Hi there
Some time ago I entered a local competition to write a love letter. One of the conditions of entry was that it had to be previously unpublished, so I didn't put it on this blog at the time, although some people did see it . I don't think it's really what the organisers were looking for and it duly didn't win any prizes but I've now tidied it up a bit to produce a second version which is below. Hope you like it - and as usual please feel free to forward it to others if you do.
Some time ago I entered a local competition to write a love letter. One of the conditions of entry was that it had to be previously unpublished, so I didn't put it on this blog at the time, although some people did see it . I don't think it's really what the organisers were looking for and it duly didn't win any prizes but I've now tidied it up a bit to produce a second version which is below. Hope you like it - and as usual please feel free to forward it to others if you do.
LOVE
LIES BLEEDING
The
Palace
Thursday
Dear
Cleopatra
Well,
well. All come to this? One of those effete young men of yours
simpered across this afternoon to say you just topped yourself. Bit
of a bombshell, that. Look, I know I got a bit angry and I'm really,
really sorry, really I am. I've had a lot on lately and I probably
did go a bit over the top. It's a bugger, isn't it, because you and
me has been the greatest love affair of my life. I was full of plans
for us to get married and go and live in the country somewhere, nice
little cottage, roses round the door. I'd have been a real model
husband, only nipping out now and then for the odd spot of conquering
or parading captured enemies in chains.
But
now.... but now....I can't face carrying on without you and couldn't
do it if I tried, so – big Roman general and all that - I chose
death with honour. Turns out I've not got as much honour as what I
thought. Took a servant to show me how - refused a direct order to
kill me and took his own life instead. Well that taught me a lesson
so I manned up and fell on my own sword, except I couldn't make a
proper job even of that, so here I am wounded and bloody and
definitely on the way out but with a bit of time to kill first, if
you see what I mean. Ow! Really shouldn't try to make myself laugh,
it hurts too much.
Know
who I blame for all this? Mr William High and Mighty Bloody
Shakespeare, that's who I blame. Oh, he's got a bit of a way with
words, of course he has, I was quite taken by being described as 'the
triple pillar of the world', very neat that, specially seeing as one
of the other two is that useless twerp Lepidus, but then he has to go
and spoil it by adding that bit about me turning into a 'strumpet's
fool.' That's you he's talking about, he'd better not come anywhere
near me, otherwise I myself might very well his quietus make with a
bare bodkin, to borrow one of his better ones from - Hamlet, was it?
Calls
himself a poet but he comes up with some funny bloody lines, perhaps
poets do. 'My heart was to thy rudder tied by th'strings' I'm
supposed to say at one point, odd bloody image if ever I heard one,
sometimes I reckon I'd be better off writing my own love poetry
without him interfering all the bloody time. Here, what about this
one then, specially for you?
Roses
are red, violets are blue
Who
loves ya baby?
I'm
first in the queue!
Strange
what goes through your head at a time like this, but I reckon us
poets are dead lucky that violets really are blue, well, most are,
because the rhyme would be much harder if they was, say, yellow.
You'd have
Roses
are red, violets are yellow
I'll
whisper my love,
Or
maybe I'll bellow.
And
thank the gods that they're not orange! Did you know that there's no
rhyme in the English language for 'orange?' Not great, but the best
I could come up with is
Roses
are red, violets are orange
I'll
cheer our love loudly,
Not
whimper or whinge.
Back
in your box, Shakespeare! Although why we're doing it in English in
the first place beats me, being a Roman general and all. Mind, Rosae
albae sunt
doesn't quite have the same ring about it, amirite?
Hang
about, hang about, I've just had a thought. He's done this before,
hasn't he? Idle sod can't be bothered to think up a new plot every
time, but it's young master Romeo what does himself in when he hears
Juliet's dead, isn't it? But she's not is she? Wakes up just as he
dies beside her, realises what's happened, stabs herself with his
knife, bodies everywhere, curtain and a great rustling of Kleenex
'cos there's not a dry eye in the house. If he thinks I'm shuffling
off this mortal coil with 'Thus with a kiss I die' like Romeo got
stuck with he's got another think coming. Mind, perhaps he's not
much good with last words. Macbeth got 'Lay on MacDuff,' whatever
that means, didn't he, and even Hamlet only got 'the rest is
silence,' well of course it bloody would be if he's dead. I'll try
to get him to put 'Now my spirit is going, I can do no more.' I
rather fancy that especially if you then chime in with 'Noblest of
men, woo't die?'
Know
what I wish? I wish we had been written by that Christopher Marlowe
all along rather than the sainted William Shakespeare; we wouldn't
have had none of this messing about. Marlowe knew a thing or two
about sticking knives into bodies, and he wouldn't never have left me
hanging on like this for the sake of a big sentimental finish in Act
5, or Act V as I should call it. Ow! Done it again. Even the Earl
of Oxford, whoever he was, would have made a better job, all loose
ends neatly tied up, a lot more gratuitous sex along the way with any
luck, everybody happy, Bob's your uncle. Think I must be starting to
go delirious. I've no bloody idea who Bob is or why he's your uncle.
Anyway,
what I'll do, as a kind of final romantic gesture, I'll get some of
the lads to carry me round to your place, if that's where you are,
and lift me up so I can bleed all over you and very possibly die in
your arms. The box office manager will like that even if nobody else
does. But I'm starting to get visions now, delirium again I should
think, because once I've gone I reckon you're going to get some
wrong'un or other turning up with asps in a basket, and you'll take
an asp and put it on one of those lovely breasts of yours and let it
poison you. Wouldn't be surprised if you're getting a bit soft in
the head by then as well and start talking to it. I'll see if I can
get him to give you 'Dost thou not see my baby at my breast that
sucks the nurse asleep?' - being a bit of a poet I'm quite proud of
that, wonder if he'll do it?
I'm
rambling like a delirious old fool. But straight up, there's no
getting away from it, the end is nigh. The lads have come for me.
One last kiss, one last embrace, one last tear, alright loads of last
tears, one last declaration of undying love. Try to remember
'Noblest of men, woo't die?' won't you, it'll go down big, I promise.
I'll
leave this letter here so someone finds it soon. Bit of a bugger it
should end like this, but I now see I love you more than I thought
possible, more, as it turns out, than I love life itself. Cleopatra,
here I come!
Ave
atque vale and all that and I'll love you till the day I die. Well,
you know what I mean.
Antony
ANAGRAM CORNER
We haven't had one of these for ages, but Antony and Cleopatra presented quite a challenge........
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
AT ONE...... CAP'N AND TAYLOR
