#conjuring - Hello Poetry

# *Whence do ye derive from all destiny so great and gigantically, Within thy Shakespeare’s eye - doest ye see all that love is intrinsically? Like, “Pummeled inside so many a verse we ride along for better or worse.” Only the faithful remember where from that line dost come. And if thou art my good and faithful friend, pray tell me, what is this curse? Oh I’ve scored your sonnets, I’ve played your plays passing so many a day Emulating your way and yet all I’ve written is bound to decay. But my good and immortal friend - is all that you possess at home with me? Ever is destiny as blind as the righteous are ******** If the righteous met you on stage would they not see you like Yorick - beheaded? But ‘tis only this stage which hosts your heart, to your enduring greatness. And as your spirit comes to me in my pen, help me set it right again. Here - I, the buskin of old that has not vanished, I push my pen Toward thy inward powers and feel within my fingers - you move - Doubtless swells of ink and chalice with words meant to soothe. You trace my heart within your palette and as I watch - we appear - One letter after the other in the affected black knowing nothing of fear. But do I not have two hands Sir, William? What say I scribble with the right whilst thou writest with my left? And with the left hand I write... At great length I consider Aristotle’s thoughts mighty - When sewn onto a lamp shade - but he himself is not as easily seen. Round him were seen a flock of birds screaming Of my tragedy’s with the wailing of a dog’s bay marking my dramas Around as by chance, by chance I stood giant over all my terrors. My bow is extended, the lock bolt released, words affixed On the string, steadily aimed at your heart. And hast not the line, “Alas, poor Yorick” found its eerie way into The lines of Hamlet – lines that I never wrote into that play? For they only doest exist in the collective minds of the readers. Oh, aye, I wished for my soul that I had written that line But it is one that I cannot claim exists in my play. Doest thou venture forth with a hardier action now? Thus to descend to the departed souls found in the graves here. ‘Tis here I lie in broken words to ask the prophet of where My soul relies – to see Tiberius I come – the old Grecian – My nature to be amused but vainly so conveying up my drama. Oh nature, my nature, hast not thy stage tread me ventured? Aye, and naked besides so that each rib does count. What? What truth of old is to be seen in truth set on this stage? I come to fetch mankind out of his own doom for there is more To this tragedy, it scarcely is over the horizon and once it begins It will move countless souls to a harness clad misery. ‘Tis well this philosophy of doubtless sensations refined From the humor of the blackest infections. Aye yes, it beats in jest of stolid and barren sorrow until It is sufficiently moist and exhibits a graceful dance. There entwines a solemn step which a Demigod moves Neither for naught as we love what is Christian and moral. Here – in the nether world - popular is homely, domestic and plain. There are no Caesars, no Achilles, no Aristotle which appear on the stage. Neither is there any to be seen of executives or cynics of commerce. Only secretaries, per chance and brick layers and lieutenants read the lines. Then with my right hand I write... “But my good and faithful friend, tell me, what can such people meet with That which can be called great? – that is - what great can they do?” And my left hand answers... What greatness? You ask – Aye, they form the cabals, they pay the mortgage They pocket their savings and fear not where the stocks be placed. Whence they come they oft return and derive their form from destiny’s greatness. Greatness which rises a man up on high even when it grinds him to an incarnate dust. Everything else is mere nonsense and not worthy of any acquaintances also, All of our sorrows and wants – they too are here. Wherefore then fly to yourselves if ‘tis truly yourselves you seek. And then on that stage you shall meet your own contemptible incarnation. There the poet is the host, the fifth act rendering the reckoning And when crime doth become sick, virtue sits down to the feast.* #

