Wednesday, March 13, 2013

A Room of My Own: The Dagger in My Mind

Dear Mr. Reader:

What was there before your birth? What will be there after your death? And who is it, at this very moment,  that is reading? Living in the world of one color, can I have December roses to perfume my attic room?

sprawling darkness not knowing the sound of snow

Contemporary Haibun Online, 9:2, July 2013


  1. "The Dagger in My Mind" is the second haibun in my "Dear Mr. Reeder/Reader" haibun sequence. The first one is the "One Eye on the Road: A Poet's Vacation Message," which was anthologized in
    Published in AHA: The Anthology, and which can be accessed at

    The dagger in my mind alludes to a "dagger of the mind " that appears in one of the most famous monologues taken from the play, Macbeth, by William Shakespeare:

    MACBETH: Is this a dagger which I see before me,
    The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
    I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
    Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
    To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
    A dagger of the mind, a false creation
    Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?
    I see thee yet, in form as palpable
    As this which now I draw.
    Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
    And such an instrument I was to use.
    Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses,
    Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still,
    And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
    Which was not so before. There's no such thing.
    It is the bloody business which informs
    Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world
    Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
    The curtained sleep. Witchcraft celebrates
    Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered murder,
    Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf,
    Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
    With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
    Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
    Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fear
    Thy very stones prate of my whereabout
    And take the present horror from the time,
    Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;
    Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

    [A bell rings.]

    I go, and it is done. The bell invites me.
    Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
    That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.

  2. Enjoyed this. What a stirring last line... 'Living in the world of one color, can I have December roses to perfume my attic room?'
    (I subscribe to one of those Twitter on-line poetry newspapers, and found your poem there).

  3. Dear Clara:

    The phrase, "December roses," refers to J.M. Barrie's remark:

    "God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”

    Many thanks for your kind words.


    1. Thank you so much for reply & explanation. Your work is fascinating. I think I'm going to subscribe to read daily. I only dabble in poetry as far as writing, and know the value & possible enrichment found in reading work of your caliber. Thanks for sharing your talent, it is an honor to read.

  4. HI ! Clara:

    Thanks for your support of my poetry blog.

    And we all have something to learn from each other. Please feel free to criticize my poems.