boy, oh, boy.
you must know me more
than gabriella know's troy.
like when romeo met juliet
i’m sure you get understand me
more than that.
because you know
better than anyone that
we're just some trashy millennials,
waitin' for the cheap way- the fast way-
the i-have-a-trust-fund-kinda-fucking- way.
yeah we're fucked up at making things ~
less fucked up?
did i mention we cuss a lot?
like a lot, a lot.
like the way bob saget acts
when he switches off
his danny tanner fake ass persona.
but hey, fuck it.
we're an evolving species,
and the world is not going to stop evolving either.
in 40 years when our kids are old, we'll be the
doctors, lawyers, business executives.
we'll be the ones finding cures
to save mankind from what
the baby boomers did to us
and we’ll be the ones showing up to accept noble piece prizes.
we’ll be the ones who have been
through the hundred-thousand
dollars of school loan debt
busting our asses
just to make ends meet.
and if you think
for a single moment
that we have a lot to say now...
well, just give us 50 years.
boy, oh, boy.

saylor 6d

A Horizon is just beyond the grasp
Of the great reach of my fish-net, I can
Near see the sun that kissed the end of sky
And settles within its golden embrace.

Northern winds grapple my silent locks of
Hair, and it smells of thyme and salt. The sun
Is mere a glow of hope, she now beckons
Me with her love and light over the mist.

Pale wings lift my shoulders to meet the sun,
I feel the wax begin to melt and drip.
As the ocean does swell forever near,
The Horizon is ever growing far.

The waves extend their outstretch’d arms in
Swirling tides to greet my fall, a final time.

I wrote this for english class but liked it, so here it its. Sorry for the hiatus, anyone who cares.

There's a light at the end,
The end is near.

I continually pretend
That it is you who I fear.

It's your deep waters that I seek
Where it is only you and me.

I want to explore the fun of your shallow waters, but you keep deceiving me.

There's a burning flame at the end,
The time is near.

Like the serpent underneath the flower, you display a calm and beautiful appearance.

But when it gets deep I experience enormous swells of your deadly wrath - without any escape.

You are the ocean of my love for you and the love-swells never stop crashing over me.

Referenced to "Macbeth" written by William Shakespeare.

Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, Yeats
Lear, Frost, Poe, Kipling, Dylan
Service, Carroll, Browning, de la Mare

When was the last time your
arms drew back into the involuntary
crucifixion posture

Your head lolled and your eyes rolled as
you thanked God or Allah for the privilege
of witnessing the births of greatness?

Ceyhun Mâhî Aug 10

From far away you looks so sweet to me,
That rosy glow who is upon your face,
So bright, so nice and warm who shares this glee,
Who is brighter than dawning, glowing days.
You do arouse a feeling who's of lust,
Partly who's shared with love and happiness,
Who I cannot describe in words the best,
All coming from your comely prettiness.
As long as you are shining, glowing bright,
As said before, so nice, so warm aglow,
I cannot stop on these papers to write,
And put my feelings in this written show.
  About these vibes, I can go on and on,
  So you – o my dear – should glow on and on.

My first Shakespearean sonnet in Iambic pentameter (finally I can say that!). It's still hard for me to express most of the things I want to say in this meter, maybe because English is not my native language. I am just taking it little by little. I made use of slant rhymes because meter was my main concern in this poem and even a 'redif-rhyme' who is used a lot in gazels/ghazals (referring to the last couplet).
Eva Ellen Aug 10

Shakespeare wrote, "All
the world is a stage" So when
I laugh at myself

I'm only being
an engaged audience and
when I applaud at

the end I am just
thanking God for his good sense
of Hamlet humor


Why search the world for a microphone
When there is nothing left to say
And no one left who wants to hear it?


I believe it was in Hamlet that Shakeseare spoke of the "sound and fury, signifyng nothing".  Seems to be a lot of that going on these days.

January 1, 1000

Year One-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The villein, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
His hut stinks; his flour's wormy.
He fears God's wrath, but trusts His mercy.
Walled in by his community,
set in Christian certainty;
by their fireplace, with his family, sitting,
he plans the plots he'll plant come spring
The stars above him do not move;
he knows God's power --and His love.


