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"My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Among the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Where of the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine."
:-] I
Camillo from "The Winter's Tale" ((Act I, Scene II))
Vamika Sinha Apr 2015
Shakespeare wrote
of ‘trees bedashed with rain’
Doesn’t that remind you
of tears upon a face?
Nikki Tinebra Apr 2015
Where perils cut
Do sorrows bleed?
Does pain depend upon
the laying of our scene
or are the plagues upon the race
a universal theme?
The winds are wanting
change and haunting
all the sleeping’s
most pleasant dreams.
The title refers to the idea of the four humours as presented in the Elizabethan time period. They are thought to be the four essences within a human's blood that brought balance to their life - when the humours were out of balance, so indeed was the person. I wrote this poem during a discussion in a literature class during our study of Hamlet.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
SONNET 138**

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
   Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
   And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
What a sense of humor.
NicoleRuth Apr 2015
Who was she?
This heavenly lady
A woman of passion and boundless love
In whose steps Shakespeare did stalk

Endless pages filled with inked words
Words of despair
Declarations of passion
Screams of want
Driving himself into a frenzy
As he scribbled each play
Searching
Looking for the right words
Those perfect letters to utter

Which could bring her love to him
All it took for him was one look
But for her
Golden goddess among pathetic humanity
More was needed
Much more was required

So did Shakespeare venture
Deeper into the power of letters
Struggling to pave the path to his goddess's heart

The fates sadly had another story in mind
For young Shakespeare's legacy
He was not to be gifted they believed
His goddess of perfection and over flowing love
Instead he was to be a beacon
Of hope
To all torn lovers who dared to walk this earth

A shining light to guide them
Treat them with belief
That some day
One day
Love would truly prevail.
What was it that inspired Shakespeare to pen down the most beautiful plays and stories of love. Stories that till today inspire us to believe in its power?
Bb Maria Klara Apr 2015
How strange it seems for one to see
at once all that they’re meant to be.

Unlike the man who wanted flee
by death. “To be or not to be?”

Perhaps now do I ask to thee:
How is it to live and to be?

Not to the immobilized tree,
that knows of nothing how to be;

Perhaps ask not the humble bee,
A bee is all it is to be.

Oh! Our knowledge is like a flee,
which is a tiny thing to be.

Or is it like the deep blue sea,
A vast blue strange odd thing to be?

The strangest thing: the stranger’s plea,
asking on if we are to be

more than this. Is the question key
to knowing what one is to be?

Oh let it be, I say to me.
What you will be, you are to be.
I was actually informed that this was not a ghazal. It rather disturbed me, but I suppose it will pass as a flawed one? This was prompted by Shakespeare's Hamlet as it was the class study at the time (March of 2013). It has been posted on Tumblr for quite some time but I believe it deserves a share here. I hope it delivers.
Alan S Bailey Apr 2015
My bear my bear wherefore art thou?*
Doth thy moon not shiver till thy paws warm thy sky?
And hence forth the sun shall once again rise
Giving way to only more bear night lies?
This bear can supply warmth for the goldest moon,
But yet the sun can light her with what makes her to
Swoon, so my bear hath no strength to give her his all,
This bear dark golden, this lone green bag with doll.
Carsyn Smith Apr 2015
2B or not 2B -- that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to trust
The estranged memory of my parked car,
Or to take arms against the flight of stairs
And, by ascending, remember. 1A, one floor --
No steps -- and by 1A to say we end
The footache and the thousand natural shocks
That heel is heir to -- ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. 1A, one floor --
One floor, perchance no callis. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in these shoes of death what callis may come,
When we have shuffled off these mortal streets,
The lot must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of memories.
For who would bear the sores of party shoes,
Th’ endless rows of resting vehicles,
The low ceilings and countless steps,
The insolence of the inebriated, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might end the fuddled search
With a local inn? Who would challenge the stairs,
To grunt and sweat under buzzed breath,
But that the dread of someone waiting at home,
The undiscovered disappointment from whose bourn
No party-er returns, shaming the conscience
And makes us rather storm the steps to 2B
Than face anger we wish we knew not of?
Thus a spouse’s fury does make heroes of us all,
And thus the reality of ten more steps
Is boiled in the evening’s song and merriment
With little regard whether the car is parked in 1A
Or perhaps upstairs in 2B. -- Harsh you now,
The ground that catches me. -- Cushion, concrete bed,
I think I shall rest here.
A parody of Hamlet's "To be or not to be" speech.
sunshine Apr 2015
I am Hamlet
to be or not to be
I am Hamlet
that is the question
I am Hamlet
to live or not to live
I am Hamlet
that is the question
I am Hamlet
to commit life's greatest
woe upon thyself
I am Hamlet
that is the question
I am Hamlet
to take one's own life
I am Hamlet
...that is the question

a.a.
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