https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/category-1595-week-of-nbsp-11-24-08 en 2005-2012 shakespearesmonekys@gmail.com 42.65593 -71.33391 Tue, 09 Jun 2026 14:46:44 GMT yacs http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss 70 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10306-faunication https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10306-faunication Sideways look, I don't believe, she says, you know -- What's your favourite by Rimbaud? Ah, say I, the best of him was his full stop.  I cannot quote his pages, though I've read them all.  I don't speak French, you understand, but he -- debauched, a dreadful man -- he spoke my tongue, and spoke it well. He's gone to Hell, she says, and I -- well, I just sigh.  It's Hell he left.  Full stop, he wrote.  (Enough of this, this pleasure dome, I'm done with poems.) How brave he was -- depraved and vile -- while I just sit and dread the hour when cowardice alone will force my own full stop.  Sideways look, Well, I can quote each word he wrote. I pity her.  She knows the lines but never learned to join the dots. ... more Leanne Hanson Up For Parole Fri, 27 Nov 2009 00:08:02 GMT /section-656-up-for-parole#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10306 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10306 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10306 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10307-perchance-to-dream https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10307-perchance-to-dream Aye, there’s the rub, says me, you see ‘Cos what I write is poetry Not truisms and tricky bits For folks to quote with borrowed wits So they might feel their stature’s grown Without an effort of their own. A poet lives his life alone A penitent who must atone For sins of thought and social gaffes Of telling riffs they’re really raffs Defiling thrones, defacing coins And planting feet in lofty groins. No flowered verse on greeting card Will pass this pen; no arse of lard Shall rule me. Not the poppest vox Will talk me into such a box Aye, there’s the rub, ‘tis poetry That’s destined me to poverty. ... more Leanne Hanson A Slap on the Wrist Thu, 13 Aug 2009 22:38:43 GMT /section-659-a-slap-on-the-wrist#comments 5 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10307 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10307 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10307 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10302-cranes https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10302-cranes   after, we heard the sand cranes far away, their voices sang like bamboo chimes in the yard in spring they will gather till their songs are overpowering till their bodies are all that can be seen but on this cool day as our world settles to sleep they sing gently as they fly into the clouds   Ruth Elliott Callooh's Odd Socks Mon, 08 Dec 2008 02:53:25 GMT /section-334-callooh-s-odd-socks#comments 4 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10302 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10302 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10302 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10318-i-didn-t-mean-to-kill-you https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10318-i-didn-t-mean-to-kill-you I didn’t mean to kill you but a blade of grass shouldn’t pierced your heart, nor should a flower thieve the sense of phantom you share with headstone. After all, what is this place we speak of, this world of hammer and luxury? Is it not a facade of sweat and wrinkled brow, a keepsake at a rummage sale? Do the merchants not stare at you from the box in your dying room? I do not know, but I didn’t mean to kill you. I didn’t mean to bring the remnants of your iris to this motif of thatch and straw; to draw you in only to lay you down on the anxieties of nest and rocking cradle. There is too much going on to argue growing flowers, I meant only to exalt you over farm and plough, above the robot arms and factories desecrating your fable. You only need to be reminded, stirred just a little, you are not your tools, you are not your origins, you are not what the science books say, you happened after language And I didn’t mean to kill you. ... more Ryan Wilbur Sir Reality and 11 Unicorns Wed, 03 Dec 2008 16:04:21 GMT /section-527-sir-reality-and-11-unicorns#comments 3 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10318 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10318 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10318 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10308-the-perfect-sonnet https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10308-the-perfect-sonnet Thy blessed tongue, it trippeth o’er the phrase that speaks too plain its mind in forward word, and doth not twist in convoluted ways about non sequiturs, a mocking bird. Thine artist’s heart, it sings old songs of love; you utter speech not heard since Shakespeare’s day, and here, you know no better fit than dove, and thank the stars that poets still say gay. O! Love enduring, why should you be changed? Why taint your breast with vulgar words and new? Why sentence make one normally arranged when thou must elder apricots on blue? I prithee, let me rest within your tree and dream of simple poets, just like me. ... more Leanne Hanson A Slap on the Wrist Mon, 01 Dec 2008 09:08:06 GMT /section-659-a-slap-on-the-wrist#comments 6 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10308 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10308 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10308 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10315-hypocritical-fools https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10315-hypocritical-fools Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Thu, 27 Nov 2008 12:07:01 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 4 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10315 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10315 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10315 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10313-au-natural https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10313-au-natural Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Wed, 26 Nov 2008 07:24:25 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10313 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10313 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10313 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10314-the-creator https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10314-the-creator Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Wed, 26 Nov 2008 07:05:06 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10314 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10314 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10314 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10312-cooch https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10312-cooch Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Wed, 26 Nov 2008 07:02:35 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10312 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10312 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10312 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10311-breeze https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10311-breeze Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Wed, 26 Nov 2008 07:00:23 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10311 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10311 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10311 