Poet's Musings

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Polonius and Hamlet

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Polonius and Hamlet

Polonius survives. Hamlet's still
the annoying star, dithering his way
to a fifth act, finally taking action
when everyone else is either dead
or exhausted. For heaven's sake,
he talks to a skull!

Polonius means well and thus
is despised. He does wormy things
to adapt, can't choose the best
advice and so gives it all like
most dads, gets stabbed through
a curtain while trying for advancement
in the company.

Hamlets are indulged, petted,
and finally enshrined. They fret
out loud and grab attention--
you know the type. They can
make you forget they're royalty.

Polonius persists in millions if not
billions--necessary but mocked, not
of the inner circle, perched on
the circumference of power, shafted
by the radius. Oh, well: they both

end up dead in the play and living
in Yorickville, borrowing for a
mortgage, lending advice and
forcing soliloquies on their friends,
stabber and stabbee. Nobody wants
to spend a lot of time with either
one of these guys. They're a lot of
work, these two, Hamlet and Polonius.

Copyright 2010

The 3:30 a.m. Non-Blues

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The 3:30 a.m. Non-Blues

When you wake up
at 3:30 a.m., you wish you
had the blues because
then you could be
conventionally sad.

When you wake up
that early in the morning
it's not
really morning but
it's not really bad.

It's way past midnight
but way before dawn.
If you say anything at all
to no one, you say it
with a yawn.

You don't have the blues,
and it turns out you can be satisfied.
You don't have the blues,
and by golly, you can be satisfied.
If you were to say you had the blues,
well, you would have just lied.

Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom