Tag Archives: poem

Dreaming Evil Clowns [Spencerian Sonnet]

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My lungs were burning as I ran through town,
and tried to escape the streets of cobbled stone
and he from whom I ran, that evil clown,
whose paint obscured a face I once had known,

but how could I know something that's unknown
and, thinking that, I knew it made no sense,
though I knew it true deep within my bones.

Then stirred by eyes so burning and intense,
I picked a pointy stick for my defense,
and chucked it at the creature's beastly heart.
I missed its heart by width of a ten-pence.
The clown, in turn, tossed it back like a dart.

Awaking to sharp pains in my frail chest,
the clown had slayed me, or so I guessed.

Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Condensed: Part, The Last

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I
King Lear too much loved being praised,
and too little recognized love.
He shunned the daughter he should’ve kept,
and held tightly those in need of a shove.

II
Timon of Athens spent lavishly,
but then - in his time of great need -
no one would return the favor, so
he gave his last coin to watch Athens bleed.

III
Antony is a love-struck boy,
and plots are afoot he can't grasp.
He ends in slow suicide by sword,
while Cleopatra goes out with an Asp.

IV
Coriolanus was kind of a jerk,
and that's why he was exiled.
But he could vanquish all of Rome.
Death to the reciprocally reviled!

Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Condensed: Part, The Second

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I
Oh, in Titus Andronicus,
every noteworthy character dies,
one 's raped, loses her tongue and hands --
she's the only one we don't despise.

II
Brutus's downfall is said to be
being too mellow of a guy,
but he does partake in the stab-fest --
so maybe just poor at ally.

III
Othello trips on jealousy
when Iago plants a hankie.
Iago gets all of the blame,
but it's not like it was her panties.

Wind-Swept Hero [Rubāʿī]

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Beyond the house stood half a tree -
cleaved in twain, robbed of symmetry;
leaning like a wind-swept hero,
it could still shade a reverie.

Stormy Shore [Common Meter]

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Sitting on cold, volcanic rock
upon a stormy shore,
Watching waves crash, hearing naught but
wind, and crying for more
in a scream that cannot be heard
over nature's harsh din
as I feel the snap of gusty 
wind, through cloth so thin
that it can't hold back nature's force
to draw the heat from bone,
and, feeling under this black sky,
I am now all alone.

Shakespeare’s Tragedies Condensed to a Quatrain of Bad Poetry: Part, The First

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I
Macbeth believed the Witches 'cause
they said what he wanted to hear.
Then he jumped the gun because his
ambition outstripped good sense and fear.

II
Hamlet thought he saw a ghost-dad,
but realized he might just be nuts.
Still, his uncle was schtupping his mom,
about that there's no ands, ifs, or buts.

III
Oh, Romeo, your timing sucks -
be it in breaking up a fight,
or being too quick to put vile to lip
when a pause would make timing right.

Sculpture Charnel House [Haiku]

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a charnel house
of sculpted anatomy 
amid the ruins

Himalayan Nettle [Villanelle]

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The hardy Himalayan nettle stings.
It felt like punching piles of jellyfish. 
The slightest brush feels like a snapped bowstring.

But the balm of time bowstrings quickly bring.
The nettle's cure proved far more standoffish.
The hardy Himalayan nettle stings. 

Two days on, the nettle still sent its ping.
My hand numb like I'd fondled Fugu fish.
That slightest brush felt like a snapped bowstring.

I put my useless limb in a web sling. 
Not really, but it did hurt fiercely-ish.
That hardy Himalayan nettle stings.

Oh! of such agony Divas do sing.
Not really, but it was unpleasant-ish.
The slightest brush felt like a snapped bowstring.

Stabbed by roadside nettle in Darjeeling
is a fate upon no one I would wish.
The hardy Himalayan nettle stings.
The slightest brush feels like a snapped bowstring.