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Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Shake-speares sonnets back in the day...



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXIV)


Oh me!  I never knew sich weary hours a sense
Of being half sick owns, whilst naught does avail,
This fevered longing mine as clouds' thin veil
Shows fragile blue skies, and warm notes from hence
Akin to daffodils' gay yellows thence
Abob to vagrant winds, where ne exhale
But haunts like to a ghost in sheer betrayl,
Nor moves the baby leaves hung in suspense.
Pink mists frame naked boughs as buds now tour
Those blackened skeletons of trees I do
'Non cherish in their wanting state, rain fer
All that a moistened kiss mair fit to woo
Than ist Baroque strains I sip coffee's cure
To?  Andrew, I swear oh, how I love you.

13Apr17b
Yes?
Oskar Erikson Apr 2017
Shall I Compare Thee,
To A Winter's Moon?
Standing Brightly Among Stars;
Bleak Bone Against Blackened Hue.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
...miss Andrew.  L14:  Will didn't?



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXV)


Ya, moonlight at my feet whileas in pale
Excuse strings whine oer how I slumber thence?
The violin half shrieking, thet eye hence
Just stares down through my window to detail
My auld duvet as if on purpose, frail
White on the side I allus choose, a sense
Of what? 'non waiting in sheer silence, whence
Note how, and switch the radio off to scale.
I'm hungry now tis midnight--is that poor?
Twa sips of coffee, cold and stale ist too?--
Twelve hours 'go when twas fresh---and who cares fer
All that by now?  Not me.  Let Shakespeare do
Up lines none read cuz oh! we love as twere
His plays.  We don't, at that.  But ah, who knew?

13Apr17c
This particular sonnet seemed remarkably well constructed, or you can correct me--mind you, I might not listen if you do.
Shakespeare was always fond of tragedies.*
From the star-crossed lovers of Verona,
Romeo and Juliet,
to the revenge-stricken prince of Denmark, Hamlet.
Sometimes I wonder
if he was the author of our fate,
for our love has slowly become a tragedy.


(k.p.)
Glenn Currier Mar 2017
This distance between us occupied
minutes and hours multiplied
by walking and running thoughts,
divining the cost of careless loss
roving and darting with such might
not even a rest in dreams of night.
Then a trouble or something tragic
pauses me, and a moment of magic
makes all that distance naught.
I fly to you my love in thought
bound again by strings unclear
I yearn and ache to have you near.
     But again the world cries out to me
     and again I am gone - in its roiling sea.
Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet # 44.  Although I am not an expert at writing sonnets, they are a delightful challenge for me.  Shakespeare's sonnets have at times brought me to tears - his love affair with the language is palpable.
Ryan Hoysan Mar 2017
Shall I compare thee to a summers day?
     I think not, for the day's end soon approaches as does Summer's demise.
     Shall I compare them to a sparkling diamond?
     Again, I think not, for many diamonds are cut apart to gain their beauty.
     Shall I compare thee to a crescendo of song, reaching its peak?
     Still, I think not, for each and every note may yet still go sour.
     While some may profess these things as perfection, you are indeed perfection in my eyes.
     Now and forever.
Not sure how I feel with it overall, I mean I like it, but it could be better.
Pagan Paul Feb 2017
.
Though my boat is tossed
high upon these crests,
I fear not the deep sea
where the sailors souls rest.

Cast adrift, alone to float,
my mother Sycorax had planned.
But lo! I reach sanctuary
and dance ecstatic on the sand.

My grotesque form I treasure
but loneliness soon must end.
Yes! A monster I might be,
but Caliban needs a friend.

Paradise is mine and ripe.
Behold! A kingdom and a home!
The sun blisters all day long,
oh Muses why am I so alone?

“Hush boy! Careful of thy wish,
the scheme is so much grander.
For Prospero prowls the island
with his witch daughter Miranda”.

Run ugly Caliban. Run away.
Disappear, you must be brave.
For the Wizard has loosed Ariel,
your wretched body to enslave.

The girl holds you enchanted,
with promises of fair romance.
Feel her pull puppets strings,
watch her make You dance.

Oh Caliban! What darkness befalls,
a prisoner tithed with no trial.
Yearn, dear boy, for isolation
and the loneliness of your Isle.

© Pagan Paul (28/02/17)
.
I have always empathised with Caliban.
Enslaved by Prospero, teased by Miranda and
bullied by Ariel. Simply for being an outsider,
stupid, an ugly monster and supposedly subhuman.
Shakespeare's metaphor is rather apt for the way society,
in general today, treats people with mental health issues.
As freaks and outsiders, less than whole.
PPx
Anne Webb Feb 2017
They say there isn't much to live for nowadays
but for love and for beauty of the trees
and for flowers which remind me of your face
and the colour of your mind which only my eye sees.

Your lips are the colour of a rose
and only when they smile the world feels whole
like the cupids with their arrows and their bows
they pierce my heart and overwhelm my soul.

Like the hummingbird's faithful song
your sweet voice can open all doors
you make me feel right, even though I'm wrong
so my heart and my body are for ever yours.

And never before have I loved someone more
and I would live for you, die for you or unleash a war.
I wrote this for a friend for her literature class. But when she read it, she said it was too "professional" and that her professor would never believe she wrote it. So instead I put it here.
She always wanted to be
as famous as
Shakespeare.
Bawling dramatically in the cornfield.
My flip flops stuck
in the oozy mud
as I followed her for safety.

She sobbed on my shoulder during Titanic because she wasn't as beautiful
as Kate Winslet.
The rest of the cinema
gave me funny looks.
Soggy shoulder,
everyone necks craning to listen
to my therapy phrases.
"Sshhh. It's okay.
You're beautiful in a different way".

I never told her that lipstick didn't suit her.
And she still wears it now
on Facebook.
If you think this is you, it probably is.
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