There once was a sage playwright from Stratford,
Whose witty meanings I couldn't afford.
I popped in New Place maison,
Right upon River Avon,
And scrubbed all of his texts on my washboard.
by Dan Costinaş (26 June 2022)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Lines on Stratford
Our Canadian County Perth
Commemorates great bard of earth ;
Stratford and Avon both are here,
And they enshrine the name Shakespeare.
For here in Stratford every ward
Is named from drama of great bard.
Here you may roam o'er Romeo
Or glance on Juliet bestow.
The valley of the Thames we presume includes Stratford
on the north and Woodstock and Ingersoll on the south.
The Avon, on whose banks Stratford is located, joins the
Thames near St.Mary's. The middle branch flows through
Embro and Thamesford, the south and middle branches
unite and flow through Dorchester and Westminster and
blend with the northern branch at London, where it deviates
to Elgin in the south.
poem by James McIntyre
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Places To Inspire
There are places in this world,
that when you are there inspire
you to do things
associated with that place.
Some are artistic and others of prayer.
I have been to both
and the validity of those words I can swear.
Once I went to Knock
the most holy place in Ireland.
A place where serenity
hangs over everything.
A feeling of something beautiful
comes over you.
That you never want to leave.
Another place is Stratford,
the birthplace of the bard.
Any would be poet,
can’t help to be inspired there.
It has to be something in the air.
Words just keep forming lines in your head,
and urge you to write them down.
Therefore, you feed your compulsion
and a new poem is found.
So if you are feeling,
the need to write, but can’t.
Go to Stratford on Avon,
and change the situation around.
You will find yourself inspired,
under the eyes of the bard,
when you follow the Shakespeare way.
2 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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I'm William Shakespeare
I’m born in April,1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon
I’m 100 miles northwest of London
I’m According to the records of Stratford's Holy Trinity Church
I’m baptized on April 26
I’m traditional birth date April 23rd, St. George's day
I’m married Anne Hathaway on November 27,1582
I’m 18; Anne was 26, eight years older than me.
I’m Susanna was born around May 26,1583; twins, Hamnet and Judith, were born around February 2,1585.
I’m likely educated at the grammar school in Stratford from the age of six or seven.
I’m published my first poem, 'Venus and Adonis, ' in 1593. I then wrote 154 poems and 37 plays, and my fame has only increased with time.
I’m recognized as one of the greatest writers of all time, known for works like 'Hamlet, ' 'Much Ado About Nothing, ' 'Romeo and Juliet, ' 'Othello, ' 'The Tempest, ' and many other works.
I’m With the 154 poems and 37 plays of my literary career, my body of works are among the most quoted in literature. I created comedies, histories, tragedies, and poetry. Despite the authorship controversies that have surrounded my works, the name of my continues to be revered by scholars and writers from around the world
I’m William Shakespeare
poem by Valya Madden
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Love Is A Funny Thing
For two lovebirds, I met a Stratford on Avon
With the first initials D & T
They know who they are.
Love is a funny thing,
one minute you are up,
then the next you are down.
Then your head is spinning around,
your seeing stars,
dancing on the moon.
Love is a funny thing,
and that is for sure.
poem by David Harris
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One is just an interpreter of what the playwright thinks, and therefore the greater the playwright, the more satisfying it is to act in the plays.
quote by Vivien Leigh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deprivation
A long time ago
I pledged to hand-over my body
To waves of mighty river Indus.
I wished
The river that blessed
The body of a sage
Shall embrace me.
Now
When i want to die
I have no pure place to jump into.
Where should i go?
The river has dried up.
How shall i be
Able to take my last eternal bath.
poem by Wali Jamali
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The Stolen Generation
They took me from my mother
But I didn’t even know
I was just a few months old
And she knew not where I’d go
She was a big black woman
I don’t know about my dad
Its now I have my grandchildren
That I’m starting to feel sad
I have blue eyes and had blonde hair
But it’s now greying gradually
I couldn’t say I was an Abo
Or they’ take the brush to me
Scrub away your blackness
Said the nuns in the Church school
Religion’s here to save you
But you must obey our rules
Rule one – you just be grateful
You’re in white society
Rule two – you must be silent
And accept humility
I scrubbed and scrubbed my body
Till I couldn’t scrub no more
The scrubbing didn’t make me white
Just made my skin red raw
I was made to feel ashamed you see
Of being just what I am
And those bastards in the priest house
Were even crueller than
Those who’d broke a family
And split us up at birth
That’s why they should say sorry
For all that they are worth.
poem by David Keig
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Gore Vidal
Novelist, playwright, wizened sage
A man unafraid to speak his mind
War on corrupt regime he waged
Restored sight to ignorant ‘n blind
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Cant Afford To Do It
Written by james williamson.
Well, I wanna go out without tearing my bed, now
Ise so scared my baby quit n
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
And loose that girl of mine
Well she spend my money - buying me clothes
Shes done cheapest woman I ever did know n
So, I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
And loose that girl of mine
Yeah
Break:
I got a good friend from alabam
He tried to steal my chick I dont know how many time
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it, ah
I cant afford to do it
And loose that girl of mine, ah
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
I cant afford to do it
And loose that girl of mine, um
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art does not 'mean' anything
..or else conceived or imagined be
try as well hard a place to hide
from those insisting the meanings there are
the meanings there meanings be must at least
conceived or imagined be
so you want to know what a poem means
so you want to see that the art is sense
of x is y I take eye for an eye
for too often outwritten by art
I can say art does not 'mean' anything
because it's all
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sonnet LVIII: None Other Fame
None other fame mine unambitious Muse
Affected ever but t'eternize thee;
All other honors do my hopes refuse,
Which meaner priz'd and momentary be.
