~Poetry from the Archives~ the warpath

the warpath

outside there is a war raging
excuse me as i don my armour
drawing battle lines in black
framing my weapons
so now shall all those
mere mortals fall under this gaze

outside you can hear the words clashing
crashing against each other
i hope you don’t mind—i must also
continue to whet mine
beware if you see them drawn
for i must parry back

outside i have too few allies
wait one second? as i
grab my stilettos
you can never be too careful
and i never can decide
whether i feel like running
or fighting
till i am there
best be prepared

outside there are many casualties
injuries of every kind
of the heart and of the mind
of the body and the soul
i regret that i cannot mend
any of them
but i must retreat
and tend to my own
i hope you understand

outside the wind rages on
but inside there is warmth
and a safety
a serenity
if you search hard enough
if you can manage it
i have never been able to but
i hear that it’s quite nice

This is an older piece, probably written around 2014. I turned this piece in to the On the Rocks arts festival and a friend told me they had it hung in one of the churches in St Andrews, which is very cool…but I no longer remember why I didn’t/couldn’t go see it in person myself. Would’ve been cool to have a photo of that here, but alas…

~ Poetry from the Archives ~ Ophelia’s lost monologue

Everyone’s favourite series is back!

Shoutout to Ms. Kenny’s senior year Shakespeare class! I guess it’s fitting to post this a decade after I originally wrote it…(yikes @me) I remember that I spent wayyy too much time looking up all the fun Middle English words to cram into this. I believe this was our final project; I chose to write, then memorise and perform an original “lost” monologue from Hamlet. I ofc have very strong opinions about Ophelia’s characterisation and wrote it accordingly. Author’s note at the end was included as part of my project submission. Enjoy…?

Ophelia’s Lost Monologue:

OPHELIA:
[singing, sitting on a tree branch suspended above the pond while plucking flower petals and tossing them into the water]

(slightly deranged:)
Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine
Or leave a kiss within the cup
And I’ll not ask for wine

[singing breaks off abruptly, as she snaps out of her “madness” and back into reality upon realising that she is alone and needs no longer pretend]

O Hamlet, how I wish to tell thee-  
I ken wherefore thy conscience didst decay.
My father—gone! And all remaining kin
have fast forsaken me, favouring instead
their cozening and twattling, heeding not
my laments of betrayal and my veiléd
warnings of abounding treachery. How
didst thou charge these ill-bred dissemblers, lest
you carelessly apprise their suspicions?
In the same manner I dost now, my lord,
with my shadowed words and hidden meanings
like a modest virgin fluttering her
lashes at her suitors? Would that the drapes
of their own self-absorption could strangle
them in the same form it smothers all
the innocents entangled in their webs
of artifice! Erelong methinks their
guiles and contumely shall benight me.
Wherefore can they not see how the blades of
such actions cleft their mores all atwain?
Wherefore do they not perceive my words,
though dressed as madness, cloak uncoinéd
conjurations? Oh, fie; hath Claudius made
another Janus pawn of dear Laertes?
Guilty Gertrude succours me not, and thou,
dear Hamlet, banishéd far to England be!
Already can I sense my vaded sanity
succumbing to my masqueraded madness;
the lies become the truth, the truth deboshed
by nobles cautelous in all. Alack!
I fear nothing more remains for me here;
in the Fields of Asphodel, perhaps
I yet may seek solace. Foolish but fond
Father I may find—or even that
long-lost lady of leisure, now a mere
echo in the shadowy corridors
of my mangled memory—even she
may yet I find comfort in! Only those
who have traversed across the bourn of
life still care for lost Ophelia. Forsooth,
I cannot pretend the weeds of feignéd
madness do not weigh upon my mind.
I fear what more of me shall crumble
beyond repair, what twisted shadow of
myself would prevail. Nay; ‘twere better be
remembered no worse than be I now.
Misplaced regret here now I leave behind
sinking dust along with yon debris
to be from hence swept out by endless sea.
Into the Lethe I unbounded flee
to rest forevermore, enveloped by
the infinite repose, that dreamless sleep.

