King Lear

[poliphilo]

Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O! I have ta'en
Too little care of this.

(Act III, scene iv)

Comments

[jackiejj.livejournal.com]

Gulp. Exactly.

Here:

Edward Kamau Brathwaite. SHAR: Hurricane Poem. Kingston, Jamaica:

And what. what. what. what more. what more can I tell you
on this afternoon of electric bronze
but that the winds. winds. winds. winds came straight on
& that there was no step. no stop. there was no stopp.
ing them & they began to reel. in circles. scream. ing like Ezekiel's
wheel
&
that the valley of destruction filled with buzz. with kite tails wild.
ing
tug & tear & rip & tatter up & like old women laugh.
ing. warn. ing. child.
ren scream.
& they were really scream. ing let me tell you

[amritarosa.livejournal.com]

yes sadly it's more than Poor Tom that's a-cold

O King, look to where thy piety needs be enacted!
foreign glory is cold comfort to the wretched