Shakespeare's Plays Explained in Three Lines

Shakespeare’s Plays explained in three lines

A.      The Comedy of Errors

1.       Two sets of identical twins are separated at birth

2.       One set goes looking for the other set

3.       Everybody gets mixed up and some very high jinks ensue

B.      A Midsummer Night’s Dream

1.       Two couples run into fairy-infested woods

2.       Puck puts a love potion into people’s eyes

3.       Everyone falls in love with the wrong person

C.      The Winter’s Tale

1.       Leontes accuses his wife Hermione of adultery

2.       Some poor guy gets eaten by a bear

3.       Sixteen years later a statue comes to life and all ends well

D.      Troilus And Cressida

1.       Troilus loves Cressida

2.       Cressida is given to the Greeks

3.       Homer’s Iliad happens

E.       Henry VI Part 3

1.       Henry is king (twice)

2.       Edward is king (twice)

3.       Henry dies

F.       Richard II

1.       Richard banishes his cousin Henry

2.       Henry comes back & takes Richard’s crown

3.       Richard dies

G.     Richard III

1.       Richard wants to be king

2.       Richard kills lots of people in order to be king

3.       Richard is killed

H.     Macbeth

1.       Three witches tell Macbeth he will be king

2.       Macbeth kills lots of people in order to be king

3.       Macbeth is killed

I.        Hamlet

1.       The ghost of Hamlet’s father tells Hamlet to avenge him

2.       Hamlet talks a LOT about avenging his father.  I mean on and on and on

3.       Hamlet avenges his father

J.        Julius Caesar

1.       Cassius and Brutus assassinate Julius Caesar

2.       Mark Anthony gives a really long speech

3.       Cassius & Brutus kill themselves

K.      King Lear

1.       Lear gives all his wealth away to two of his three daughters

2.       Lear loses his marbles, big time

3.       Lear dies a miserable old man, along with all three of his daughters

L.       Othello

1.       Othello believes his pretty young wife has deceived him

2.       He kills her in a fit of pique

3.       Lots of people get stabbed and Othello dies. Oh bollocks!

M.    Titus Andronicus

1.       Lots of deaths

2.       More deaths

3.       Just lots and lots of death

Safari, So Good

Safari, So Good – a poem un-inspired by a visit to Longleat in the rain

It might be a strange thing to want to do,

But I had a craving to go to the park,

Not to that flat thing at the end of the road,

But to see the creatures saved from the Ark.

I wanted to see animals all exotic,

From Asia and Africa and such.

(I know that I’m living in Wiltshire,

But surely, it’s not asking too much?)

So we drove off down to Longleat,

And followed the signs right up the path,

Where they’ve got all sorts of creatures,

Including the latest Marquess of Bath.

Now I know it probably costs a few bob,

To build a few enclosures and cages,

But I didn’t think it’d cost me so much:

To get in was at least a week’s wages!

And we should have picked better weather,

Cause the day was all cloudy and wet,

And I think it were on a cold Monday,

The most miserable day you could get.

The animals were getting over their week-end,

Sunday must have been better, I’ve no doubt,

So they were all sleeping it off,

And none of them wanted to come out.

We couldn’t choose, to go on a Jungle Cruise,

For the boats were all moored up that day.

We had a short phase, lost in the Monkey Maze,

But even the meerkats slept – what can I say?

We repaired to the Capybara Café,

But they didn’t have anything we’d want,

Nor did we stay, in the Hippo Hideaway,

And ended up in the Rhino Restaurant.

My Safari Burger had made me feel bad,

So I had no wish to go on the Funfair,

What I needed were the great open spaces,

The Africa Drive-Thru and get some fresh air.

This’ll be good, we thought as we drove,

We’ll see the wide open Savannah at least,

With buffaloes, giraffes and some zebra,

And great herds of wildebeest.

  

Alas the experience was somewhat different,

Past warning notices and thence,

Two sets of gates and piles of barbed wire,

Warders in Jeeps, and a security fence.

Security cameras watched our every move

To ensure that we weren’t in any danger,

You weren’t allowed out of the car,

And we were watched every few yards by a ranger.

It was a bit like being in Parkhurst,

Not that I’ve been there, you know,

Except there was nothing for the captives to do,

Not even some mail-bags to sew.

The lions were bored and sat under the trees,

Like listless teen-agers kicking their heels;

Eyeing all the tasty-looking people in cars:

To them we must’ve looked like Meals on Wheels.

