From the night sky, the moon gazed at a rose.
The darkness complemented all the sounds.
Under the sycamore, the rose did pose.
The winds shifted the leaves that were now browned.

A child tiptoed through the dark thorn bush.
Scratches and cuts made way across her skin.
She didn’t cry, she didn’t scream, a hush.
Closer she came to the rose as if kin.

The flower shook and quivered from her sight.
She bent under moonlight, no noise heard still.
The trees stood still, waiting for a dark fight.
The girl reached and gently felt the soft rose.

The forest breathed and sighed in relief.
She left without a sound, the night now closed.
In English class, we were to create our own Shakespearean sonnet. This was mine. (Sorry if it's somewhat sloppy, I've never done this kind of work before)
Vallery 5d
Im going to try something new here, a journal entry every now and then... I'll write about the thought or inspiration behind a poem...

So the inspiration behind "To You, My Love" stems from "Romeo and Juliet" and the line "a rose by any name would smell as sweet...". I've been interested in this guy I know and he really is my muse.

I've been re-reading "Romeo and Juliet" and just thought of him while reading. Nothing really extraordinary...
Just an experiment, trying it out. If it works well I may continue to do it!
Francie Lynch May 11
I'm pissed off with Robert Frost
And the guy who wrote Paradise Lost.
I ain't happy with Aristotle,
And especially John, the weird Apostle.
Don't mention, please, Shelley or Keats,
Blake, Byron or Wordsworth;
Each and every one you see,
(If you're ready for the truth),
Took their themes from me.
Don't look aghast,
Don't tsk and titter,
Their thievery's left me
Mean and bitter.
Just because they said it first,
Doesn't mean I find it just;
It doesn't give them ownership
Of my themes and authorship.
I write of Roads, Good and Evil,
God and Satan, love and leaving.
I know, I sound like I'm bleating,
But I won't stand for this beating.
Although they're merely dust and bones,
They don't have the right to own
All the great lines I have sown,
Like The best laid plans of mice and men.
(I said that before Robbie Burns).
Let me make this crystal clear;
If I was there, or he were here,
I'd sue the ass of Will Shakespeare.
B May 10
When you've got a brain like mine
It holds onto your words like life rafts
Adrift on a sleepless sea for weeks at a time
They swirl and fester in black ink cauldrons
Double double all the toil and most the trouble
The fire still burns amidst the rubble
Lily Flower May 7
Everything has a way of going awry
profound changes have to tell a story
How air may freeze and earth drown
in ashes of snow and tumble down
Lilies may turn red and violets green
All the opposite of what we have seen
I cannot stand against nature's will
With all these dreams I yet have to fulfill
All that foreseen, but dear love!
To the moon and heavens above
I swear my love for you does end
When Gods die with no love to lend.
Hasty midnight scribbles for an old woud, old friend, old love...
Laina May 4
I thought of you and my ear started to ring.
Is that my body casting you out?
Discrete madness
Desire building up
With nowhere else to go
but in a surge out of my head?

Maybe it’s an echo of my ringing phone
Good-morning calls
Bored-driving calls
Lonely-night calls
Random-2pm-thinking-of-you calls
i-just-want-to-hear-you-talk calls
A disembodied voice carried through wire
Whispers separated by highways
Longing to be breathed into the other’s neck
A love changing by the moon.

Does it mean you are thinking of me?
I heard that from somewhere.
Or is it talking about me?
Maybe it’s both
I know you moan my name
A smoke raised with the fume of sighs
Is yours ringing too?

This is a death-mark’d love at first touch
The fates cackling at our persistence
Our hands reaching pathetically
Out of grasp.

We are so afraid to be alone
So goddamn stubborn
That we lack foresight
Sensing the inevitable
But denying, ignoring,
Sitting still as the earth shakes
Apathetic to the world devouring us alive
Attempting to defy the stars.

These violent delights have violent ends.
Jenny Gordon May 3
I really wanted to make a more secure case comparing the cardinal to those redcoats of yore, but, ah....

(sonnet #MMMMMMCxxVii)

I have a scarlet lover who, ere pale
First hints of dawn, begins to court, til thence
Smiles and soft laughter thus ensue fr'intents.
His perky voice and deep red coat avail
Long-cherished loves, as I think Brits to scale
So perfect; aye, put on the kettle hence
Tae brew a pot of rosy lea to fence
My porridge, while my cardnal'd sweetly hail.
Wee sparrows are my playmates as they stir
Such happiness as only lovers do.
If Tyler swears he loves me, Shakespeare fer
All that gives me perspective as he'd woo.
Perchance I shall be independent: your
Wish, Baby.  But then I will not need you.

And I tweeted it too...and then he sez he didn't intend that.  I love him.
fez May 2
the wind is spiraling
the wind is spiraling

it is the rage
which has no object
the indignation
which cannot spread
is spiraling

the tempest is
the hell is
under my skin

I am waiting for the thunder
I am waiting
to become the spiral
to shiver
and to sparkle

but the spiral is
withering within
and all my devils are
hymning to the wind

when will I learn
the hell
is me
and the devils
are mine
written with the inspiration from Shakespeare
Sparks Fly Apr 25
feels like
you are the weed
waiting to be
all the beautiful
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