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10310-calibre https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10310-calibre Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Wed, 26 Nov 2008 06:59:09 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10310 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10310 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10310 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10309-inversion https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10309-inversion Girl of Hept Mercieca, Andrew MosquitoBytes Volume 06: Decried Deity - 2005 Wed, 26 Nov 2008 06:57:54 GMT /section-628-mosquitobytes-volume-06-decried#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10309 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10309 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10309 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10305-to-wilde https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10305-to-wilde They piss on your grave, these anti-aesthetes, for whom beauty is found in glorifying the harsh and jar jangling angled wastelands, small i overdone, like dodo eggs in Alighierian imaginings. You would pat their heads, poor pretentious fools, and send them back to school to learn that a nymph is not simply a stroke of a pen, but a well – she will tell a thousand dreams to Scheherezade, whom they would suffocate. In Pere Lachaise, you are languid, as Morrison gathers frogs to his bosom, lizards having long since shed their skin, singing scales against Chopin’s Polonaise or Amazing Grace with equal facility, in disregard for the breathless. You keep fine company, but your bones are not your own, they have long gone – rejecting the prosaic earth, they calcified the air, where sunlight hid in waterfalls of thought and Thalia sought to flambé sombre soldiers in their own affected arts. In the corner of a promise you stow your reflection; shadows spring fully suckled to virgin pages. Shattered tablets lie forbidding in closed chambers, beneath the sleeping Endymion; bring us Arcady, where beauty is untrodden. Bring us clowns, whose hearts may not be broken. ... more Leanne Hanson Up For Parole Wed, 26 Nov 2008 02:23:57 GMT /section-656-up-for-parole#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10305 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10305 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10305 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10304-automontage https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10304-automontage Somewhere under yesterday your happiness was killing me; I heard Jimi Hendrix play Beethoven’s second symphony on mandolin with Morrissey, whose aria was heavenly. Someone threw a dead bouquet, a colander of Beaujolais; the trappings of the bourgeoisie all locked up with a minor key. Left of yellow disarray, you wandered into Rick’s café and ordered from the cold buffet, then washed your feet in Sencha tea, your Buddha belly on display in corpulent discourtesy. Folded into leased esprit, I was decreased and stole away; and fallen into liberty, I made it over yesterday. Leanne Hanson Up For Parole Wed, 26 Nov 2008 02:22:48 GMT /section-656-up-for-parole#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10304 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10304 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10304 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10303-inheritance https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10303-inheritance We are the wastrel heirs of Knowledge. Poor Sophia, she rode the currents of dark and built her light, a monstrous mound from which nothing could be removed. Today, she lies dead at our feet, her body whole – only her heart is gone. So we, her children’s children, plunge fingers into that pile, that has frightened us for so long, and it sticks to our hands, trying to seep through the skin. As one we draw back. This is not meant for hands as pure as ours. Someone – tidemarked elbows showing how deep he had thrust – mentions a market. “People will pay for this,” he tells us, “They will not know how little it is worth.” We cannot shift it whole – how heavy it is! – so I, the bravest fool, carry samples beneath my tongue. To bright lights and tin noise, our chosen home, we trip. God watches from his xenon cross, blinking sleepily as we play. The house does not know the coin we carry; no credit is extended, no back alley bargains struck. We turn and he is there. Ragged beggar-man with hungry eyes, “I will dice for it,” he says. “I have the means.” He shows us deeds to nations, bank drafts and patent papers, mining rights, charts and charters and crocks full of gold. Beneath my tongue, the taste grows bitter. “No dice,” says Elbows (why have I not seen him before?) “We trade.” In slickest style, the bargaining begins and when we wake, back in Her house, the pile is gone; we are left with an old coat and papers full of power. Here is the world, to rest in our palms; Elbows wears a Gucci crown. And I? I want nothing but to taste that bitterness again. ... more Leanne Hanson Up For Parole Wed, 26 Nov 2008 02:21:08 GMT /section-656-up-for-parole#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10303 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10303 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10303 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10300-1430hrs https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10300-1430hrs   Clear November afternoon Oddly silent Except the faint clickety-clack Of clawed feet On cold pavement   Fat seagulls Play hopscotch Munching on peanut free Granola bars Dip their heads in puddles     Peace shattered by the bell Panicked scatter Wings take flight Seconds before Kids explode from the doors Shannon McEwen Introspection and belly button lint Tue, 25 Nov 2008 22:07:57 GMT /section-655-introspection-and-belly-button-lint#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10300 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10300 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10300 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10299-noel https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10299-noel noel I should write of snow and winding valleys, roads to reunions and pleasures hidden until dawn. instead I wander through dreams that once wandered through me. there was the sled I wanted so, and the little rifle that never shot pellets. I had a cowboy hat, though. I was a cowboy once.   I should write of covenants and feasts, lights and singing. midnights. yet one year I knew how to be a cowboy with just a hat. ... more milliken norman Poetry Tue, 25 Nov 2008 18:08:51 GMT /section-379-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10299 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10299 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10299 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10285-bedside-manners https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10285-bedside-manners bedside manners hours wait and bend the day while blood is drawn and x-rays read. patients drift from sleep to pain to sleep again as bedside-weary prayers simplify.        “some jello         or crackers.         anything without the nausea.” and heart monitor spikes sinus peaks green above the bed.     milliken norman Poetry Sun, 23 Nov 2008 15:15:11 GMT /section-379-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10285 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10285 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10285