Hamlet – The Musical
Not William Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’, but a play based upon the tiny village of HappyHome and its various occupants. These villagers are beset with the problem of having a village church and having to raise the money needed to keep the roof on top of its walls and the bell-tower on top of its roof.
Then one bright spark suggests that they could get rid of the church altogether, returning – after one-hundred years – HappyHome to the status of ‘hamlet’
Actus Primus, Scena Prima,,
A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard, Enter a Ship-master, and a Temp.
Master: Boat-swaine.
Temp: He’s not at work, today – some malady or other, I expect – the Agency sent me – as a replacement Boatswaine.
Master: Good. Speake to th’Mariners: fall too’t, yarely, or we run our selves aground, bestirre, bestirre, Exit
Enter Mariners.
Temp. Good morning. I’m Mostyn, I’m from the Agency. As you can see, we are having a bit of trouble with the weather. So, the Captain has asked me to put forward his two-point plan, which is to; ‘bestirre, bestirre’ and, hopefully, by your doing so, we can get this craft through our current ‘difficult’ situation. Perhaps we can consider this a “team-building” exercise. Any questions?
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinando, Gonzalo, and others.
Temp: No? Okay. If you could just make a start, I think that the “paying” passengers would like a word or two with me.
And so it went.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #parody, #Pastiche, #poetry. #poem, #TheTempest, @Shakespeare
One day, on the Island.
“Shall we meander, Miranda?”
“Yes, let’s! When, father?”
“Straight ‘way, Miranda.”
“Oh, dad!”
And off they toddled, at once, upon their winding way.
“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
I’m Not Shakespeare – a song (W.I.P.)
I’m not Shakespeare
But, I’m the closest thing you’ve got;
My name’s not William
but I write an awful lot
just like he did
when he was alive;
I’m not Shakespeare
and my latest work
is Veronese Gentlemen 5.
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
Jaques, Act 2 scene 7
As You Like It
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AsYouLikeIt, #Jacques, #poetry. #poem, @ShakeapearesGlobe, @Shakespeare
“Admired, Meander.”
“What?”
“Sorry, Miranda, I was just thinking about a walk once, where we wandered lonely, as woolly clouds”
“Oh, yes; I remember. We were lost.”
“Surely not, Miranda. We were just wandering – we found our way back, didn’t we?”
“Only because we stumbled upon a Caliban, and, having given him some water with berries in’t, and shown him the bigger light and the lesser, he told us which path to take to get us back to this draughty cave.”
“Into air, thin air.”
“Oh, you do talk a lot of twaddle, father!”
