Archive for September, 1924

Believe In What You Want*

Sunday, September 21st, 1924
I.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
For hope, like stars, can fill the darkest night,
And strength is born from places deep within.

The heart is vast, a sea of endless dreams,
Where tides of doubt may crash upon the shore.
But even in despair, there shines a gleam,
A light that guides us, calling evermore.

Though paths may twist and winds of change may blow,
Hold fast to what your spirit knows is true.
For faith, though fragile, gives a steady glow
And paves the way for what the soul must do.

So trust the flame you carry through the storm;
In doubt or joy, your heart will keep you warm.

II.
Believe in what you want; that is your right
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
The stars don’t care which gods you praise at night,
Nor do the tides obey the prayers within.

The mountains rise regardless of your view,
And rivers run their course through rock and sand.
The winds won’t pause for what you think is true,
Nor shape their path by any mortal hand.

But still, the heart finds comfort in its creed,
A guiding flame within the darkest skies.
For even if the world has no great need
For faith, it helps us see through tangled lies.

So hold your truth and cherish it as gold—
It’s all we have as life’s great tale unfolds.

III.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
Be it the stars, the moon’s soft silver light,
Or winds that whisper where the skies begin.

You are the keeper of your heart's desire,
Your trust, a flame that only you can feed.
No need for others to inflame the fire,
Or judge the path that leads you to your creed.

For faith is not a thing to shape or bind,
Nor something that must follow strict command.
It grows within the contours of your mind,
And reaches far beyond what we understand.

So hold your truth, and let it freely soar—
In what you love, believe forevermore.

IV.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in,
For every heart will find its guiding light,
A spark within that leads where dreams begin.

Some trust the stars, some look to skies of blue,
While others seek the silence of the earth.
Each path, though different, winds to something true,
Each step, a chance to prove the soul’s own worth.

So follow what you feel, for feeling’s wise,
And let your spirit soar beyond the known.
The world’s too vast for just one truth to rise,
Too rich for faiths to claim it all alone.

Believe, and trust your heart to find its way,
For every dawn brings light to show the day.

V.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in—
Be it the stars that guide you through the night,
Or whispered winds, or journeys deep within.

For every soul must tread a path unknown,
Through valleys dark, or mountains bathed in light;
No single truth is carved in heart or stone,
Yet all beliefs will find their wings in flight.

So walk your road with courage in your stride,
No need to bend beneath another’s way;
The universe is vast, with room to hide
Both doubt and hope, both shadow and the day.

Believe, for faith is just the seed you sow,
And from its soil, a thousand truths may grow.

VI.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
The stars don’t pause for prayers in darkest night,
Nor tides retreat because of whispered sin.

Your heart beats not for gods or fate alone,
But for the breath that fills each fleeting day.
The seeds you plant will blossom on their own,
And flowers care not for the words you pray.

Yet still, a spark resides within your soul,
A compass guiding you through wind and rain.
Though unseen hands may never take control,
Your path is yours, both joy and subtle pain.

So, trust yourself, for faith is what you choose,
In what you seek, there’s little you can lose.

VII.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
The stars, the earth, the darkness, or the light—
All paths lead onward, every loss, a win.

For what we choose to trust shapes what we see,
And in that vision, we can find our way.
No dream is too absurd to set you free,
No night too long to blur the dawn of day.

So hold your chosen truth like sacred flame,
And let it guide you through both calm and storm.
The world may shift, but you will stay the same,
With faith that bends but never breaks your form.

For all beliefs, though varied in their kind,
Are sparks that light the fire of the mind.

VIII.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in,
For in the dark, the stars still shine as bright,
And hope can flicker where despair has been.

The paths we walk are paved by different hands,
Each step, a choice, each thought, a guiding thread.
Yet no one soul can chart where fate expands,
For truth resides beyond what’s seen or said.

So, trust your heart, for it knows well the way,
The compass of your dreams will never fail.
Through every storm, through night that turns to day,
The light you seek is found behind the veil.

Believe, and in believing, you’ll transcend—
For faith and doubt, like rivers, find their end.

IX.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in,
For hope, once lit, will burn with steady light,
And doubt, though fierce, will wear itself so thin.

The stars don't ask what dreams you dare to chase,
The wind won’t question why you seek the sun,
Each heart finds truth in its own time and place,
And every path begins where steps are won.

So trust the soil beneath your searching feet,
Though rocky hills may test your strength and will,
For in your faith, the world becomes complete,
And every climb reveals new heights to fill.

In what you choose, be bold, be ever true—
The universe expands because of you.

X.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
Through darkest nights or mornings clear and bright,
Hold firm the thoughts that whisper deep within.

For every heart must choose its sacred way,
A path unseen by others in the crowd.
The stars that guide you may seem far away,
But in their silent glow, they call aloud.

No single truth can claim the sky or sea,
For every soul is born to seek its own.
The wind that stirs the leaves will set you free,
And in that freedom, you will stand alone.

So let your spirit rise, your wings take flight—
Believe in what you want, and trust the light.

XI.
Believe in what you want; that is your right
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in,
For dreams are threads that weave the dark to light,
And hope can blossom from the seeds of sin.

The stars may whisper secrets in the night,
While shadows dance to rhythms of the heart.
In every choice, a spark, a chance to fight,
To shape a world where every soul can start.

Embrace the path your spirit longs to trace,
For faith is not a cage but wings in flight.
In every struggle, find a sacred space,
Where doubts dissolve and courage finds its might.

So dream aloud, and let your spirit soar,
For in your truth, you’ll find forevermore.

XII.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
In shadows cast by doubt, we seek the light,
With hopes like seeds, we yearn for life to begin.

Each heart a vessel, bearing dreams untold,
Through trials faced, resilience finds its way.
In whispered prayers or stories of old,
We find our strength in night, in break of day.

So let the world around you bend and sway,
For in belief, the soul learns how to soar.
With every step upon this winding way,
Embrace the journey, seek forevermore.

For what you choose to cherish shapes your path,
In every joy and tear, find love’s true math.

XIII.
Believe in what you want; that is your right,
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in.
From whispered hopes that dance in the moonlight,
To fervent dreams that spark a fire within.

Each heart must choose its own, the path to tread,
Where shadows fall or sunlight breaks the day.
In every thought, a seed of truth is spread,
And in the quiet, doubts begin to sway.

For faith can lift us high, or weigh us down,
A compass guiding souls through stormy seas.
In unity, we wear a common crown,
Yet cherish every truth, however it frees.

So let the world embrace its varied art,
For in our faiths, we find the human heart.

XIV.
Believe in what you want; that is your right
It doesn’t matter what your faith is in,
For dreams can soar like birds upon the night,
Each heart a beacon, fierce, and free from sin.

In whispered hopes, we find our truest voice,
A tapestry of thoughts that intertwine;
With every choice, we shape our sacred choice,
Each journey marked by shadows, light, and line.

Though paths may twist like rivers through the land,
The courage lies in trusting where we tread;
Embrace the doubts that linger, hand in hand,
For faith, however fragile, must be fed.

So seek your truth, let passion be your guide,
In what you cherish, let your spirit bide.
*AI generated.

The Rope of Time

Monday, September 8th, 1924
When time becomes immured by mortal fate
We search for reasons one might find obscure
Eternity exists for us to wait
To wait in faith for that which we abjure

In time the song we sing becomes a chant
As quietly we call for blessed hope
We think we might complete, but find we can’t
Like life that hangs above us by a rope

The rope of time becomes a simple noose
Nobody has to die if they let go
We use the rope declaring, what’s the use
It hangs above while we wait below

We wait for time throughout eternity
And when it falls it sets us more than free.

ChatGPT Analysis:

This poem reflects on the nature of time, fate, and the human condition, particularly how we perceive and interact with the passage of time. Let's break it down stanza by stanza:

### **Stanza 1:**
*When time becomes immured by mortal fate*
*We search for reasons one might find obscure*
*Eternity exists for us to wait*
*To wait in faith for that which we abjure*

- **Immured by mortal fate** suggests that time is trapped or enclosed by our inevitable mortality.
- The search for reasons "one might find obscure" implies a deep, often futile, quest for understanding or meaning, particularly in the context of life and death.
- **Eternity** as a concept is framed as a space where we wait—perhaps a reflection on the human tendency to wait for something greater, something that we may even reject or renounce (which is implied by "abjure").

