"unshriven" poems - Hello Poetry

In fair Verona where Will set the scene Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down. Two households both alike in dignity Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground. When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance Events were set in motion that, perchance, Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride but ultimately result in her suicide. With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead, And Capulet and Montague estranged. Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed not knowing of her loss of maiden-head. Romeo was banished for his crime, a sin for which a peasant would have died Their two households, joined because they wed, remained divided by their foolish pride. Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air, oppressive in the absence of a breeze. With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead, as if struck down by some unknown disease Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets. A draught of deadly poison he obtained So they might sleep together once again. When Romeo met Paris at her tomb, Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead. Would not the world have been a better place if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead? Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down- the only son of Montague now dead. Perchance just then fair Juliet revives Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead. Authorities, arriving at the scene, could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost. Capulet and Montague were reconciled Their amity bought at a fearful cost.

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May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Juliet and Romeo

In fair Verona where Will set the scene Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down. Two households both alike in dignity Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground. When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance Events were set in motion that, perchance, Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride but ultimately result in her suicide. With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead, And Capulet and Montague estranged. Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed not knowing of her loss of maiden-head. Romeo was banished for his crime, a sin for which a peasant would have died Their two households, joined because they wed, remained divided by their foolish pride. Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air, oppressive in the absence of a breeze. With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead, as if struck down by some unknown disease Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets. A draught of deadly poison he obtained So they might sleep together once again. When Romeo met Paris at her tomb, Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead. Would not the world have been a better place if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead? Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down- the only son of Montague now dead. Perchance just then fair Juliet revives Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead. Authorities, arriving at the scene, could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost. Capulet and Montague were reconciled Their amity bought at a fearful cost.

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Through frost-thick weather This witch sidles, fingers crooked, as if Caught in a hazardous medium that might Merely by its continuing Attach her to heaven. At eye's envious corner Crow's-feet copy veining on a stained leaf; Cold squint steals sky's color; while bruit Of bells calls holy ones, her tongue Backtalks at the raven Claeving furred air Over her skull's midden; no knife Rivals her whetted look, divining what conceit Waylays simple girls, church-going, And what heart's oven Craves most to cook batter Rich in strayings with every amorous oaf, Ready, for a trinket, To squander owl-hours on bracken bedding, Flesh unshriven. Against ****** prayer This sorceress sets mirrors enough To distract beauty's thought; Lovesick at first fond song, Each vain girl's driven To believe beyond heart's flare No fire is, nor in any book proof Sun hoists soul up after lids fall shut; So she wills all to the black king. The worst sloven Vies with best queen over Right to blaze as satan's wife; Housed in earth, those million brides shriek out. Some burn short, some long, Staked in pride's coven.

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4.2k

Sylvia Plath

Vanity Fair

Through frost-thick weather This witch sidles, fingers crooked, as if Caught in a hazardous medium that might Merely by its continuing Attach her to heaven. At eye's envious corner Crow's-feet copy veining on a stained leaf; Cold squint steals sky's color; while bruit Of bells calls holy ones, her tongue Backtalks at the raven Claeving furred air Over her skull's midden; no knife Rivals her whetted look, divining what conceit Waylays simple girls, church-going, And what heart's oven Craves most to cook batter Rich in strayings with every amorous oaf, Ready, for a trinket, To squander owl-hours on bracken bedding, Flesh unshriven. Against ****** prayer This sorceress sets mirrors enough To distract beauty's thought; Lovesick at first fond song, Each vain girl's driven To believe beyond heart's flare No fire is, nor in any book proof Sun hoists soul up after lids fall shut; So she wills all to the black king. The worst sloven Vies with best queen over Right to blaze as satan's wife; Housed in earth, those million brides shriek out. Some burn short, some long, Staked in pride's coven.

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237 I think just how my shape will rise— When I shall be “forgiven“— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head— Are out of sight—in Heaven— I think just how my lips will weigh— With shapeless—quivering—prayer— That you—so late—”Consider” me— The “Sparrow” of your Care— I mind me that of Anguish—sent— Some drifts were moved away— Before my simple bosom—broke— And why not this—if they? And so I con that thing—”forgiven“— Until—delirious—borne— By my long bright—and longer—trust— I drop my Heart—unshriven!

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1.6k

Emily Dickinson

I think just how my shape will rise

237 I think just how my shape will rise— When I shall be “forgiven“— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head— Are out of sight—in Heaven— I think just how my lips will weigh— With shapeless—quivering—prayer— That you—so late—”Consider” me— The “Sparrow” of your Care— I mind me that of Anguish—sent— Some drifts were moved away— Before my simple bosom—broke— And why not this—if they? And so I con that thing—”forgiven“— Until—delirious—borne— By my long bright—and longer—trust— I drop my Heart—unshriven!

