Hamlet on the Square - Original Poem by Arthur L Wood

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A poem I scribbled down late at night on the 22nd November, when everyone in house was fast asleep. I'm still writing everything to this piece by Bach (and will be until the 10th of December!). This one was particularly tricky as my mood wasn't in tune with the music at all.

You can’t speak of beauty,
You just do as you’re told.
Hamlet’s down on the dusty street,
But it’s far too cold

And I wonder if John Lennon
Or Lord Byron or John Donne,
Would write dishonest trifles
For the praise of everyone

Or rather push the boulder
Up and up the poets mound
Or simply swallow soma,
And roll her to the ground.

-

Surely, surely, every hand
With a masterpiece inside,
Would turn their back on England
If she made the man decide.

And sail unto a land of god,
To write for spirits there,
To sing into the universe,
Of here, and everywhere;
Like Hamlet dances in the street
To no-one, on The Square.

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