Others loathe such conformity:
their minds and spirits must be free.
Tutor Pierre finds knowledge increase
in the arms of his pupil Héloise.
Risking life and reputation,
they learn a different conjugation.
(L'Université de Paris's great philosophe
and the canon's niece --in reckless love.)
You think the danger overstated?
Let me remind you that Abélard was castrated
--and the slut confined to a nunnery ...
whence she wrote most eloquently.
("Though I should think of God, I think of thee.")  


Dear Francis,
I hear that when you visited St. Peter's
you exchanged clothes with a beggar
and stood all day at the door of the church;
that you asked the people of Gubbio
to be kind to the wolf who was eating their sheep;
that you call birds your "sisters" and fire, your "brother";
that you would have us give all that we own to the poor....
--Perplexed in Perugia

Dear Perplexed,
I ask only that you see God's hand in all creation:
wolf, leper, flower, stone --
God gives to each His rain and His sun.
What man is in the eyes of the Lord,
that I am --and nothing more.


Martin Luther says you can't buy salvation;
the individual conscience is the only true religion.
Of intermediaries, he'll have none;                              
Man is responsible to God alone.
The Bible, being God's holy Word,
must, by each Christian, be read and understood.
Humble toil is a service of God
far surpassing the holiness of monks.
God is terrible in his majesty;
by faith in God, are we made free.  


[London; Shakespeare addresses assembled friends as he
retires to Stratford;... a mysterious stranger rebuts.]

"Despite it surely not being my intention
to slight the worth of imagination,
to doubt the value of our fictive craft,                                          
there can be no question:  in their import,
the actual deeds of actual men
must, perforce, surpass the disembodied pen.
This [pointing] is merely men upon a stage;
these, merely words I've placed on the page."

"Master Shakespeare, I beg to differ:
it is your words which will live forever.
When fiery Phoebus ten million times
has run his course 'round rotund Earth, men will
still be astonished at Lear's great woe,
still sigh with Juliet for her Romeo."


They've placed Monsieur Voltaire in prison.
This will not postpone the Age of Reason.
Men will speak and write as they see fit,        
be governed by laws and the intellect.


[General Washington, at Annapolis, Maryland]

"My friends, I'm honored deeply,
by the faith which you here show in me,
your confidence that these qualities
which served so well in war might now
to governance be applied successfully.    

"I, myself, have doubts:
I fear that battle's clear, cold steel will be dulled
in the gauzy murk of diplomacy.
And though I were suited to this high estate most perfectly
still I should shrink from it.
I think of Caesar,
returning, triumphant, from Gaul,
his heart full of zeal for the good of his people,                  
who achieved much, but whose lordly rule
gave way to others far less wise....

"There's a name for a man raised above men as a god:
it's 'king'. I'll have no kings!

"Thus, I surrender to you,
the duly-elected representatives of the States,
the outward and visible sign of my authority:
this sword. Let the world take note
that these united States, born under tyranny's yoke,
shall, in word and deed, henceforth
be governed democratically."

July 27, 1890

Vincent finds his world has narrowed,
(--what wonders he'd seen in la lumière d'Arles!--)
all the things for which he's sorrowed--
rejection by his cousin Kee,
reliance on his brother's charity,
failure of his "painters' community"--
come welling up....
He walks to the field from which he'd come.
In his pocket, the letter he'll never mail.
The wheatfield he'd so recently painted.
In his pocket, by his chest,...
the gun.

July 16, 1945

[Robert Oppenheimer, near Alamagordo, New Mexico]

    If the radiance of a thousand suns
    were to burst into the sky at once,
    that would mirror the Mighty One's splendor....
    I am become Death --World-destroyer.
    --The Bhagavad Gita

Everything was so much clearer
when it seemed the Germans might get the thing first....
Now it's all so terribly muddy....
Who knows what these generals'll do with it.
...The radiance of a thousand suns....                                                         ­                                                 

That 100-foot tower --completely gone!...
If we didn't do it, someone surely would....
I am become Death --destroyer of Worlds.  

January 1, 2000

Year Two-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The sales-clerk, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
He's got Internet access! Two cars!
He doesn't fear the universe....
The only group he's part of
is guys who drink at the local bar....
He goes to church, but doesn't believe.
His job, his marriage --nothing is certain....
Even the stars above him move.
He knows God's power --but not His love.

Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/audio/SoF16.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems (https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Laura Jul 24

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
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