Posts tagged ‘Shakespeare’

June 17, 2014

Lock and Dam No. 7

On a boat close an expansive dam
A boy accompanied an Old Man
Fishing for hours cold hands
Only to have come up few clams

The river remained rough
Water spray wet brown splash
Bubbles in the water swirling
Bottom of boat held beer cans

Farther up the boy could see birds
Up close to the tumblers brightly red
Over white-caps exchanged few words
The Old Man palmed his rod in hand

Lock and Dam 7 lent no pension
Yet many prospered in its wake
The Old Man and the boy lay patient
They trolled up and down, but had to wait

Ice coated concrete walls
With rope or hook they fastened tight
Daylight lasted only so long in afternoons
The highway lights suggested night

Untying they came undone
River smell and worms in hand
The fish on the stringer were meager
Pushing off they went towards land

They passed others by and by
Anglers that were mastered
Coming closer to the landing point
Lights on avoiding disaster

Trailing wake in full gait
An out-board went ‘bout 20 knots
Blackness and bugs flew by about them
As they came closer to the docks

Lamplight held empty parking lot
Shown just below the river’s edge
The flat-bottom came parallel the wooden structure
The boy managed at his sea legs

With a hard bump from running in fast
A rope was fastened—quick, and down
The boat made way with the water
The boy made feet with wooden ground

Cold rushed from the river valley out
Nothing held the boy more in life
Than to be out near the Mighty Mississippi
In the dwindling hours of night

As children we are exposed to habits which prove a tradition
As adults we revisit those events to see what lessons were given.

June 3, 2014

Too Late

Lack of telling
Lead to lack of knowing

One call could have stopped it all,

One call
Came
After one wait

Telling you that you had lost it all

April 14, 2014

wie zum sterben

Monologue of Lovers;
One contends never to exist, as is necessity of endearing Conversationalists.
Words castes, molds, and shows what’s to discover of each other.

Touch of the Shut-in,
Cold frost thoughts mingled, with those of a summer’s mist.
Running through to grounds around, hark to those akin.

Designed to hold Time,
A clock’s arms link-locked tight tense to tick.
Shoe gazers watch cracks to find prized dimes in the mix.

Disintegrating at pure elegance,
She dances early day just to pull on a dress and necklace.
Proper smile outlined deep red to impress, enacting her relevance.

Lack of audacious Antidote,
A self-wound wrapped bound left to forget.
Layers that bond only to be pulled in two; torn, and then reset.

Absolutist human likely assumed close to the rest;
Comprised of simple puzzles, a simple life -of to think and act- while we stand in ‘present-tense’.

-Until our bell’s been rung for eternal rest.

And at that day,

In so many ways

Others will speak with passionate pride and distraught sentiment.

But we won’t.

 

***

The voice decays into oblivion with the body.  

March 19, 2014

American Sonnet

We lost the interest before we began

Moving fixed posters on the thick walls

Level-headed distinguished man

Digging hard and working all

 

Sight beheld in the palm of worn hand

Many created problems we’ve called

We never tried to make a plan

Sedentary thoughts prove scrawled

 

From Forefather’s will in our acts we’ve strayed

Many against the conservative man

Labels aren’t of working clay

Written books in stern pale hand

 

Lest knowledge gone, saves the old way

Covered maps in possessive words to understand

Ponderings of the lighted day

Proven by those that they can stand

 

Mixed pot of melting to tell

Ignorant jump so high for frail joy

The inner workings of this great hell

Innocent lost those few trained boys

 

White colors cast the witch’s spell

Conjured up in those open young and coy

That symbolic dust holds to the clouds well

Annoyance of such fickle vetted choice

 

 

Locked into strict box orthodox-stayed course

The American Dream’s been broken and forced.

March 11, 2014

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead Dead

Full shoes rock smuggler

In the basement before dirt

Hopscotch walk muddler

Parted smirk with mirth

 

In a place with no character

We (they) find a shiny coin

 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern

Are insignificant to a point

 

No spokes in the wheel; full circle

Disdain, now, no wound to ‘oint

 

The Players show empathy to Ros and Guil, no disjoint ;

they are also at the mercy of the elements i.e. Hamlet

They desperately avoid blunder and blood red moist

However they can’t undo fate with any willed choice

 

Lifestyle of livelihood

Real-life social effect

In that case I’m dead

Fractionally:  Yes

 

They’ve been gone this whole time

stuck with inquistion in purgatory

They relive this act on track

This fact amends the story

 

We see it in un-, sub-, and supernatural forces:

They are caught in between.

