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Nat Lipstadt May 2013
~for RK, for now~

Until you have bent your ear to Shakespeare's sonnets,
Till you have laughed with Ogden Nash,
Wept with Frost, visited Byron's ghost,
Read the songs of King Solomon,
And once you
Despair of being their equal,
Shed your winter coat of worry,
***** your courage to the sticking point,
Begin to write then with reckless fearlessness,
Unfettered abandon, make a fool of yourself!

Scout the competition.
Weep, for you and I will never surpass
The giants who preceeded us, and yet,
Laugh, cause they thought the same thing as well...
Smoke Scribe Mar 2018
Shakespeare’s Dog


in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion
courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden

So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this
very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door.

get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss,
but before I could kick him across the floor,
the pug spake thusly:

this dog knows the boot too well,
it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality,
but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide,
share some of Speare's un-Published Works
and you can claim it as your own!



kicked that dog across the room,
(having pity earlier I let him in and enter)
told Jim, (that’s what I called him)
he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up
and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever
caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side,
I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union.

The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive -
might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution.

he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating:

well mate,
thanks for the soliloquy,
me ***** long time gone,
but what I know and what I’ve seen
if tale-told you, and you were to listen,
you would keep me around as fodder
for your artistic soul.

in return chappie,
you need only provide me a rug, a fire,
A/C for the languid summer eves,
fodder for me body, and your boots,
far removed from my hindquarters.


We spoke much thereafter,
turns out he served his poet-masters
in many ways, more than a mere footstool.

his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later.
his love for country music makes me put him on nice days,
outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins.

ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend,
one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition,
the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming.

so if a farting pug before your door you’ve  found,
take him in, give him water, an amply supply please
of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul,
but beware, he might try to sell you
some of my words, as your own.
2014
Jessica Jarvis Mar 2018
Hands unraveled
Brutal freezing
Frigid heartache
Hardly easing
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Hold me closer
Never ceasing
Take my hand
Forever reaching
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

On your shoulder
Feel me breathing
Touch my heart
Forever pleading
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Let’s be bolder
Take me dancing
Feel the rhythm
My heart racing
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

For my last word
Hear me speaking
Love is here
But I’m still seeking
Because I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover



See me tremble
Ice cold breaking
Heat misguided
Feel me shaking
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover
Updated version of the original “Hopeful Heart” from 3/12/18

As heartbreaking as it may sound, I love these words and the drive behind them. ❤️
Eyal Lavi Aug 2017
Thou doth deny my love for you
Thou doth deny my words so true
My words like chords sing songs of you
My world is yours though you decline
Denied your love I'm all but blind
To all that was and is and could be
In a world where your don't see me
See me once and hear me speak
And then release me from your grip.
Eyal Lavi Aug 2017
"“To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come," as Shakespeare wrote and Shakespeare dreamt and Shakespeare... became he who ruled the world of words.

What dreams may come may come in bits
What dreams may come may feel as real as walking down a frozen field
What dreams may come may come so quick one can't escape one simply feels
The horror of a nightmare real as being trapped with none to hear
The yelling moaning wretched calls one calls for help yet no one hears

What dreams may come may come in peace
What dreams may come may come as fields of roaming grains kissed by a breeze
What dreams may come when one is whole and eyes the field as endless wonder planted by a higher power
What dreams may come may come in jerks of memories lost from years gone by now brought to life as one just sleeps
What dreams may come may come as real as real as life and love and death
What dreams may come...
You know they may...

— The End —