Then out of the final enclosure,

The short line of cars and vans waggled,

A quick trip to the Tiger Toilets,

And then homeward, weary and bedraggled.

So if you’re looking for a wildlife experience,

Whilst you’re dreaming, or lying in bed,

Take a word of advice from someone who knows,

Save up, and go to Africa instead.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

I saw her again the other day

For the first time out in sunshine

Smiling, bright and happy

Laughing with the other guests

At some dreary garden party

And I admired her whitened skin

Pearlescent clear

Smooth and unblemished

Her long elegant arms

And her perfect figure

Exquisitely displayed

In her low-cut summer dress

And as she turned away

To talk to someone else

Revealing the perfect curve of her back

I could see the merest whipline

A long extended tongue

Curling from out the mouth

Of the dragon hidden there

Emerging from beneath

The taut and silken edge

Of the light material

Where it entwined itself

And inter-mingled

With the crouching tiger

Peeking out from just below

And I thought of the ferocity

Of these two snarling beasts

Which invaded the empty canvas of her skin

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Mole

Mole

Early morning garden wandering

Feeling the wetness of dew

From the lawn’s long grass

Soaking through the shoe-soles

I stumble across something

That upsets the leisurely stroll

The tell-tale signs of spoil-heaps

The unmistakeable evidence

Of the presence of mole

Mounds are scattered round

Creating an irregular landscape

Pitted by small soil-mountains

Piles of loam above ground

Tunnelled out from down below

Such vandalism is not caused by the vole

These burrowings and diggings

Are of something a size larger

That can only suggest mole

I can trace the track of his wanderings

The lines that betray channels below

As he blindly pursues his lone destiny

And I wonder if he ever pokes his head up

To see where he’s got to today?

The underneath’s now riddled with holes

A scene of rural despoilation

Where the worms have scattered in panic

In their heedless flight from the mole

And I’ll whack the piles with a spade

Trying to flatten them down once again

In a quite futile gesture of anger

That will do little good in the end

For my little invader won’t be deterred

And I know deep down in my soul

That once he’s taken up residence

He’ll stick around for some time

And I’ll be sharing my lawn with a mole

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Morning

Morning

Running down a darkened hallway

Towards an opening door

Where light floods around

And falls in upon the floor

Suddenly there is sound again

Rushing, scraping, scratching

And an end to thoughts and dreams

To schemes of reddened skies

To floating boulders slowly turning

To sweeping clouds of yellow

And the bellowing, aching roar

Of a lone walrus upon a deserted shore

To the flutter of dry and dusty leaves

Driven, wind-blown, swirling

To the clatter of hooves

Of blue-skinned ponies trotting

Through a cold and empty square

The space echoing back the sound

To the voids of blackened eye-holes

Of grotesque, trembling skulls

And which, after an endless time

Slowly dissolve and desiccate

Into the crystals of the waking world

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Cough

Cough

There’s something that I need to get off my chest

For I’m feeling rather queasy

And my breathing’s gone all wheezy

I reckon I’m scoring about a seven

On the International scale

The Cough Index of Looseness

I don’t think there’s any question

That I’ve got some bronchial congestion

And I need to make a major contribution

To the UK Phlegm and Mucus Depository

This soothing menthol mixture

May become a bedside fixture

This special fruit and honey syrup

Has made me Expectorant of a cure

For it’s the thing that Linctus together

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015

Lengths

Lengths

It occurs to me from time to time

That there must be a better way

My head emerging from the water

Grasping for the air

Gasping, lungs hurting

Breathless from the effort

Between tired strokes

Sometimes near choking

In the careless back-wash bow-wave

Of be-spectacled dolphins beside me

Speeding through the swell

In their effortless freestyle

And that there are easier means

Than this daily immersion

In stinging chlorine spray

To drag an ungainly body

Through the crash and splash

Beyond the pain barrier

Of an aching, heaving chest

And exhausted arms and legs

Soon losing their co-ordination

And any sense of rhythm

Between the lines of lanes

And ability to remain

On the straight and narrow

And that perhaps it’s all so… pointless

This swimming end to end

The relentless back and forth

Of many measured lengths

To ignore the overwhelming urge

To simply stop and float awhile

Then sink slowly to the bottom

Amid the rising bubbles

To inspect the detail

And the regular pattern

Picked out in white and blue tiles

Whilst other bathers carry on regardless

And a lifeguard looks on in horror

At the body of a drowning man

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015