Behold, be told, ’tis Yorick’s head,
to reap the sleep from one whom dead.
To mull the skull, to ponder ’bout,
from rot begot and hollowed out.
A bone to hone a sharpened wit,
to pine, divine the truth from it.
From birth to earth to wane and rot,
to be or be to be forgot?
The play of clay, the act exhumed,
debate the pate, its humour ruined.
What yield revealed out of the mud?
A theft bereft of flesh and blood.
Beguile, let rile the shout, the roar,
how oft’ aloft the passions soar.
When held, beheld poor Yorick’s head;
who would, e’en could, alive yet dead?
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Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: March 14th, 2017 01:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments6
Ingredients to amazing above. Thanks for it.
Hello JJ, Thank you very much for reading and responding. Regards, Tony
Alas poor Yorick, I knew him well.
Hello Goldfinch60, I do appreciate you taking the time to read, thank you. Regards, Tony.
"The play of clay, the act exhumed,
debate the pate, its humour ruined.." Such amazing this is expression that amazes mind automatically. Wonderfully motivated poem is shared here.
Hello Pintu, Delighted you enjoyed this one and appreciate, very much, your response. Regards, Tony.
Alas poor Yorick I new him well, we used to go bowling on Friday. Great write
Hello Tony36, Thank you very much for reading. Regards, Tony.
Welcome
To be or to be forgot! Tony, that brought to mind an archeological dig and how if one were cremated nothing would there be to exhume and indeed truly forgotten save for the ash that would have long since been returned to the material of the earth which would surely be dug past. Through bones, forensics would say, the dead speak, however humourlessly, we could presume. A poem thick in thought. Loved it. Thanks for keeping it up here. Rik.
I love it. Reminds me of pirates.
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