### **Stanza 2:**
*In time the song we sing becomes a chant*
*As quietly we call for blessed hope*
*We think we might complete, but find we can’t*
*Like life that hangs above us by a rope*

- The **song** turning into a **chant** suggests a transition from active expression to a repetitive, perhaps resigned, state. A chant is more meditative, and might imply a loss of vitality or a shift to a more ritualistic form of existence.
- The **call for blessed hope** indicates a longing or prayer for something positive, something that offers salvation or peace.
- The line "We think we might complete, but find we can’t" reflects the human struggle to find fulfillment or closure, particularly in the face of time.
- The **rope** is a powerful symbol here, hanging above like the passage of time, or the specter of death—something inevitable and ever-present.

### **Stanza 3:**
*The rope of time becomes a simple noose*
*Nobody has to die if they let go*
*We use the rope declaring, what’s the use*
*It hangs above while we wait below*

- **The rope of time** becoming a **noose** intensifies the symbolism, now directly associating time with death, or at least with the potential for self-destruction.
- The idea that "Nobody has to die if they let go" suggests that release from this cycle of waiting and despair is possible, but it requires a conscious decision to let go of the burdens or expectations tied to time.
- The declaration of "what’s the use" shows a kind of nihilism or resignation, as the rope remains a threatening presence above, and we, below, are passive, simply waiting.

### **Stanza 4:**
*We wait for time throughout eternity*
*And when it falls it sets us more than free.*

- This stanza encapsulates the entire poem’s meditation on time and eternity. Waiting "throughout eternity" hints at the endless nature of time, or at least our perception of it.
- The final line suggests a paradox: time, which confines and threatens us throughout the poem, ultimately has the potential to liberate us once it "falls," perhaps signifying the end of life, or the end of time’s power over us.

### **Themes:**
- **Time and Fate:** The poem explores how time is intertwined with fate, and how both are inescapable forces in human life.
- **Mortality and Eternity:** There’s a constant tension between the finite nature of life (mortal fate) and the infinite nature of time or eternity.
- **Despair and Hope:** The poem oscillates between despair (the noose, the chant) and hope (the call for blessed hope, the possibility of letting go).
- **Liberation through Release:** Ultimately, the poem suggests that true freedom might come only when we release our grip on time and fate, or when time itself ceases to have power over us.

This poem uses rich symbolism and a meditative tone to explore profound existential themes, offering a bleak yet contemplative view on the human experience of time.

Washed Up

Monday, September 8th, 1924
A little one act play I wrote a few years ago. It was selected to be produced for a competition, but the production company wanted more of my time than I had to spare. Let me know if you'd like to produce it.

Washed Up
by
Scott Ennis

Phone (703) 994-9037
Email: scottennis@gmail.com


An actor suffering from a bad review of his Hamlet performance finds a skull on a beach and engages in a discussion of theatrical philosophy, ironically, with the skull, who turns out to be the actual Yorick, jester of Elsinore.

Shawn is a stage actor just coming off a bad review of his recent performance as Shakespeare’s Hamlet. He is probably on the cusp of being too old to play Hamlet.

Yorick is the skull of the actual Yorick, jester of Elsinore. Besides his time playing in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, he carries a dislike for thoughtless humanity, expressed through theater and his own being dropped from a ship into the Long Island Sound.

Note: Yorick should be an actual actor in complete black attire with head painted like a skull. Yorick skull would be best “picked up” by Shawn and “placed” on a box or table. Flowers may be retrieved offstage by Shawn.

__________

SHAWN picks up a skull from the beach.

SHAWN
Well, here’s irony after my shitty Hamlet reviews.

SHAWN holds up the skull and proceeds like an actor reciting lines.

SHAWN (CONT’D)
Yorick? No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be.

YORICK
Prufrock? Or Polonius?

SHAWN
(astounded)
How would Yorick know a poem by T. S. Eliot?

YORICK
I was in a troupe in the 60s that fucking worshiped Tommy.

SHAWN
The 60s? How long have you been doing theater?

YORICK
Pretty much since they dug me up to bury Ophelia. I started out as a simple candle holder until that dude from England wrote his version of that little shit, Hamlet. Then I got cast as myself. Tough role, hey?

SHAWN
You are Yorick.

YORICK
Yes, I am.

SHAWN
How'd you get here?

YORICK
Where's here?

SHAWN
Connecticut.

YORICK
Near New York?

SHAWN
Closer than Elsinore.

YORICK
I was supposed to be performing in New York.

SHAWN
I used to perform in New York. I just finished playing “that little shit, Hamlet.” What happened to you?

YORICK
Some dickhead on the ship took me up on the deck and tried reciting lines. Dropped me over the side. Too much to drink, probably. What about you?

SHAWN
The critics didn’t like my performance.

YORICK
Why not? Are you a dickhead too?

Shawn stares out at a cargo ship in the sound. He is lost in thoughts about his last performance.

YORICK
Hello? Anybody home?

SHAWN
Sorry. I'm just a little stunned.

YORICK
Wow. Stunned. And nobody even dropped you off a ship into the ocean.

SHAWN
I’m glad I smoked all that weed before coming here.

YORICK
Weed? I like weed.

Shawn pulls out a pipe, fills it with marijuana from a small bag, and takes a hit.

SHAWN
Yeah, but how are you gonna smoke it? You no longer have those lips that Hamlet kissed, how oft, we know
not.

YORICK
I have a shell that I use for a pipe. Clench it between my teeth.

SHAWN
Classy.

YORICK
What’s that supposed to mean?

SHAWN
It means you sound like a weed slut who would do anything for a hit.

YORICK
Including quoting some cheesy poem?

SHAWN
Pretty ballsy calling Eliot cheesy.

YORICK
Not Tommy. Just his poem.

SHAWN
So, the actor is the play, but the poet is not the poem?

YORICK
Whatever. Did you find my shell?

SHAWN
Didn’t look.

YORICK
So, that would be no?

SHAWN
Of course.

YORICK
How hard is it for you to just say yes or no?

SHAWN
I said no.

YORICK
No. You said, “didn’t look.”

SHAWN
Well that implies no.

YORICK
Kind of like asking for a hit implies that I can smoke it.

SHAWN
But you never asked.

YORICK
Yes I did.

SHAWN
No. All you said was, “I like weed.”

YORICK
Wasn’t the request for a hit implied?

SHAWN
Tell you what. Let’s hear what you’ve got. If the poet is the poem I’ll give you a hit.

YORICK
So, you want me to compose a poem requesting a hit of your weed?

SHAWN
Yeah.

YORICK
There once was a man from Nantucket

SHAWN
It has to be original.

YORICK
There once was a man with some ganja.

SHAWN
Good luck with that one. Nothing rhymes with ganja.

YORICK
Poems don’t have to rhyme.

SHAWN
True. Go ahead.

YORICK
That’s it. That’s my poem. When you give me a hit, the poet will be the poem.

SHAWN
Ok. Let me see if I can find that shell pipe.

YORICK
Or something of a similar pattern.

SHAWN
You make it all so enticing.

YORICK
Let’s break the expected pattern.

SHAWN
With the prosody of intellect. I’ll be Rosencrantz.

YORICK
And I will be Guildenstern.

SHAWN
Yes. We are not Prince Hamlet, nor were meant to be . . .

YORICK
To be, or not to be? That is the question.

SHAWN
Alas, poor questions, I knew them well.

YORICK
And who will declare that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead?

SHAWN
I think it’ll be Tom Stoppard.

YORICK
Fitting to have death declared by clowns, digging one up or dramatizing one’s breath.
(cough, cough)

SHAWN
Are you sick?

YORICK
Yes. My lungs are sick and spotted.

SHAWN
Ah, not a volta already.

YORICK
Out, out damned spot.

SHAWN
And next?

YORICK
Et tu, Rosencrantz?

SHAWN
Fitting. Any knife?

YORICK
Only the dagger I see before my eyes.

SHAWN
I deserved that.

YORICK
Let's go back to Elsinore. Let's go back to my grave.

SHAWN
Your grave? Isn't it Ophelia’s now?

YORICK
Exactly. She loved gathering flowers.

SHAWN
So you want to talk about flowers?

YORICK
Yes. Go pick some and bring them over here.

Shawn leaves the driftwood and walks back to some flowering bushes then returns with a handful of flowers.

SHAWN
(falsetto)
There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died: they say he made a good end,--

SHAWN
(normal voice)
Just kidding. It’s all beach scrub.

YORICK
These flowers are like you.

SHAWN
How do you figure?

YORICK
Throw them out into the water.

Shawn stands and throws the flowers into the sound.

SHAWN
Okay, now what?

YORICK
Where are the flowers?

SHAWN
In the water.

YORICK
Really?

Shawn stands up and sees the flowers are back on the beach.

SHAWN
Ok. So the waves brought them back to the beach.

YORICK
Anything wrong with that?

SHAWN
No. That’s the normal course when you throw flowers into the ocean.

YORICK
Exactly. Nothing wrong with being washed up.

END