Welcome to the somewhat unbalanced mind of Orbson Rice.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

"Oh Captain! My Captain"

Oh Captain, my Captain. When the lights illuminate the stage we see what we are made to see. The words are scripted, the direction set and the makeup applied. What we do not see underneath the celebrity fa├žade is the turmoil eating away inside. Robin Williams made me laugh in The Birdcage, he made me cry in Dead Poet’s Society and he made me do both in Good Morning Vietnam. He was an amazing artist whose contributions to society are immeasurable. For me personally, he was the funniest man I have ever had the privilege of watching. I celebrate his life, celebrate his artistry and above all celebrate the impact he had had on me as a writer and artist. Robin, your legacy will persevere throughout the ages. Your passing shall be a reminder of the horrible impact of depression. For now, I celebrate your life. I find myself moved to stand on my desk and yell out to you, “Oh Captain! My Captain. May you find laughter and peace.”

1 comment:

  1. No Captain! My Captain - Chuck Porretto – 8-12-2014
    Locked away with no way out
    The Captain in a cell.
    He watches one more victim shout.
    He hears them scream and yell.
    He sees the torment once again,
    until the deed is done.
    Upon his cell the number 10.
    They come for number one.
    They’re taken to a torture room
    directly in his sight.
    Death awaits inside the tomb.
    He lives it day and night.
    First is pain and then is death,
    There’s nothing he can do.
    He feels the quickness in his breath.
    They come for number two.
    Inside a locket is his life,
    from once a happy day
    A faded picture of his wife.
    The memory slips away.
    Oh heartless storm so dark and cold,
    that scorns the wretched plea.
    It mauls the meek, and breaks the bold.
    They come for number three.
    He damns the wicked wind that blew
    and placed him in this vault.
    The sea was calm, the sky was blue
    before this vile assault
    He navigates through grief and dread
    like nothing felt before.
    Another mate will lose his head.
    They come for number four.
    He tries to see beyond the cell.
    He schemes to find an out.
    His heart pretends that all is well,
    His brain is filled with doubt
    He knows it soon will be his turn,
    He wants to stay alive.
    They maim and kill without concern.
    They come for number five.
    Inside his head the notion creeps,
    which first he aims to quell.
    Which course to set, the pain or sleep?
    At times he cannot tell.
    This brig in which he tries to cope
    is made of steel and bricks.
    Escape is but a faded hope.
    They come for number six
    His enemies now number two;
    the guards that promise pain,
    and the voices coming through
    his weak and tired brain.
    With courage sapped, his will is frail.
    He’s scared and all alone.
    Seven begs to no avail,
    and gives a dying moan.
    Madness rules inside his head,
    the roar no longer dull.
    The thought he used to view with dread
    Is ripping at his skull.
    With torture methods getting worse,
    the terror is his fate.
    From sickening to quite perverse.
    They come for number eight.
    He’s not the man he used to be
    the tempest takes its toll.
    A writhing mass of agony,
    a ship without soul.
    His sails are empty ever more.
    this skirmish he declines.
    He ties his belt above the door.
    They come for number nine.
    The will is firm, the heart is sure,
    he hopes she’ll understand.
    To kick the plank, the only cure.
    A locket in his hand.
    A loving wife descends the stair
    that leads into the den.
    The Captain swings above the chair.
    The clock bell chimes at 10.