“Shall we go Parranda, Miranda?”
asked Prospero, with a wry smile.
“Father, you are all a lather,
if you think we can spend a while
in doing so. The answer, it is, ‘No!’ “
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Miranda, #poetry. #poem, #Prospero, #TheTempest, @Shakespeare
There is something extremely shady,
about the presents of a lady,
don’t you think?
And even if you do,
what is it to you,
where, and when, a lady
chooses to be?
And if she has
the presence of mind,
to wrap a gift within a box
for you to find…
what a treasure,
it shall prove to be.
Don’t fear rebuke, bring your uke!
Come along and sing a song,
– croon a tune!
Recite a poem (or two)
‘you know
it’s what
you want
to do.’
Be a star, strum your air guitar!
Operatic singers aria must!
Dancers twirling!
Magicians wandering!
Ventriloquists – gring your own dummy!
Fire-Eaters…? (all too sadly, no – due to risk of bringing (burning) the house down.
At 3:51
I am not quite done with sleep,
or
trying
to sleep –
I shall give it another go,..
you never know…
Would you like…
a Butterbean Barley Buddha Bowl?
I’d like to be able to say it.
There’s a lady on the seashore, she sells them.
That figures.
“When is a poem not a poem?”
Good question.
Yet, I have no good answer.
“When you read something
and it doesn’t aid digestion…?”
Possibly.
“When you don’t have the earworm swimming around your head like a serpentine simile…?”
That’s a fine image – maybe it’s then.
“On a Tuesday, at half-past three – that’s when it never happens for me…?”
That’s pretty precise – sounds quite concise.
“Anytime!”
I should say ‘yes!’ or ‘no!’ Truth is, I just don’t know.
“So what was the point of asking?”
What indeed, my friend, what indeed.
It was cold outside
but now I’m back
and the fire is on
and I’m warming up
and I have a cup of warmth
with which I shall defrost
and with sense returning to my fingers
I can pen a poem
which I shall call
Outside
even though
it’s more about
what is happening
Inside.
