Stratford-Upon –Avon …450
The bard
Ladies and Gentlemen…
Today some 450 years away
An infant was born
to become the Bard
Who’d
never be forgotten
by not only Stratford –Upon- Avon
but
The entire world

Such souls come once
in one’s life time
to live
In the hearts of memorable humanity
for times immemorial

So let the world join
in the memory of the one
who composed theatrical poems…
those live in their existence
even today
450 years away.

Upon reflection I suppose this is
the inevitable conclusion of
the circumstances that first brought us to
this point in our sad, intertwining, lives.

I am compelled to ask you, to question
your motives, to query your reasoning,
and to try to understand how you might
have considered you would ever succeed?

Tell me, if you would, before we end this,
just how you came to the conclusion that
anything you do could ever be more
than the most pitiful inconvenience?

two men enter
both will drink
i see him in the window
blurred
the man who writes at night

has it already
been a year?
has it even been
an hour?

from the lists of names ignored and forgotten
flashless, the fool finally finds a field
and blends among the graying stalks
that slowly in silence erase
their once proud names

paddock the pillage of sailing flowers
dreaming that they dropped asleep
lapel in shrewd courtesy
as a coat of cold pillory
punishment in a shack tenement
where floors dull wasted petals
cheap metals have they become
colour dried with frail polish
they are let to rot away