 

Heads

Heads

Heads

Heads

And so on…

February 24, 2014

Just One Person

Front and Center,

Grotesque Smile walking out and towards me, those thoughts in my head.  Nearing Walter, thinking of Lind, walking to Magrath, the evening begins.  I saw and registered just this one person

I was:

Front of the class with Scott Stapp.  The lead singer of Creed, and I, and we stand.  AKA a TA.  This is life at the bus stop waiting in the cold, thinking of thoughts old.  Bold people wearing exposed flesh standing apart.  Ice crusted sidewalk, I look across the street to see a mirror; people just like me.  The worst song on my iPod, shuffles in my ears-God.

I come to.

Probing my audience:  making an obvious point (to some).  Those who aren’t dumb, at least, some.  Thumbs down, this is me, this is how I believe.  Aught’ to be, Show you how I see.  A “U” and “X”- unstressed and stressed-not a stretch.  Not far off, lines and rhymes aloft.  FACT.

We make a somewhat apprehensive white board dance in tight pants.  Look at the sad crowd, relax.

Scansion of poetry: iambic, prosody, diction, expansion; an explanation of situations, objective subjection, an aggressive reaction, which could lay wastage.  Justified.  I fold at the masses, scoff at this interaction.  I feel defeated, but undamaged.  I feel this comedy is tragic.

That’s just Shakespeare talking though.  He might have been one person.

Someone yells from the back of the class, “You are just one person!”  I am apparently one person… Can you believe that?  I can’t.

Then I thought about it-

Other examples of “just one person”:

The President

God

You

Me

Everyone-

You see?

 

Get it?  Said just one person.

January 27, 2014

Stealing Shakespeare

I’m thinking Shakespeare, this guy

Those publishers stealing his art

I’m thinking and wondering why

Profit:  I wonder about his heart

Edit whichever they might like

Changing it mainly from the start

This choice happens overnight

Centuries after the days he embarked

 

They slighted this timeless beautiful lark

They dissected and pulled his words apart.

November 4, 2013

Venice, Rialto, and The Spotted Sheep

Still as always, as in Shakespearean plays-

How they paint the human character so faithfully.

 

Sensed to endure;

Big nose to book.

 

Pure ears high better to hear,

Same eyes open to peer over there and very near.

 

Tragedy and Comedy, take a look.

 

What’s in between and unseen is unclear.

What little such questions afford, but fear.

 

Hold that thought,

Let’s not get lost.

 

(There is so much to see on a city pier)

 

These are just things in a book.

 

All that is lost is a pound of flesh, and thought.

If blood-let stop that crook, he does not know the cost!

October 15, 2013

Confusion at Best (Around Town)

Confusion at Best,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

I send out the same message to everyone I know,

To no effect,

To be similar to you,

So you won’t forget.

I do this just as long as we can grow.

 

It takes place probably somewhere between Coffman Union and Marcy Holmes.

 

This act is redundant proof,

Enough thought to write tomes.

 

And the stuff we are all made of,

Like a warm place where we actually write poems.

 

This is like biking from Northeast to the Turf Club.

-Counting the stars above.

 

Hell Bent as Heaven Sent, stare on bold reader.

These pages are wet with regret and eager.

How we are:  pressing the buttons, blackening the pages, and living life so meager.

 

This is in the Downtown High-rises and next to the St. Anthony Main Theatre features.

 

I bet you don’t even know of the Multi-Verse yet.

But there are so many artists, poets, and musicians, how could you forget?

October 8, 2013

Play Actors

Play Actors,

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Scattered passage,

Recurrent transaction of passion-I love you, and action.

All added, all adjuncts, disheveled and defunct, but we manage.

 

Smile so much my face hurts.

Smile so much we lose shirts.

Smile so much we forgot the play is tragic.

Smile so much at the Antics.

 

A real tragedy, are we?

These are just words.

They live; they are heard.

 

Disappearing plight like magic,

And off with their heads.

 

 

Acting like the center of the discussion is the center of my mind, eyes wondering outside.

(Trust me, your laptop won’t make that thing beep, that’s a myth.  Care to try?)

Oh! And all that’s been said and read.

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