Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
The fun of the dramatic monologue is to capture the entire dramatic scene and situation with no narrator, just the words of the speaker, who reveals perhaps more about himself and his situation than he intends. See how quickly you realize who is talking here.
All we had to give was a night’s sleep
To keep the prophet’s ragtag band of men
From making the whole situation worse
By stealing the corpse. That stupid bunch of sheep?
Their only thought was saving their own skin!
Their shepherd struck, they scattered—more’s their curse.
So how they pulled it off I’ll never know.
They must have snuck in when the earthquake came,
And got out quickly—that’s the official tale
And all you’ll get from me. I’ll tell you, though,
You’re no one’s fool, and so I would not blame
You if you thought it was a little frail.
Come, here’s an inn. I’ll buy—now, not a peep
Of where I got the money! I’d be in
More trouble than a legion could disperse.
[whispered] It was a fine conspiracy to keep
His name from ever being heard again
That put the temple silver in my purse!
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://lanternhollow.wordpress.com/store/ and order Stars Through the Clouds! Also look for Inklings of Reality and Reflections from Plato’s Cave, Williams’ newest books from Lantern Hollow Press: Evangelical essays in pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty.
Donald T. Williams, PhD