0

Feb 4, 2018

Feb 4, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC

willy-shakysphere

William Reincarnate

# *Whence do ye derive from all destiny so great and gigantically, Within thy Shakespeare’s eye - doest ye see all that love is intrinsically? Like, “Pummeled inside so many a verse we ride along for better or worse.” Only the faithful remember where from that line dost come. And if thou art my good and faithful friend, pray tell me, what is this curse? Oh I’ve scored your sonnets, I’ve played your plays passing so many a day Emulating your way and yet all I’ve written is bound to decay. But my good and immortal friend - is all that you possess at home with me? Ever is destiny as blind as the righteous are ******** If the righteous met you on stage would they not see you like Yorick - beheaded? But ‘tis only this stage which hosts your heart, to your enduring greatness. And as your spirit comes to me in my pen, help me set it right again. Here - I, the buskin of old that has not vanished, I push my pen Toward thy inward powers and feel within my fingers - you move - Doubtless swells of ink and chalice with words meant to soothe. You trace my heart within your palette and as I watch - we appear - One letter after the other in the affected black knowing nothing of fear. But do I not have two hands Sir, William? What say I scribble with the right whilst thou writest with my left? And with the left hand I write... At great length I consider Aristotle’s thoughts mighty - When sewn onto a lamp shade - but he himself is not as easily seen. Round him were seen a flock of birds screaming Of my tragedy’s with the wailing of a dog’s bay marking my dramas Around as by chance, by chance I stood giant over all my terrors. My bow is extended, the lock bolt released, words affixed On the string, steadily aimed at your heart. And hast not the line, “Alas, poor Yorick” found its eerie way into The lines of Hamlet – lines that I never wrote into that play? For they only doest exist in the collective minds of the readers. Oh, aye, I wished for my soul that I had written that line But it is one that I cannot claim exists in my play. Doest thou venture forth with a hardier action now? Thus to descend to the departed souls found in the graves here. ‘Tis here I lie in broken words to ask the prophet of where My soul relies – to see Tiberius I come – the old Grecian – My nature to be amused but vainly so conveying up my drama. Oh nature, my nature, hast not thy stage tread me ventured? Aye, and naked besides so that each rib does count. What? What truth of old is to be seen in truth set on this stage? I come to fetch mankind out of his own doom for there is more To this tragedy, it scarcely is over the horizon and once it begins It will move countless souls to a harness clad misery. ‘Tis well this philosophy of doubtless sensations refined From the humor of the blackest infections. Aye yes, it beats in jest of stolid and barren sorrow until It is sufficiently moist and exhibits a graceful dance. There entwines a solemn step which a Demigod moves Neither for naught as we love what is Christian and moral. Here – in the nether world - popular is homely, domestic and plain. There are no Caesars, no Achilles, no Aristotle which appear on the stage. Neither is there any to be seen of executives or cynics of commerce. Only secretaries, per chance and brick layers and lieutenants read the lines. Then with my right hand I write... “But my good and faithful friend, tell me, what can such people meet with That which can be called great? – that is - what great can they do?” And my left hand answers... What greatness? You ask – Aye, they form the cabals, they pay the mortgage They pocket their savings and fear not where the stocks be placed. Whence they come they oft return and derive their form from destiny’s greatness. Greatness which rises a man up on high even when it grinds him to an incarnate dust. Everything else is mere nonsense and not worthy of any acquaintances also, All of our sorrows and wants – they too are here. Wherefore then fly to yourselves if ‘tis truly yourselves you seek. And then on that stage you shall meet your own contemptible incarnation. There the poet is the host, the fifth act rendering the reckoning And when crime doth become sick, virtue sits down to the feast.* #

69

Gonna tell you the story of dark That scary her dark shadow in the park Al birds move out after twilight Still someone whisper in night Encounter at front of the mirror Her crimson face make it horror I got dare, do ****** Mary thing Candle flickered, evil shadow wings I turned back with my shaky steps Candle blew off, darkness come ahead I shout and ran on the dark coridor A heavy breath behind, still no one's there No else taking breath in air Still someone walking on stairs Suddenly a burned face come across me Whispering my name and grinned on me I ran and hide in the room Scared so much wanna get rid from doom She cut my heart n trapped me in mirror That scary shadow killed me with scissor My girlfriend suddenly came with gloom Mournlly cried to see me dead in the room Sudden she heard a voice of crying She turned her face, a dark shadow flying The dark face killed the love of mine devil shadow grinning front of our sight At the end sun rised with its shine Evil shade vanished in the light She could killed her with her own actions she couldn't able to killed our connection

0

Aug 20, 2017

Aug 20, 2017 at 4:38 AM UTC

Neerajkalraa

The dark room

Gonna tell you the story of dark That scary her dark shadow in the park Al birds move out after twilight Still someone whisper in night Encounter at front of the mirror Her crimson face make it horror I got dare, do ****** Mary thing Candle flickered, evil shadow wings I turned back with my shaky steps Candle blew off, darkness come ahead I shout and ran on the dark coridor A heavy breath behind, still no one's there No else taking breath in air Still someone walking on stairs Suddenly a burned face come across me Whispering my name and grinned on me I ran and hide in the room Scared so much wanna get rid from doom She cut my heart n trapped me in mirror That scary shadow killed me with scissor My girlfriend suddenly came with gloom Mournlly cried to see me dead in the room Sudden she heard a voice of crying She turned her face, a dark shadow flying The dark face killed the love of mine devil shadow grinning front of our sight At the end sun rised with its shine Evil shade vanished in the light She could killed her with her own actions she couldn't able to killed our connection

30

Eyes wide open, glancing around left-right-left-right. Deserted, dark, pitch-black hallway. Scar on her left eye asymmetrical bangs, reminder of the past. Petite hands reaching the glass **** Mahogany cracking, pale white paint peeling off... SHE. HAS. RETURN

0

Sep 12, 2014

Sep 12, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC

roses-behind-every-thorns

Annabelle

Eyes wide open, glancing around left-right-left-right. Deserted, dark, pitch-black hallway. Scar on her left eye asymmetrical bangs, reminder of the past. Petite hands reaching the glass **** Mahogany cracking, pale white paint peeling off... SHE. HAS. RETURN

9