Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Condensed: Part, The Second

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]

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]

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

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.

BOOK REVIEW: Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral by Phillis Wheatley

Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and MoralPoems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral by Phillis Wheatley
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

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Project Gutenberg

Many talented poets have caught flack, but few have managed to take it from as many directions as Phillis Wheatley. A slave from The Gambia, Wheatley was one of the most skilled poets of Colonial America. Obviously, she got bad-mouthed by racists. Some of them claimed she wasn’t the true author of her poems. Others said she wasn’t a good poet. Still others, quite nonsensically, made both claims simultaneously – i.e. that she plagiarized poems that weren’t any good.

If all she had to contend with was the criticism of racists, well that’s like Einstein being critiqued on General Relativity by the slack-jawed yokel working a Slurpee machine at the carnival. But when she (posthumously) became more well-known, she also started to get sass from blacks who considered her an Uncle Tom because her poetry featured the hallmarks of mainstream poetry of the era, as well as little of the visceral anger one would expect of a person who wasn’t recognized as a person. (Wheatley was eventually freed.)

It’s true that Wheatley’s poetry was – in form and content – quite in line with the poetry of her day. In terms of form, most of her poems are iambic pentameter with couplet rhyming, with a few sestinas and common meter quatrains thrown in the mix. In terms of content, Wheatley draws heavily upon Christianity, Western classics (e.g. Ovid,) and the elegy, discussing her African heritage almost in passing. When Wheatley is accused of not being good, the only sense in which that statement could be said to have a speck of truth is that her poems are quite reserved (certainly not unique to her.) But – to be fair – I think she fought enough of an uphill battle to be published and the fact that her poems are brilliant in language and cadence makes them well worth reading. I think Wheatley’s poetry must be considered in light of her time and stand on its excellent craftsmanship.

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Sculpture Charnel House [Haiku]

a charnel house
of sculpted anatomy 
amid the ruins

Himalayan Nettle [Villanelle]

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.

Kim Jong-Un Clerihew

Kim Jong-Un
vanished for a while last June.
So thin, all thought him sick,
but he was just learning chopsticks.

Line of Lost Souls [Rondeau Triolet]

I'm queued into a file of lost psyches.
It winds through time but lacks a hint of space,
and something heads the line that's unappeased
I'm queued into a file of lost psyches.
A greedy devourer remains displeased
despite the endless line and racing pace.
I'm queued into a file of lost psyches,
it winds through time but lacks a hint of space.