Shakespeare — a tribute to thee

Poetry, Uncategorized

Greetings.

Recently, the United Kingdom celebrated National Shakespeare Day, and annual celebration of the birth, life and work of one the greatest figures in English literature. For more than 400 years his classic plays have been immortalized as literary genius. From the internal complexities of Hamlet and Macbeth to the grand histories of Richard III and Julius Caesar nearly all of Shakespeare’s plays still resonate with us today like a still-burning candle.

Even while there are still questions over his authorship, we must not allow this to spoil or make us look differently on the plays and particularly the sonnets that have been composed. Often upstaged by the plays, the 154 sonnets that were written show Shakespeare’s ability not just as a playwright, but as a poet.

Here are some Shakespearean sonnets recited by some well-known actors:

Al Pacino reading Sonnet 150

 

Stephan Fry reading Sonnet 130

 

Patrick Stewart reading Sonnet 116

 

Kim Cattrall reading Sonnet 103

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I be Man

Poetry, Uncategorized

My simple description of manhood:

 

I be Man

From the prick of

my hair

To the corn of my heel

 

I be Man.

 

In work my body’s as a racing horse

straining on the reigns, an oxen preparing

the field for harvest

 

In learning my cranial engine hisses

and steams

 

I be Man.

 

My habits mirror the

soul within me

 

My hands bless and they curse;

create and destroy

 

I be Man.

 

For all that I be the strengths

and the faults,

the victories and defeats, in

life and in death

 

still

 

I be Man.

The waiting room

Christianity, Poetry, Uncategorized

 I thought up this poem yesterday while visiting my father who is recovering from a successful kidney transplant that he had a few days ago. This poem expresses the feelings I had while waiting for my mother to finish speaking with him. I thank God, to who all glory is due, in giving our family grace and a true miracle:

The waiting room

 In this hospital venue, the

air hangs sanitized like a

swab of antiseptic plugged

in one’s nose.

The bare walls lie

inanimate, unspoken and white —

the color of purity, of hygiene…

of uncertainty.

And in this room there are seated

foreboding-filled

visitors.

They monitor the hall to ICU and

gaze up (perhaps suddenly religious)

at the single-lighted ceiling.

Their well-read novels provide

exiguous distraction;

the single restroom,

a brief respite from the

anxiousness gnawing like a rat inside.

Outside the hall comes alive.

Wheeled stretchers screech

past with hypnopompic patients,

the shoes of nurses, doctors and

blue-robed surgeons clop-clop

on the marbled floor.

Then come the mobile updates.

Fingers tear at loose hair and faces

carved with worry-lines.

Relief-full sighs are released,

heads collapse into sweaty hands.

 To the panoptic viewer, this room’s sundry

emotions may resemble some silent

T.V. drama,unscripted precisely for

 mass amusement.

But for those who are

inside it is a holding-cell

of the unknown, playing field in the

game of waiting.