For God forbid I should my papers blot
With mercenary lines, with servile pen,
Praising virtues in them that have them not,
Basely attending on the hopes of men.
No, no, my verse respects nor Thames nor theaters,
Nor seeks it to be known unto the great;
But Avon rich in fame, though poor in waters,
Shall have my song, where Delia hath her seat.
Avon shall be my Thames, and she my song;
I'll sound her name the river all along.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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A moody cygnet,
In the calm river Avon,
Wants to be a tern.
quote by by Oskar Hansen
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English Names on Canadian Thames
England hath given us the names
To adorn Canadian Thames,
And charms to them she hath lent,
In Oxford, Middlesex and Kent.
She Essex kisseth in her mouth,
And Scottish names, one north, one south ;
And London now she justly claims
She's capital of vale of Thames,
And her strong castellated tower .
Doth on the river frowning lower ;
And Chatham is the river's port,
There slaves for freedom did resort,
And they did industrious toil
And now many own the soil.
Stratford, now, shall be our theme,
On Avon, tributary stream,
And its clear waters it doth launch
Into the Thames, northern branch.
Near that substantial stone town,
St. Mary's, with mills of renown.
Some imagine the Thames is too insignificant a stream
to be sung in verse.' Distance lends enchantment to
the view. and they fancy the old Scottish rivers are
more worthy of song ; but many of them are polluted of
late years with vile odors from factories ; and, as the
county of Oxford is agreeably diversified with hills
and dales, the clear, sparkling stream, flowing over a
pebbly bottom, is indeed 'a thing of beauty and a joy forever.'
poem by James McIntyre
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A playwright must be his own audience. A novelist may lose his readers for a few pages; a playwright never dares lose his audience for a minute.
quote by Terence Rattigan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I really believe that studying organization, even in the form of studying detective story organization, is very, very valuable for a playwright, a budding playwright.
quote by Peter Shaffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Metamorphosis
a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed
cleaned the toilet
the bathtub
scrubbed the bathroom floor
and cut my toenails and
my hair.
then
all on the same day
the plumber came and fixed the kitchen faucet
and the toilet
and the gas man fixed the heater
and the phone man fixed the phone.
noe I sit in all this perfection.
it is quiet.
I have broken off with all 3 of my girlfriends.
I felt better when everything was in
disorder.
it will take me some months to get back to normal:
I can't even find a roach to commune with.
I have lost my rythm.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I have been robbed of
my filth.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Shed
A mans’ gotta have a shed y’know
A place he calls his own
Where he can go and loose himself
Like a king upon his throne
It can be neat and tidy
With everything in place
Or one un –wholly bloody mess
Where there isn’t any space
But you can rest assured old friend
No matter how it fares
It’s his domain and castle
Down to the worn out chairs
He proudly shows it to his mates
Who goo and gar and ask
What’s this and that you got in here
Including in the flask
There’s pictures stuck up on the wall
The likes that women scorn
But it wouldn’t be the same you see
Without his female porn
And if someone dare to take control
Woe betide the feathers fly
Until he once again can say
Don’t come in here and pry
When it’s why on this one fateful day
A hapless brown came in
And all that happened after that
Boy, you should have heard the din
Jo blake slipped here and he slipped there
To keep out of old mates way
But old mate was having none of that
As he entered in the fray
Things they went here and they went there
As the chase in-ten-si-fied
With old mate going hell for leather
To get that snake outside
Almost a full one hour had gone
And neither would give in
The snake kept just enough in front
To save it’s slippery skin
Until it spied a big wide space
That was in fact the door
And slipped out quick as anything
Away from that bloody floor
When old mate stopped and looked around
When the battle was complete
He couldn’t believe the mess there was
He was out to it on his feet
But satisfaction slowly grew
Sweat began to dis-si-pate
As he softly whispered to himself
I’ll not share with any snake
So, take heed all those who enter there
And know it’s in his head
He’ll do whatever it does take
To defend his bloody shed
Don Stratford © 18 / 2 / 2005
poem by Don Stratford
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The bases for historical knowledge are not empirical facts but written texts, even if these texts masquerade in the guise of wars or revolutions.
quote by Paul Deman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Stratford-Upon-Avon
Thus spake his dust (so seemed it as I read
The words): Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare
(Poor ghost!) To digg the dust enclosèd heare --
Then came the malediction on the head
Of whoso dare disturb the sacred dead.
Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear,
The winding Avon murmured in its bed,
But in the solemn Stratford church the air
Was chill and dank, and on the foot-worn tomb
The evening shadows deepened momently.
Then a great awe fell on me, standing there,
As if some speechless presence in the gloom
Was hovering, and fain would speak with me.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Océan de terre
J'ai bâti une maison au milieu de l'Océan
Ses fenêtres sont les fleuves qui s'écoulent de mes yeux
Des poulpes grouillent partout où se tiennent les murailles
Entendez battre leur triple cœur et leur bec cogner aux vitres
Maison humide
Maison ardente
Saison rapide
Saison qui chante
Les avions pondent des œufs
Attention on va jeter l'ancre
Attention à l'encre que l'on jette
Il serait bon que vous vinssiez du ciel
Le chèvrefeuille du ciel grimpe
Les poulpes terrestres palpitent
Et puis nous sommes tant et tant à être nos propres fossoyeurs
Pâles poulpes des vagues crayeuses ô poulpes aux becs pâles
Autour de la maison il y a cet océan que tu connais
Et qui ne se repose jamais
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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