[Ophelia gazes into the water, looking at her reflection. Silent tears trickle down her face. She turns away and looks up at the sky. With her back to the water, she rises on the branch and tips herself backwards, eyes firmly fixed upon the sky as she falls.]

[Beat]

[Muffled, hazy sound of splash]

FIN

Author’s Note:
The song that Ophelia sings at the soliloquy’s start is called “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes,” based off a poem called “Song. To Celia,” written by Ben Johnson. The words of the poem were put to tune somewhere between the late 1700’s and early 1800’s.

~ Poetry from the Archives ~ College Application/Existential Dread

Originally written in 2013

‘a muttered prayer’

hey hi yes hello
i’d like to know
the secrets of the universe
i’d like to know what life means
yeah i know i’m only seventeen, but
hey i’ve got to go to college
cos you know
everybody else is
i need to figure out who i am
right now
so i can tell the universities
in six hundred words or fewer
i need to find the answers please
because my future starts on this page
well, after i get into the college of my dreams
so i can get a job—no,
pursue my career
and be successful
…and make enough money
to one day pay off my mortgage
on the house i had to buy
to prove i really made it
even after the student loans i—
oh lord…
what was i asking again?
oh yes hello
i’d like to know (pretty please)
what it all means
why am i here
what am i meant to do
what should i do…
and anyway i’m sure discovering
the meaning to it all will get me
right where i need to be
getting into an ivy league
so when i apply for employment my résumé will
rest atop that gleaming monochrome pile
of people, condensed into their most digestible form—
two pages or fewer
(for, as you know, efficiency
is key in communication)
so again, can you tell me?
what life’s supposed to mean?
cos i think it’d make
one hell of an essay
on this application:
‘what do you expect to be doing in ten years’ time?’ (i can’t sleep)

…dreams?
yeah, i have dreams but
i need to pursue a more practical direction for myself
i mean
i’ll come back to them
one day
but first, a highly demanded degree
of course, i won’t forget them
safe within the furthest corner
of my mind

(the dead dreams
think of all those
cold dead dreams
lost

in translation:
it will all come
out to nothing
and still we
shall be left here
to mourn our losses)

~ Poetry from the Archives ~ Macbeth found poetry

I really mean it when I say archives. This is from high school.

Commentary on the Treachery of Man

Macbeth? The devil himself could not pronounce
A title more hateful to mine ear.
For goodness dare not check thou thy wrongs
And Fortune on [thy] damnèd quarrel smiling!
O valiant cousin? Worthy gentleman?
I remember now thriftless ambition
That will ravin up thine own lives’ means;
It makes him and it mars him, takes the reason prisoner.
I had lived a blessèd time…There’s no mercy left—
Plenteous joys, wanton in fullness, seek to
Hide themselves in drops of sorrow;
This is a sorry sight! Renown and grace is dead.
In this earthly world, to do harm is often laudable.
There’s daggers in men’s smiles; to show unfelt sorrow
Is an office which the false man does easy.
Stars, hide your fires; recoil and start
When all that is within does condemn!
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so, and all our
Yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.


cited:

Macbeth? The devil himself could not pronounce
A title more hateful to mine ear. (5.7.9-11)
For goodness dare not check thou thy wrongs (4.3.41-42)
And Fortune on [thy] damnèd quarrel smiling! (1.2.16)
O valiant cousin? Worthy gentleman? (1.2.26)
I remember now (4.2.82) thriftless ambition
That will ravin up thine own lives’ means; (4.2.83-84)
It makes him and it mars him (2.3.33-34), takes the reason prisoner (1.3.88).
I had lived a blessèd time (2.3.208)…There’s no mercy left— (2.3.173)
Plenteous joys, wanton in fullness, seek to
Hide themselves in drops of sorrow; (1.4.39-41)
This is a sorry sight! (2.2.29) Renown and grace is dead. (2.3.110)
In this earthly world, to do harm is often laudable. (4.2.82-84)
There’s daggers in men’s smiles (2.3.165); to show unfelt sorrow
Is an office which the false man does easy. (2.3.163)
Stars, hide your fires; (1.4.57) recoil and start
When all that is within does condemn! (5.2.27-28)
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so, (4.3.28-30) and all our
Yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. (5.5.25-26)