Fiction, Poetry and Havering

April Poem-a-Day — April 16, 2014

Wednesday, April 16th, 2014

For today’s prompt, write an elegy.



Callimachi Manes et Coi sacra Philetae,
in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus.


Caliban Dies Alone


Deserted in old age

by those who mastered him

with torture and disdain,

he lies in his strait bed.

And remembers.


An island all his own

full of beauty and promise,

fruits bright and sweet,

shellfish and seagrass.

And a mother’s love.


Smashed up forever

by storm that brought flotsam

people with agile magic

who turned him to Other.

And ravaged his life.


I would tend to Caliban,

wipe the fever from his face,

gently take his hand in mine

to kiss the soil and calluses.

And whisper a lie—“I am Sycorax.”


Gammelor Goodenow


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