SHAKESPEARE DIDN'T WRITE IT
Posted: Sat Aug 29, 2015 2:00 pm
SHAKESPEARE DIDN’T WRITE IT!
Shakespeare’s never turned me on, the Banjo more my scene,
Regret’s colt and Clancy much closer to my liking
but, even I must concede, the Bard was no “has been”,
a legacy defined as nothing less than striking.
His pen was so prolific, at the risk of sounding trite,
“the Magna Carta’s ‘bout the only piece he didn’t write.”
thirty-seven plays, four poems, sonnets numbering one five four,
a quite herculean task, who could ask for more.
But, despite he not being my playwright number one,
I’ve been and sampled some of Shakespeare’s ethos,
stopped at Stratford on his birthday, and not to be outdone
saw Macbeth staged in the town hall, full of pathos.
And furthermore, in London, saw a show at Shakespeare’s Globe,
not the place to be for a claustrophobe,
“groundlings” in the pit trading diatribe with the cast,
“Bedlam” the play, such performance unsurpassed.
“Greatest writer in the English language,” much tribute to uphold
concerning one who died near four hundred years ago,
though Shakespeare’s full history may yet be untold,
what was the seed keeping creativeness aglow?
Perhaps this could be clarified by a recent find
of what may have affected the Bard’s state of mind,
cannabis traced in pipes unearthed from his garden,
one could be excused for asking “Beg your pardon”?
Advanced techniques have made this incredible detection,
suggesting Shakespeare might have smoked some pot,
conjecture is fuelled by sonnet seventy-six inspection,
do words “compounds strange” and “noted weed” mean a lot?
Did Shakespeare, like Lucy play with diamonds in the sky?
Were his works so acclaimed, produced while he was high?
Does it really matter what he did or didn’t write?
His place in history’s sealed, let him rest free of blight.
Jeff Thorpe © 17 August 2015
Shakespeare’s never turned me on, the Banjo more my scene,
Regret’s colt and Clancy much closer to my liking
but, even I must concede, the Bard was no “has been”,
a legacy defined as nothing less than striking.
His pen was so prolific, at the risk of sounding trite,
“the Magna Carta’s ‘bout the only piece he didn’t write.”
thirty-seven plays, four poems, sonnets numbering one five four,
a quite herculean task, who could ask for more.
But, despite he not being my playwright number one,
I’ve been and sampled some of Shakespeare’s ethos,
stopped at Stratford on his birthday, and not to be outdone
saw Macbeth staged in the town hall, full of pathos.
And furthermore, in London, saw a show at Shakespeare’s Globe,
not the place to be for a claustrophobe,
“groundlings” in the pit trading diatribe with the cast,
“Bedlam” the play, such performance unsurpassed.
“Greatest writer in the English language,” much tribute to uphold
concerning one who died near four hundred years ago,
though Shakespeare’s full history may yet be untold,
what was the seed keeping creativeness aglow?
Perhaps this could be clarified by a recent find
of what may have affected the Bard’s state of mind,
cannabis traced in pipes unearthed from his garden,
one could be excused for asking “Beg your pardon”?
Advanced techniques have made this incredible detection,
suggesting Shakespeare might have smoked some pot,
conjecture is fuelled by sonnet seventy-six inspection,
do words “compounds strange” and “noted weed” mean a lot?
Did Shakespeare, like Lucy play with diamonds in the sky?
Were his works so acclaimed, produced while he was high?
Does it really matter what he did or didn’t write?
His place in history’s sealed, let him rest free of blight.
Jeff Thorpe © 17 August 2015