I'm locked in a room with a desk and a chair.
I want my stomach filled, but the cupboards are bare.
I'm sitting here with only one option:
To continue to write, during this lock in.
Is writing a talent?
I say to myself, as I look over my shoulder at the book on the shelf.
What about Melville, and Shakespeare, and Twain?
The all have much knowledge to send to my brain.
But people these days just don't understand
That we can do more than just sing and dance.
There are so many talents that slide under the rug.
"I wonder what mine is".
I say with a shrug.
But then I remember that I am equipped
With a whole set of skills that are right on my hip.
They rest as a tool belt, and as a reminder
That if I wanted to, I could go farther.
Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
If there were seasons more temperate than the warmth of May
I would want to be there with you
Were there light more tender than a full-moon's light
I would want to lie down underneath with you
Had there a face more bright and full of remembrance
It would happen to be your face
And a name as easy to say
Easy to say it together with mine
Will always be it
And when the starry skies shows its best light
I want to stand the night right next to you
Have you ever
kissed a tree
or even listened
to the wisdom
of its trunk
gossip and glamour
its leaves fighting
for the sun
but the roots know
that deep below
the fields where
the flowers grow
is where the water’s
found and if you
come up close
and really listen
you’ll hear the
sound of the earth’s
The bard of Avon
termed man the
paragon of animals
but Darwin brought us
to the ground
helped us see
that the difference
and the morning birds
is that their song
the voice of love
in all of us
“what can the world give me?”
“what might I give the world?”
so why not
go back to the roots
and listen to the bark
befriend the tree
in the local park
Once upon a time,
There was a girl
Who met a Shakespeare
They were from different places
With the same passion, poetry.
She was hopeless, until now
He was all set for a bright life.
She walked in darkness
Then,he filled with light.
She had fallen once
Now he's there for a hand.
He was her Shakespeare
she loved his every lines.
He welcomed her into his world
The world of outstanding poetry.
she felt her ship has anchored
After a long journey in the Pacific.
For this day lay sudden undeathly amongst much life ' love. That if us too beloved bards be as one upon this plane, what greatness hast been to humanity. Shakespeare O Shakespeare, here wilt this life bear our sweetest love? With the spirit of troves hereby truity, what would be of thy rave. I thank thee for such guidance in these arts, more so bestow by whom speakth by the frequencies of the frame. These verses etch'd in stone mayst grind this Earth with goodness. For that even in future, man is evil and his content is low, he hath the word of the bard. To day things be not so slim that man mayst do things he canst not limn but it is by nature his grace is holy. Be it the painter, calligrapher, sculptor, and so the musician- all things lie great for these men and women with anyway they are to be in tune. I thank all wordsmiths of this phaseless art. All whom partaken in the arts fine and fair, I hope it remains a subtle way. Should this form not go astray no matter the one. It should forevermore be for the greater good of the Kosmos, the greater good of mortal life. To beyond is possible by the word or by the sound of tether'd consciousness. This is not all, more is all and we hast yet more. In this time I taketh it as mine. I remember O Shakespeare, I remember thee. Worrit not for relevance of thy excellence, it is eternal and is to be. As thou saith; 'To be or not to be' I in this frame saith but the same, 'of or of not' so shall it be known. This world without the bitterness of poetry is a world void. The verses spew'd by this passion art noble, gentle, but fierce to where no ordinaries canst trod. Only those with the light of the greatest substances of spirit so genuine. Shakespeare o gallant one, rest...rest upon thy crypt. By thy word rest easy and if so the world is sway'd in cause of man's ego and rage I shall soothe thy stone long the crescent moon above that fluoresces god's acre. Mine thanks Shakespeare, thou hast mine thanks. For us all I'll keep poetry and true lit alive for the greater good of humanity, for the sake of salience.
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.
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.