Tag Archives: #TheBard

The Gravediggers (Reprised) from Hamlet.

The Gravediggers (Reprised) from Hamlet.

The grave-diggers ‘were’ quite sombre.

Nothing seemed to cheer them at all.

Even Grave-digger No. 1

was not being the life and the soul

of the party –

it was a wake after all.

A farewell to a departing soul.

But, usually, there was the dry banter of their kind,

a way of dispersing the mood,

lightening the burden

of burying the dead.

“What’s wrong, Grave-digger No. 1?” enquired Grave-digger No. 2.

“I have heard that young Lord Hamlet, son to the previous, prior King Hamlet of Denmark, who bore the same name, Hamlet, and named his son, Hamlet, yet the same again.”

“A long line of Hamlets!” interjected Grave-digger No. 2.

“Precisely, sirrah! A line that stretches back into a time long ago, but now stretches forward no more.”

“Sadly, ‘tis so.” spake Grave-digger No. 2. “Thou speakst the sad truth, as thou rarely dost.”

“I’faith, I am of quite a sorrowful countenance. The old Yorick reminded to me; the beautiful Ophelia buried; and then young Hamlet, gone before his time.”

“Life is not fair, my friend and digging companion. One day, too, we shall be lain in boxes i the ground.”

“Aye! And who would have thought that we might’st live to see ‘that’ day?”

“Who, indeed?”

“It bears not the thinking about!”

“Then let us not!”

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The Bear and The Bard (again).

The bear in the The Bear Inn Public House

supped his beer;

seemingly, without a care.

The Bard watched the bear

and to a Summer’s day

did he compare the bear;

before deciding that the bear

was beyond compare;

or, at the least,

beyond comparing to a day in Summer;

sparing us all a sonnet

that had the imprint of a bear’s

paws writ large upon it.

Bardolatry!

Don’t be affear’d;

my Bard is worse than my bite;

from first night to twelfth,

and beyond

a pond of flesh?

Pray, tarry not-

“Who writes this rot?”

I cans’t not tell

If all is well

that endeth such –

It is all too much a do.

Let loose the dogs

of Waterloo,

and if you

are waiting,

nothing will come.

“Shakespeare! Here, Today!”

“Shakespeare! Here, today!”

Is what I’d really love to say,

or shout.

But, sadly, there’s not a lot

of Him about.

And, yes, I gave Him a capital H;

why shouldn’t I?

He’s a playwright of the age;

of whichever age you are He is;

and this I write because of that

(and that I wrote because of this).

To be truthful,

I take all chances

to write of Him

and praise His glory to the skies.

Shakespeare, Poet, Bard, arise.

PS Shakespeare was a Taurean,

just like me,

we have lots in common,

as I’m sure He’d undoubtedly agree.

I Met The Bard, Today (oh, boy!).

I met The Bard again today;

He made me laugh

I had to say;

He’s not normally big on jokes;

And his histories and tragedies

All end with piles of blokes

Littered around the stage

They die to order

Off the page.

But, today,

I laughed at his funny face

And, for a moment,

All was well with the spinning Globe

Of the Human Race .

Happy BardDay or Not HappyBardDay? #NaPoWriMo

Happy Bardday
To you
Born in the sixteenth
Died in the seventeenth
Both on the twenty-third
Of the fourth
Known as The Bard
Life was hard
But, he wrote the waves
And the plays

The thing is
That we still revere
His Lear
The last breath
Of Macbeth
His version of
The recently re-interred
Richard third,
And Hamlet, Henry Vee,
Benedict, Beatrice, witches three
And so much more that truth be told
I’ll still be learning them when I grow old.

Will: I tried forsooth to write as best I could / The die was cast, the cast did die; they would.

And, so, I exit stage left pursued by bears.

And a hey-nonny-no

I go!