Shall I compare thee to a winders breeze?
Thou art more cool and clement
Thou art more shinier than the nights stars.
Tis the day they know
The day that they realise how it is you that I cannot fathom.

You have always whispered to me the true nature of the world.
Your energy radiating a voice so pure,
A voice so humbly harmonized
A voiced groomed to perfection,
A sound so perfectly aligned, moved by the hands that have orchestrated.
A sound that has raised my soul through its perfect symphonies.

Shall I say that the winds have whispered to me?
Shakespeare has driven me to an era so old.
An era so new.
An era for hope.

Travel with me.
Let us move to the Victorian lifestyle
Let us challenge Science, philosophy and the wonders of what is now.
Dive into this lifestyle.
And let us compare then to now.
Shakespearean to Victorian.

Travel with me.
To Sonnet 18.1

Good bye! Awful love, goodbye!
You vile ******, annoying fly
I’ve had it with your awful lies
Be gone, forever, our love is dry

Your vile thoughts ***** my brain
The happy hum that replaced your name
Lowly, you sit in despair, for shame!
You awful love, your name is in vain

Goodbye! You awful love indeed;
So lucky was I to be your need
So silly to think I’d follow your lead
Goodbye awful love, don’t remember me.

Hush! he approaches
Rush! here his coach is,
Try to silence all the fear your trembling poor heart makes,
Stop! or he'll see you,
Chop! that's what he'll do,
Dismemebering you bit by bit, a moment it will take,
Come! let me show you,
Run! this you must do,
Evade the cuts and thrusts from such a menacing sharp knife,
Look! keep your eyes peeled,
Shook! that's how you feel,
If he ensnares you trust me, he will bleed away your life,
Oops! i've deceived you,
Nice! how i've played you,
enticing you with urgency into my masters lair,
Tricked! how delightful,
Stripped! oh so frightful,
your gut spills forth its contents but your screams are never heard,
Spared! that's what i am,
You! sacraficed lamb,
I live another day while lord and master feeds on you,
Search! nightly i scour,
Creep! in the wee hours,
providing my lords food supply, or i will be killed too......

And
within moments of pity,
pride, possession, avarice;

and still, moments must resentful,
lustful, arduous, close;

some great current, unmoved
unblunted, unweakened, unswerved,
remains aflow;

for common nearness, a bondless magnetism,  
abounds through within faith-constance,
ever-surmounting that sight or scent
there without.

You’re preaching your vanity
To my innocent insanity
But I will hide within
While you strut and jut your chin.

Feeble destruction, I confess
Sitting in my pretty dress.
Ribbons of gold and silk of blue
I wouldn’t lift my skirt for you.

Roses white and gentle pink
Stained with red when the thorns *****
To behead a rose - 'tis not wise
Our stinging beauty terrifies.

Among the peonies, footsteps soft
Pretty little ladies’ faces don’t rot.
Corsets choking our manic laughter
Underneath her frills it’s a disaster.

My innocent insanity
Comes with a smile.
Take my paper hand good sir
Stay with me for a while.

You’ll enter blind
And leave a new man
Able to hear
That that is not there
And barely able to stand.

A soul, a skip, a time, a page.
Twill and twine, butter me up.
Bowler hat, dapper gray.
Tea and twist, slap it away.
Hatpins stab and teamice snore.
A soul, a skip, a time no more.

How many heroes have chosen this path,
Of least or no resistance?
In the face of overwhelming odds,
Or staring at cubicular, corporate submission;
Elect instead the stance
Of simply
Doing
Nothing?

Victorian ladies thought it amusing;
20th Century Centurions and Puritans condemned it.
The spoon-fed rich live it and lose nothing.
Russian aristocrats sometimes recommend it…
When spurned in love & up against it.

Oblomov, for instance, whiled his time away,
In bed, or staring out at the wood,
Writing meaningless letters and ignoring the day,
Yet it still did him some good.

Marat in his bathtub, Proust in his bed,
Still accomplished SOMETHING
Or we’d have forgotten them instead.
Is there still no virtue in doing nothing?

Against the tide of corporate work,
Aquarians rebelled with dance.
Later on, Generation X
Came to work in a greedy trance.

Peter Gibbons was hypnotized,
To escape his lifeless job,
Destroyed the office as it was downsized,
But was promoted by “the Bobs”.

Some lesson there, for those who strive,
That work alone is not enough.
Attitude is more important to our lives,
That revolt by nothingness is not that tough.

Abbie Hoffman was thrown through windows,
While preaching peace instead of wrath.
Despite nobility of cause, does humanity still go,
The inexorable way of sloth?

Sharon Talbot

The carpenter in one glance
undresses the house
with his eyes.
She, a Victorian dame
of voluptuous frame
in faded, ragged dress
seems to blush
at his appraisal.

He yearns to explore
intimate spaces,
strip her pretension,
commit filthy acts
hammering skillfully
with strange pleasure,
the work of hands,
attention to detail,
rubbing sweet oils
her inner beauty revealed.

It will end in soft strokes
a thoughtful cleanup
leaving an afterglow
of rejuvenation.
Her timbers moan
with anticipation.