17

Nobody knows where the Ragman goes In the wee, small hours of the morn, When he’s taken the dray with your rags away Through the pin-point eye of a storm. He came to stay while you were away And your sister gave him your dress, The one with the dreams and the bright sequins Sewn in to the lace at the breast. She said that you wouldn’t be needing it Since your dreams have faded to dust, When all those hundreds of bright sequins Were dimmed, and turning to rust, But the Ragman knew that he’d capture you If he made away with your dreams, And sits unpicking your party dress With a razor blade at the seams. Your sister Grace has a second face That she turns when she’s not near you, In a zealous, jealous and carping place That she keeps well hidden from view, For nobody gives her a second glance While she schemes and dreams and plots, To plant your beauty deep in the ground With a host of forget-me-nots. Don’t peer too long from the balcony, Don’t stand too long at the edge, She’s loosened the rail you lean upon And thrown the bolt in the hedge, A sudden rush and a simple push Will send you a long way down, While she prepares her look of despair As they plant you there in the ground. I’m only a menial footman here But my love is stamped on my face, I’m going to track the Ragman down And bring him back to this place, I’ve seen his dray by a cottage door In the forest of chills and frost, And seen the women he buys and sells Who wander the forest, lost. Your sister sips on a nightly draught As she sits and watches the Moon, Plotting to see the end of you, I know that it’s coming soon. I’ll drop a potion into her drink And tie her up in a sack, Then throw her up on the Ragman’s dray, She’ll never be coming back. He’ll take her deep in the forest there To the caves of unshriven souls, Then put her up on the auction block And sell her to one of the trolls. The bolt is back in the balcony rail And the potion’s in her drink, The Ragman’s dray is coming today And your sister’s at the brink! David Lewis Paget

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Dec 12, 2013

Dec 12, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC

david-lewis-paget

The Ragman's Dray

Nobody knows where the Ragman goes In the wee, small hours of the morn, When he’s taken the dray with your rags away Through the pin-point eye of a storm. He came to stay while you were away And your sister gave him your dress, The one with the dreams and the bright sequins Sewn in to the lace at the breast. She said that you wouldn’t be needing it Since your dreams have faded to dust, When all those hundreds of bright sequins Were dimmed, and turning to rust, But the Ragman knew that he’d capture you If he made away with your dreams, And sits unpicking your party dress With a razor blade at the seams. Your sister Grace has a second face That she turns when she’s not near you, In a zealous, jealous and carping place That she keeps well hidden from view, For nobody gives her a second glance While she schemes and dreams and plots, To plant your beauty deep in the ground With a host of forget-me-nots. Don’t peer too long from the balcony, Don’t stand too long at the edge, She’s loosened the rail you lean upon And thrown the bolt in the hedge, A sudden rush and a simple push Will send you a long way down, While she prepares her look of despair As they plant you there in the ground. I’m only a menial footman here But my love is stamped on my face, I’m going to track the Ragman down And bring him back to this place, I’ve seen his dray by a cottage door In the forest of chills and frost, And seen the women he buys and sells Who wander the forest, lost. Your sister sips on a nightly draught As she sits and watches the Moon, Plotting to see the end of you, I know that it’s coming soon. I’ll drop a potion into her drink And tie her up in a sack, Then throw her up on the Ragman’s dray, She’ll never be coming back. He’ll take her deep in the forest there To the caves of unshriven souls, Then put her up on the auction block And sell her to one of the trolls. The bolt is back in the balcony rail And the potion’s in her drink, The Ragman’s dray is coming today And your sister’s at the brink! David Lewis Paget

57

In fair Verona where Will set the scene Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down. Two households both alike in dignity Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground. When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance Events were set in motion that, perchance, Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride but ultimately result in her suicide. With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead, And Capulet and Montague estranged. Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed not knowing of her loss of maiden-head. Romeo was banished for his crime, a sin for which a peasant would have died Their two households, joined because they wed, remained divided by their foolish pride. Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air, oppressive in the absence of a breeze. With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead, as if struck down by some unknown disease Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets. A draught of deadly poison he obtained So they might sleep together once again. When Romeo met Paris at her tomb, Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead. Would not the world have been a better place if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead? Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down- the only son of Montague now dead. Perchance just then fair Juliet revives Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead. Authorities, arriving at the scene, could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost. Capulet and Montague were reconciled Their amity bought at a fearful cost.

0

Aug 13, 2018

Aug 13, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Star Crossed

In fair Verona where Will set the scene Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down. Two households both alike in dignity Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground. When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance Events were set in motion that, perchance, Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride but ultimately result in her suicide. With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead, And Capulet and Montague estranged. Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed not knowing of her loss of maiden-head. Romeo was banished for his crime, a sin for which a peasant would have died Their two households, joined because they wed, remained divided by their foolish pride. Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air, oppressive in the absence of a breeze. With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead, as if struck down by some unknown disease Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets. A draught of deadly poison he obtained So they might sleep together once again. When Romeo met Paris at her tomb, Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead. Would not the world have been a better place if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead? Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down- the only son of Montague now dead. Perchance just then fair Juliet revives Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead. Authorities, arriving at the scene, could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost. Capulet and Montague were reconciled Their amity bought at a fearful cost.

36

deep inside the folds of a brain gone awry lies the myriad broken answers as to why one should abide by bondaries given lest one step into territory unshriven motes of darkness sparks of flame leaving no one without blame burnt offerings brought to the fore useless meanings given by the score to mindless chatter building tension unable to voice a word of intention

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Feb 20, 2011

Feb 20, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC

judy-ponceby

Scattered thoughts...

deep inside the folds of a brain gone awry lies the myriad broken answers as to why one should abide by bondaries given lest one step into territory unshriven motes of darkness sparks of flame leaving no one without blame burnt offerings brought to the fore useless meanings given by the score to mindless chatter building tension unable to voice a word of intention

10

they stood outside the stadium unshriven without a clue broken by numbers sober as the moon every one of them hollow in the wind watching their hands shouting sativa! sativa!

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Jul 23, 2019

Jul 23, 2019 at 9:13 PM UTC

ludlow

Sativa

they stood outside the stadium unshriven without a clue broken by numbers sober as the moon every one of them hollow in the wind watching their hands shouting sativa! sativa!

11