Laura 1d

Eye can taste
The musky dusky dark
Of a raven on a windowsill

Eye can smell the Witches
Brew, be it stirred or
Be it still

Eye can feel the pain
And sorrow of man
Trapped in shadowy cave

Eye can hear the cries
Of Homer's sirens on
Rocky shore and mystic wave

What you see is what you get
Never has there been
A cliche so obvious
And yet a truth so paperthin

sunprincess Jun 25

Shakespeare had it right
At least I think so

"A rose by any other name
Would smell as sweet"

I hope Shakespeare doesn't mind
if we flip it around

A thief by any other name
would steal you blind

Let's not blame the color of petals

In the swirling rivers of forgotten times
Ancestors built a grave from above
For promises made on their long-ago crimes
I lost my once-and-only love

All their past mistakes and their pacts running deep
Are drowning in the murky flood
Treaties compiled in oaths they could not keep
Are passed down in our family blood

Her marble lips smile in the icy stone vault
Her love buried by old vows of hate
But her silent suicide wasn’t our fault
Her murder caused by forefathered fate

They spiteful told me her hands never to hold
Their feuding sounds her funeral bell
Their path has decreed her white face should be cold
So I choose to die here as well

Of every death
Preceding this moment in time
As I stand before a painting
Of a young woman hanging drowned
In a scene inlayed
With close magic
Which death is it,
Exactly,
That renders Millais' Ophelia
With its beauty?

The work alone has form:
Flowers, depth, the colour of minute lights
And the image has concept:
A woman, dead in water.
Ophelia lives in an image and a play:
One moment, one story
Resting on the temporal slopes
Of this painted pinnacle of signs.
Why did Shakespeare write
About a woman pushed to suicide
By the death of her father,
At the hands of a heroic lover feigning Spiritual vacancy
At the request of his own undead parent?
Does every woman share this fate,
Or is it fantasy -
Attaining psychic substance
Through a kind of impossible insanity?
In other words:
Is Ophelia's death,
So chosen by Millais
And Shakespeare in turn
(Whose names are poetry)
A mimetic echo of a million mortal moments?
Or is it the prophecy of a time yet to come
For which death has been moulded
In a looping narrative cast,
Made into a word describing
Some sacred foreseen feature -
Which is it:
Does meaning sink into the past
Or fly into the future?

Jonesy Jun 14

It's amazing how much your smile makes my day,
You seem to bring out the best in me.
It's intriguing, you value my flaws and love them in every way,
The part of me i rarely see.
In my eyes,
Brightening up my night,
You're a firefly,
Intrigue me with your light.
I swear,
With you as my love,
I got it all my dear,
Our love as pure as the white on a dove.
As i treasure you and you treasure me,
I will always love thee.



Jonesy 2017©

My Shakespearean sonnet of love.

I could swear the way the men clustered around me after meeting they thought this below was a mere pretty fantasy....and perhaps you alone know differently, Adrian.

(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCIII)


Lo, how I hear the Beatles' cherished scale
Of "Yesterday--" 'non waltzing, like the sense
We know by instinct, though by Shakespeare thence
I thought to ink--what? cycling through the tale
Of prairie grasses blackbirds' rakish hail
Mocks?  Or those blue skies cloud fluffs whitely fence
In lazy, um, battalions?  Or from hence
As Will said, how I feel, likeas t'avail?
When you say "lacy," to ask me if your
Prompt, erm, hit home?  And how I long to do--
Not home-made popsicles, nor when in tour
I lost my first tooth blowing up that new
Um, kiddie pool--but you know.  Is it poor?
Cuz summer's so short-lived, but I love you.

05Jun17b

Yo.  Her prompt for our June Writer's Workshop meeting was "summer" via memories, perspectives, and of course, passion.  This was my entry.
olivia Jun 6

I didn't even have shoes on
when they yanked me from my
inner world
and out into the Chicago cold
barefoot in the middle of the street
soon to be swaddled in a hospital gown
like Jesus
better yet:
William Shakespeare

bipolardisorder recoveryrecordings

If I could share just one poem with you
Tell you my wishes, my dreams and my secrets
Read letters and quotes by Shakespeare to you
Confess my devotion by the words 'yes, I do'
Forever to love you, the one I would die with
My life would be saved, and I'll say 'so be it'

Ginesthoi = Greek: "so be it"
It's the only word left from Cleopatra's handwriting and I will someday get it as a tattoo on my wrist
But who is this poem addressed to?
Sharkey Poems May 22

My Turtle, Hamlet
My turtle, Hamlet
Is a bit shy
It may be his size
But my turtle Hamlet
is so very wise.

My turtle, Hamlet
Is just a little guy
With a hard candy shell on the outside
And a cookie-dough heart inside.

My turtle, Hamlet
Has a cute little head
And two big eyes
That roll back is his head
When it is time to be fed.

My turtle Hamlet
Takes life kinda slow
He listens to me
When I feel kinda low.
He won't say much

My turtle, Hamlet
Will poke out his cute little head,
flippers; I call feet
And tell me story
About a long ago prince.
Who could not make up his mind

My turtle, Hamlet
will say I'm okay
to be me:
to live and just
be.

the reapers sing in rapture,
a mundane Ode To Void:
look upon the patron saint
of family disappointments.

your unfair maiden grew a spine.
see, there's power in being angry:
bloodied dress. bloodied hands.
never clean. i'll stop for no man.

(and i'll never
be
pure
again)

car crash incarnate
with inferno-coloured hair.
functioning on vendettas.
beware. beware.

i'm forever an ophelia trying to be a lady macbeth and i hate it
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