Helen Mirren’s Tempest

Wild, Wild the Dreams,

      shouting light in evening’s shadow, shattering the door where sleep confines.

The dark spectre intrudes thrusting light into the gloom,       

      where sensibility’s breached containment gives way to delicate revealing incandescence.

The inner eye now amenable, grasps word upon word, upon word, upon word,

     waking somnolent recollection, cleansing this evening’s apparition.

 Why illumination sent here by the Bard’s quickening seed

       driving spectres with luminosity from the turbid depths?

Fair Ariel lifts this mundane voice by her inspirited musings.

This messenger of light improvises and my wish to join in harmony seeks an instrument to speak the

        Poet’s moment anew, giving voice in this present time.

Your every word joins with the mythic drivers whose chariots seeking the sun, cast aside the bonds of     

       histories’ limitation and give exhilaration where stands the briefest wink of light 

             and expiration, beckoning, beckoning.

Walk this shining path, walk slowly – but walk nonetheless – freeing the restless heart that beats, beats,

       yearning to see melody in the song of light’s design.

 This pen never rests, wresting from chaos words thrust forward,

       with pressures not sought but given the vehicle of recognition and articulation.

I weep at this gift bestowed, tilting on the edge of succorance from depths unplumbed.

Words, words going on forever, as forever has not an end

        and words no easy duty to spill the universe into this night.

I would speak poetry to your ear but poetry’s gift’s already sung by your presence.


I would recommend rereading the play before seeing the movie. The movie is stunning.

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