Tag Archives: macbeth

I Know A Girl Called Miss Shakespeare

I know a girl called Miss Shakespeare
Who has pulled me many a beer.
The old barman, named Macbeth,
Bores us all to death.
And King Duncan is off his beer.

There Once Was A Ghost Called Banquo

There once was a ghost called Banquo
Who, having nowhere particular to go
Frightened poor Macbeth
Half to death
As all lovers of Shakespeare know.

Keats had his Nightingale

Keats had his Nightingale, which made him think of death.
I have my owl, which brings to mind Macbeth.
Tis a different name
For the same

The morning birds sing
Replacing the owl’s cry
And I
Ponder on Keats, who is remembered still
And wonder will
My owl survive
Long after I am alive.

Scorpions Of The Mind

I find
That scorpions of the mind
Run rampant in sleep.
To keep
Them at bay
I shall away
And write.

They caper
On paper.
But the thing
Is they will
Return to sting
And bite.
At night.
Therefore To still
The thing that would kill
I must write.

“Oh, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives”.
Macbeth: Act 3, scene 2.

Can All This Water Cleanse My Thought

Can all this water
Cleanse my thought?
Is and ought.
The daughter
Of Eve
Will leave
A mind
On women and wine.
There is no telling
Where this will end.

As a boy
I took joy
In a pretend
As an adult
The result
Is lies
And sighs.
Would that I could
Gaze with quietude
Into those eyes,
But no, I should not intrude

Stream Of Consciousness Rambling

Shall I write
To delight
My reader’s a stream of consciousness piece?
Or should I cease
My screed?
For there is no need
To take up their valuable time
With my rhyme
Which goes,
As the river flows
Down to the sea.

I am lost in the ocean
My words a mere commotion
Which (as the bard now dead
So rightly said)
Is “a tale told by an idiot signifying nothing”.

“Macbeth”, or should I say
“The Scottish Play”
Is full of words cleverly stitched together,
With witches and stormy weather
Playing their part.
The dagger in Duncan’s heart
Brought Macbeth and his wife to perdition.
Brought him low
As those who study Shakespeare know.

Should I go
On with this rhyme
Wasting time
Forever spinning
To keep my mind off sinning,
Which, of course I never do,
For you
Are aware
I dare
That I am honest as the day
Is long. In fact a plaster saint am I
And when I die
I shall to heaven go,
Or perhaps somewhere below
Where all my desire
Shall end in fire …!


“For mine own good,
All causes shall give way. I am in blood
Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er”.
(Macbeth: Act 3, Scene 4).

The extraordinary and new
Does, through
The passing of the years
Engender ordinary tears.

Although normalisation may not lead to crying
Inside something is dieing,
The soul
Then, at first unnoticed the whole
Edifice begins to collapse.

Masonry imperceptibly crumbles.
There may be mumbles of regret
And yet
Brick after brick tumbles.

Once a piece of the building has gone
A man may carry on
Down the same path
With a weary laugh,
Though the loss of a single brick
May his conscience prick.


Some say
In a place far away
The gods play dice
And we humans pay the price.

How easy to blame some external force,
“Matters will take their course.
We must to fate submit
And our teeth in the face of adversity grit”.

Macbeth his dagger drew
And ran king Duncan through.
It was his own shame.
No witches where to blame.

We make our own fate,
Though oft we hate
The fact however true,
It was we alone, who ran King Duncan through.

In Search of the Ultimate

The search for the ultimate thrill
May chill
Or kill
The fickle heart.
Better to leave dark
Yearnings to art
Where they can do no harm,
Than down the primrose way start.

The charm
Of a thing
May oft times bring
A fleeting pleasure,
But come the set of sun
When our fun is done
The sting
We feel, then repent at leisure.

“Knock, knock! Never at quiet. What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further. I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire”.
Macbeth. Act 2, Scene 3.