Actually I have a comely leg, or so I am told, well suited for the filling
of tights, a plump thigh although the calves have decayed to old rugby
muscle. Nevertheless I have no immediate plans to tread the boards and strut
my hour. Glad you enjoyed the romp. Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Bob Cooper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Tuesday, April 01, 2003 2:17 AM
Subject: Re: New Sub: The Castle: The Dramatic Monologue


Hi Arthur,
Please, please, don't let on that you're considering wearing a doublet and
hose and reciting this on some village hall stage on a chilly winter's night
somewhere in the dark Pennines! It's mock Shakesperianism tone is a delight
to read - hope it was as delightful to write!
Bob






>From: arthur seeley <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New Sub: The Castle: The Dramatic Monologue
>Date: Fri, 28 Mar 2003 17:39:30 -0000
>
>This is a romp; an indulgence on my part. Bear with me. Arthur
>
>The Castle: The Dramatic Monologue
>
>Boom!
>My fists hum with pain, my knuckles sing
>from beating on this door, oak and iron-bound.
>My thuds and curses resound,
>echoes booming around cold halls;
>enough to wake the sleepers at the gate,
>the dead mouldering under dripping yews,
>or village folk cowered beneath this sprawl.
>
>Boom!
>So round it rings and round and round.
>Let, let me, let me in, I say.
>I have letters that bring me here.
>Will you read them? Can you read them?
>Will you see the signature?
>Do you not recognise the seal?
>For what purpose, then, am I called,
>summoned to what end
>to this place of gloomy walls?
>Am I to be a porter's fool,
>ignored, dismissed, left to chill,
>that you might snigger in your cubby-hole?
>
>Boom!
>Look, sir, you let rats.
>See, one glitters on the green-scummed moat,
>a comet drawing its bright tail,
>orbits your looming ramparts,
>to sneak a way, I'll be bound,
>come, let me in, I am a man, no rat at all.
>Give me reason, slam your peephole as you may,
>Pah, you may ignore me, sneer, smirk, mock me, sir,
>but my papers are in order. See!
>For goodness sake, have the courtesy to read them.
>Boom!
>
>Oh, I know, I know.
>His lordship is otherwise engaged.
>I know it and I know the minstrels play in their gallery;
>banners swag and tapestries festoon,
>trumpet his baronial lineage,
>ancient gallantries, deeds and favours done.
>Royal patronage won and woven into the cloth,
>embroidered with bird-chimed gardens
>ripe and plump with dropping fruits,
>full of drooling succulence and glowing syrups
>deck a mythic Moorish paradise.
>The castellan, your Lord, farts and yawns,
>kneads his bulbous belly with a hairy fist
>rockets a thunderous eructation
>round the smoky beams and fluted vaults.
>Sat to his supper in a log-lit room,
>with his fair lady, glittering and gowned,
>(her midriff thickens year on year,
>but whisper that behind the hand ).
>Rubies glow upon her throat
>while snowy damask dabs her wine-dewed lips.
>See how she simpers over soup, sips and wipes,
>peels a grape and casts her picked bones
>to slavering hounds that growl and grumble
>beneath the straining board.
>Ha! I hear their hoots and trills of laughter.
>Is it the jester that lampoons the night away,
>bangs his bladder on a maiden's head?
>punning to a merry tune? or tells my farce?
>Am I today's joke? the buffoon that prompts
>his lordship to snort and splutter in his cups,
>slap his quivering thigh and wipe a bleary eye?
>
>Boom!
>Roam over me, ravens, batter the twilit air.
>Is it my fists' tattoo that frights you,
>throws you into tattered flight,
>a clattering of wings and your cries
>retching with rowdy protest?
>Join me, scrape your harsh throats,
>augment my pleas with dark-winged rumours,
>bloom your feathers to my racket,
>shift along your airy shelves.
>Boom!
>
>Boom!
>Faint foot- falls, fading, fade,
>soft slippers over cobbles, slide away!
>Obsequious to one and arrogant to another.
>Disdain of pert office, loathed by all.
>You slimy, supine things. Mock my siege!
>Slip away, find your dens, leave me here,
>cold, blowing my ringing fingers,
>chewing my anger, a bitter cud.
>
>So, so, all grows dark, eh?
>The light withdraws.
>The last glimmers of departing torches sway,
>throw dancing dragon-shadows over gleaming walls,
>night's black bestiary flares fantastic
>down dripping passages.
>
>Boom!
>My cries and curses
>humming fists and knuckles' blood
>might undermine the very lists of Death,
>but finds no entry to this flintier heart.
>I'll come again tomorrow.
>At cock-shout expect my call.


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