie and Nathan and Cameron and the weird guy next door.
Here’s to you, my crazy friends
You ******** misfits too cool for my school
But you liked me anyway, you let me
read you my book of poems
You played Bone Machine while I was tripping
We walked through the suburbs looking for fairies,
We slept with each other despite my huge crush on you
You liked me anyway.
You taught me to smoke ****
To stop hating on op shop clothes while
I wore Country Road and cashmere vests.
We watched the sun come up, smelling of sweat
and drugs and DJs’ last hurrahs and dark old
warehouses, kerosene fire batons and your menthol
cigarettes.
I gave you Siddhartha and Guildenstern and Rosencrantz,
though it wasn’t the first time.
I loved it all: the guitars, the punk chords, the dodgy old houses
in run down parts of West End,
the random houses, the secret nights smoking your
Champion Ruby in my old *** pipe because we’d
run out of **** and Henry Miller wouldn’t settle for just plain *****
Bohemian Cafés and curries,
girlfriends turned turncoat then lesbians,
your secret *** parties that I never found out about ‘till years later
your Mezz Mezzrow typewriter and bright candles of novel beginnings
that never saw the light of day. Her sweet little hips showing a little too
clearly with the the shining light from inside as it lit her silhouette on
your balcony. I miss you guys, with your madness your friendships and
deep inner hipness that wasn’t in me.
So it’s years later now, we’re old and I ain’t seen you in years.
Wayne showed up in a café one day with CDs of his latest, still cool
I was studying Mandarin, and I wanted to reconnect
He gave me his number but I didn’t call him, I can’t explain why.
You showed up one day, “weren’t you going to come and say hello?”
I was but I still don’t know how.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
As the Artichoke, succulent when raw
Add stunning Flavours when allowed to roast
Whose Heart, seeped Marrow richer my Tongue saw
Spells a better Taste when eaten the most
Yet in your School, Time has honoured your Bake
Which Rosencrantz and Guildenstern took Like
Seems so, for Tested Barrels be your Make
Cross that of Swollen Souls which took Excite
Such was your Work - your pink, spongy Brioche
Rowdily kempt though tempting to enjoy
Which they Both consume; Then reserve their Broth
Hoping some Dames would savour your Specialty.
And Savour indeed, I Hope in Expense
Till such Recipe goes beyond Intense.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
Please rest these demons I have swirling in my head, I feel so lost but still connected somehow.
Please tame these beasts, these thoughts, I dont want them any more.
I want to be alone now, I don't want to be with anyone if its gonna feel like im miles away when im holding you tight.
These moments id rather feel nothing at all then this lost emotion, agony, and constant annoyance. I just wanna leave, before I have a chance to begin.
So I hide in this persona, this confident, not caring, dont give a **** party animal. When I walk in, they will all know me by my name, scream it as I walk in the door...
Rosencrantz
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 4:46 AM UTC
the ache in my heart
remains undiminished
pressed down by daily need
compacted into that small blemish
that scars my soul, the tattoo of emptiness
written upon the reverse of my eyelids
this is the season of loss,
the time of letting go
yet in my heart I cannot,
I acknowledge the leaving
partake once again in the grieving,
but still I know
my heartstrings still seek yours
and now people wonder,
which lover have I lost
no lover no,no, in one sense, more indeed
but we both know if we were of Sappho's breed
we could have, no would have been each other's creed
the north south and compass complete..
but we were not born that way,
the gods at play made us for different fellows
so we became friends then sisterkin,
we were joyful for each others loves, each others success,
we were together blessed with understanding deep, deepest, over tea smoked and steeped we leapt
and climbed to highest heights
and supported each other when
we fell to the depths below...
we gave each othermgrace and kindness,
perfected the art of compassionate blindness,
and then you had to up and go,
leaving me bereft in a way
that sees life in a far more muted way
so on that day, the aniversary of sadness
which even if the sun shines bright,
still to me is tinted grey,
I will again take myself to a quiet place,
and drink lots of gin and a little tonic,
smile cry and become slightly, mildly histronic,
you see now three years on I just discovered
whilst your face is clear
I can hardly hear,
your voice in my head,
it is now like a whisper in my ear,
and so it appears the world,
sisterkin dear,
is making itself abundantly clear....
you are dead, lying dead in a box...
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 4:10 AM UTC
The hour is nigh, my brothers:
We shall come to pass!
The moment is soon, my friends,
When we shall grow weak from the fast!
Do not falter, O rosen-clad wise men of the future and the past!
My Rosicrucian brothers who brandish the Red Rose!
Those who wear thine thorns across thine breast!
Those who wear thine thorns across thine breast!
And so it was said:
“The Black Nourishment found its fruit in the fruit-laden tree which manifested inside the Line.”
And so it seems,
A guiding light shines upon the place where the exalted body of Christian Rosencrantz lies.
And we— the initiates— have not forgotten our great master!—
The venerable, most honourable, Christian Rosencrantz—
Who emerged with us, from the mud, then died.
Sep 12, 2023
Sep 12, 2023 at 8:51 PM UTC
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Majesty's Thereupon
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Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC