In the first of a series of many battles, Julia Pfatteicher and John Benhart respond to the world around them. The two take opposing sides, constructing poems to make their points. This time, they focus on The Crucible.
“The Greatest Performance of the Century” by Julia Pfatteicher
A sight so mighty, of those who love
They cry and scream, dance for above
A curse beholds
The future unfolds
And girls do fall so ill
They claim of spirits and Satan they see
And the lies stack up and spill
Hours and hours were seen and spent
Til the curtain called and we all wept
Actors, makeup artists, directors too
Dedicated autumn Thursdays for you
The viewer, to behold such a message
Telling you to follow your blessings
Never doubt your inner ear
For he tells you all there is to hear
Audible sounds are overrated
It’s silence that is truly fated
“Tis my Name!” Stole the show
And Morgan’s glance certainly
More fierce than a blow
And wild dances with reckless abandon
Left all the audience staring
Not a word to speak of such a performance
Only applause for these men and women
” The Crucible: A Dis-sonnet” by John Benhart
On that sad Thursday I was forced to sit
And watch a play, The Crucible, its name.
In a forsaken seat, I cried a bit,
In deadly shock from the disastrous shame.
I looked before my eyes; a girl stood there,
And on her face she woren’t one expression
Of mirth or fear or happiness: blank-stare.
I could not stand to see solemnity.
The final deaths, too, were poorly done
Cheated Audience not one hanged man did see.
All I could do was wonder where the fun
Of seeing death and gory scenes had gone.
Concluded best and sound in every way;
No Crucible has place in high school plays.