[John Whitworth]

I would say fuck if I were you. Larkin does. And so, it seems, did the Reverend Ian Paisley. When asked advice from an up and coming Ulster politician, the rev said avuncularly, 'Just say fuck occasionally'. Good advice for anyone in politics, I would have thought.

[Marion Shore]

Stopping by Elsinore on a Gloomy Evening

What choice this is I think I know --
I'm racked with indecision though --
to face my fate however dire
or risk what terrors lie below?

For who indeed would not desire
to take their leave of fortune's ire,
but for the fear of going from
the frying pan into the fire?

My father's spirit must be glum
to see the way I'm playing dumb,
wandering round this crumbling heap,
while my uncle shags my mum.

Death beckons, peaceful, dark and deep,
but I have vows that I must keep
and three more acts before I sleep
and three more acts before I sleep.

[Roger Slater]

Damn you, Marion, please don't submit that. How satisfying would it be compared to the Wilbur award? There are some of us whose self-esteem depends on this contest.

Maybe change "while" to "whilst" to humor the silly way they speak over there. But then, of course, don't send it in.

[Susan McLean]

Marion, that is wonderful.

Susan

[RCL]

Now that's "laugh out loud"!

A classic,
Ralph

[John Whitworth]

Who says 'whilst' over here? Nobody since about 1911. Maybe the Queen says it. oh, and Roger, you can't spell 'humour'.

Consider whilst
Thy nails thou fil's't
The words thou say'st
Should be the best
And not just rough
Old Yankee stough.

[Roger Slater]

Does best rhyme with say'st?

Glad to hear that about whilst. I vaguely recall being told here, at the Sphere, that whilst was accepted Brit-speak, after I criticized its use in someone's poem.

[John Whitworth]

Yup, I sez it duz.

[Marion Shore]

Thanks, guys!

My question is about S3L4 - which sounds neither Shakespearean nor Frostean...What do ya'll think? Will it fly?

(Mr. Slater, wasn't it you yourself who said the Wilbur was almost as good as the fiver. You contradict yourself, my dear man.)

[Catherine Tufariello]

Damn, you all are good! What a hoot.


One Interrogative—
To be or not to—Be—
Revolves in my astounded Brain
Like Immortality—

To Die—may be to Sleep—
To sleep to Dream—perhaps—
With Poppies—Death may courtly come—
Or Manacles—and Whips—

And there’s the Hitch—the Fear
His Horses’ Heads—may go
To where I would not Be—if I
Should fly the Ills—I know—

And so—the Will—is numb—
And Conscience sealed—with Lead—
Because no Traveler ever leaves
The Country of the—Dead—