Reactions To Wm. Shakespeare As The Puck Of All Time

Picture here; Coriolanus baring his disdain before becoming a human pincushion,

and his public never even said thank you for his having saved Rome,

at least not while he was strutting and breathing.

Willie Shakes, you hobgoblin!

Linda, make a note to self to write a thank-you note for this past weekend’s party.

Picture here; Lady M walking along her lunatic, stony halls

as she sheds increasingly larger numbers of skin cells,

and those off-center pieces of her mind with every step.

Wills, you mischievous fairy!

Even back then you found a chance for mayhem and bedlam.

Picture here; the horror, 

and tastelessness (no pun intended!) of Tamora’s final meal.

She, then dying, with the essence of her two sons on her breath.

Wild Willie, cannibalism?  You’re such a jester.

And, I’ve never trusted anyone with insincere flattery that lay on their tongue.

Picture here; Juliet starry eyes (vb.) herself into the night from her balcony.

Romeo and Jules, the bones of their inauspicious love destiny 

buried under Capulet’s golden stone.

Mr. Shakespeare, you imp, were you just (Puck)ing with us?

Because I never had to abuse myself to prove my love to anyone.

Picture here; Posthumus’s needless suffering,

he, needing to tone down the fire of his green-eyed dragon

while testing his true love’s true love.

Shakey, you are a real sprite, to set him up for such a game.

When passion slips into jealousy, all heck’s bound to break loose.

William Shakespeare, you sure knew how to write ‘em!

 

 

 

 

 Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem in the March issue.

Removing His Name From Their Friends’ List

 

 Regret any odd, oily tyrant,

with a macho twist on his way to a rough nowhere,

trying to see if he could run down

the Earth’s battery 

by using his profane lure to breed thralls,

turning a casual incident, regular idea,

or random reference into a burn,

the censured odor of sabotage.

 

He, the first to suspect strange talk

of those who won’t comply with the rules

he imposes, or the hodgepodge

of antics few have felt would benefit themselves.

He loves to sit at the bad table,

and brew up vague chaos.

 

The irresponsible ruler who will only decree

conduct highly disapproved by

everyone but his own ego.

 

 

 

https://santarabiapoetry.com/linda-imbler-las-alas-de-quienes-vienen-a-consolarme/?fbclid=IwAR0vBJczMXObJbi8ZneSMzIJSozgYh9_1q_dfovfHViaepWNQbSwRpqJ6R8

Linda Imbler | Las alas de quienes vienen a consolarme

Linda Imbler es una escritora y profesora retirada estadounidense. Reside en Wichita, Kansas, EE.UU. Es autora de seis poemarios de bolsillo publicados: Big Questions, Little Sleep, Big Questions, Little Sleep” segunda edición (ampliada con 66 poemas adicionales), Lost and Found, Red Is The Sunrise, Bus Lights, Travel Sights y Spica’s Frequency. Soma Publishing publicó sus cuatro libros electrónicos, The Sea’s Secret Song, Pairings, un híbrido de ficción breve y poesía, That Fifth Element y Per Quindecim. Además de escribir, ayuda a su esposo, un luthier, a construir guitarras acústicas y cuerdas de acero. Más información: lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.

WINGS

 

As the beating of the wings of birds,

my mother’s fluttering eyelashes

seen with my infant eyes,

as I studied the face of the first person I ever loved.

 

As the beating of the wings of birds,

my friends’ fluttering hands,

emphatic with anger, comic with hilarity, revelatory with gossip,

as I listened to both their wisdom and their folly.

 

As the beating of the wings of birds,

the fluttering in my chest,

the first time I saw him, the first time he touched me,

and all times thereafter.

 

As the beating of the wings of birds,

the soft flickering of ancient wings,

the wings of those who come to comfort me, sit at my bedside,

sharing with me my final hours.

 

 

ALAS

 

como el batir de alas de los pájaros
revolotean las pestañas de mi madre
las observo con ojos de niña
recorro el rostro de la primera
persona que amé

como el batir de alas de los pájaros
revolotean las manos de mis amigos
enfatizan en la ira
desencadenan la risa
reproducen el chisme
escucho su sabiduría e insensatez

como el batir de alas de los pájaros
el aleteo en el pecho
la primera vez que lo vi
la primera vez que me tocó
y todo lo que vino después

como el batir de alas de los pájaros
el apacible vuelo de las alas antiguas
las alas de quienes vienen a consolarme
y se sientan junto a la cama
en mis últimas horas

 

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LACHRYMOSE 

 

Within this tearful melancholy day,

when sorrow from a thousand eyes hangs in the air,

and floats as mist;

On such a day, there’s only one thing to do,

breathe in that mist,

inhale the tears of the many

so that you will not know loneliness.

 

LACRIMOSA 

en este día melancólico y lluvioso
con el dolor de mil ojos flotando en el aire
suspendido como la niebla
sólo hay una cosa por hacer:

inhalar, entre la bruma, el llanto de los muchos
para no conocer la soledad

 

 

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UNTIL 

 

The tiny boat floated on the open sea,

Until it didn’t.

 

The plumed bird soared on the damp air,

Until it didn’t.

 

The blistering fire brightly alit trees in the forest,

Until it didn’t.

 

The earth gave tremor under stock-still feet,

Until it didn’t.

 

And you loved me,

Until you didn’t.

 

HASTA 

el pequeño bote flotó en el mar abierto
hasta que dejó de hacerlo

la emplumada ave se elevó por la neblina
hasta que dejó de hacerlo

 

el abrasador fuego alumbró los árboles en el bosque

hasta que dejó de hacerlo

 

la tierra se estremeció bajo los inmóviles pies
hasta que dejó de hacerlo

 

me amaste
hasta que dejaste de hacerlo

 

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DREAM’S GARDEN 

 

Dip beneath the whirring birds.

Accept the shine as polished silver

that scatters the light

like woven sunbeams.

Remember your purpose.

You have your house to build.

Learn all that you are capable of,

and remember that worm becomes butterfly.

 

JARDÍN DE LOS SUEÑOS 

 

sumérgete en el canto de los pájaros
acepta el brillo, como lustrada plata
que dispersa y teje los rayos del sol
recuerda tu propósito
hay una casa por construir
aprende todo lo que seas capaz
y recuerda que la oruga se torna mariposa

 

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DEPENDENCE

 

I’ve climbed the towering heights of wind whipped trees,

each branch a seemingly ceaseless life suffered and lived.

 

Climbed crumbling steep stairs, narrow, rail-less,

every lift a courageous victory

over what strived to drag or cast me down.

 

Climbed out of an abysmal pit,

out of the cold, cloying clutch of the dark of condemnation

and into the warm, free embrace of merciful light,

as if my life depended on it.

 

Because it did.

 

DEPENDENCIA

he escalado las imponentes alturas de los árboles azotados por el viento
cada rama vivió y sufrió una vida incesante

subí empinadas y desmoronadas escaleras
estrechas, sin rieles, y cada levantamiento fue un triunfo
sobre lo que se insistía en arrastrarme o derribarme

salí de un abismal pozo, fuera de las frías y empalagosas garras
de la oscuridad, su condenación, y entré al cálido y emancipador
abrazo de la luz misericordiosa
como si mi vida dependiera de ello

 

porque lo hizo

 

 

 

Versión al español de María Del Castillo Sucerquia