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When the windeth blows, it's ev'r so cold But nev'r as such within mine soul F'r thoust claim'd I'm dark withineth But I hast not commit'd sineth   Shall clouds rolleth in, I dear proclaim
A classic, A man revered by the world Stories stolen from others and passed off as his own, The greatest of all time Convoluted language, a sharpened sword Opressive tool to step on those without
O, Father you are a great planter  You’ve planted my seed in this island  and watched me grow into a tree
Let me panic and search for my purpose To which so many work to seek and find 
Sonnets are spoken for through a story.
Lessons I've learned, in meter and rhyme,  From distances far and a place out of time,  From poets so dead, lain out on a page And projected by me Friday night, center stage. 
Open the rarified book and step into the fantasy of phrase. Here I have learned the touch of a thousand, thousand apples, The twists and turns of eloquent power to show the toil and trouble of kings,
Open the rarified book and step into the fantasy of phrase. Here I have learned the touch of a thousand, thousand apples, The twists and turns of eloquent power to show the toil and trouble of kings,
My sir's eyes compare not to the light moon; Clouds are far more soft than his lip's surface; If flesh be bloom, why then his like a prune's; If hairs be chords, dust chords flee his dermis.
"Cream-faced loon", "fleshmonger", much more where that came from, William Shakespeare wrote many sick burns;   such as my personal favorite, with all its irrationality:
Monsieur, do come to life and rise to say: Thou, maiden, art the muse in brand new day. If powers were to bring thee back to life, Have words to me address, and be thy wife;
Looking out the clear glass but dirty window I see the trees shy from the harsh, cruel wind, My mind wonders how whirling air blow; Here in a room is where I imagine.
Because I love you This isn't the Taming of the Shrew Nor is it Winnie the Pooh It's strictly something between me and you Now don't think that love has to hide You don't have to be my bride
"I've seen her M'lord!" He said Her skin peeled and even throbed "I've seen it through her own veil in which she wore the night this bloody crime even happened." "Oh? So why not do anything about it?"
I use to be a, lesser version of myself. And in this, no longer existing, version, the person I have become was always relevant, just not present. The qualities and characteristics of lesser I, let us call thee, Helena,
To sneeze, or not to sneeze-that is the question:   Whether it’s better for my nasal cavity to suffer   The annoyance of inconsiderate reflexes,  
We Might've Been   We might've been the curving night - dim, blinding and empty We might've been your mother's knife - sharp, hard but flimsy We might've been the tiled floors
To be windy or not to be, That is exsufflicate’s question, Shakespeare’s random creation Is the anemometers Adjective. I wonder what must’ve Gone through his ingenious Thoughts while he tirelessly
Early mornings with Colombian coffee is how I start my day Early dog walks with Luna and Rocky is how I get energized Warm water over my body is how I get prepared for the day
Sexism is akin to he who carries it. Lightéd upon a cock’s feather and all Too eager to shout at his own feet.
i once met a goddess on a lonely road Knots of gold adorning her crown shining jewels as green as a toad Diverted all the way down   roses flourished in her cheeks As she continued to stare
Who's warm bosom is arrowed by cupidShouldst hark now to honest counsels my minddiscourses; love's like to unexpectedWhom thou think of least, hearts’ like to c
Who inspired me to write? Was it Edgar Allen Poe? It was a man whose writings have lived on since many years ago Verse, Prose, Iambic pentameter Shakespeare was the best poet of his time and after his time
Who inspired me to write? Was it Edgar Allen Poe? It was a man whose writings have lived on since many years ago Verse, Prose, Iambic pentameter Shakespeare was the best poet of his time and after his time
I stopped looking for monsters under the bedWhen I came to see they lived in my headWhoever tells of a monster that hidesNever had one to abide besideOh, full of scorpions is my mind
Simply, be beautiful Perfect beginning from end. Doth it says, “He dies.”
Stuck in the verge of fear panicked at the sight of death shrieking screams fills the air with no one in sight to hear this water so fierce and deadly embrace my almost lifeless body searching for air
A dagger for the clever For whom stars dull their fire to hide their wielder’s deepest desires. Let the absence of light bite not thine ambition, for only the reluctant wielder spills their own blood.  
Dear Friend, I must inform you of an ocurrance most absurd, a long-running line of separatio has ben blurred. Preparing pass the church this morn, the ghostly friar spoke with young Romeo of the Montagues
She calls me to present aloud the poem My knees are weak, my eyes are covered, still I shake away my fear and try to "om," a Taoist trick my best friend taught me well.
To love to not to love, that is the question: Whether company will make the pain less And stand by my side when times are trying Or perhaps to stand alone against demons,
The morning dew, My Adoration, Wash away the moonlight- A depression, a crease Within my Soul, Aching for cleanse Wash away the limelight-I seek tranquility. There is no climax In Reality 
Shakespeare once said that “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”  But he couldn’t predict the empty nights laying in bed wishing you were next to me.
Everyone wants a story with a happy ending, A sweet end with music and flowers and true love, Where the guy gets the girl, Good triumphs over evil, And everyone’s problems are solved.  
I wish I didn't feel this way toward my ill-fated lover. The croosing stars. The swirling clouds. The potion is key. The key to unity. The key to freedom. The key to love.
A rose would not Smell as sweet if rot Within it wrought And poisoned the lot.
I just need an A. Shakespeare, I love you, but soft -- What are you saying    
Why do you push me away When all I want to do is help? Please let me help take care of you, Since you cannot yourself. You used to be so kind to me, Now you won't let me in. I can't win.
He stands like power incarnate, as Right. With staff and globe, in light in dark in pride, He wills and I am moved--refracted light Through glass, as if my older self had died.
At some point long ago, I promised myself I'd never pen another love poem.  I transposed all my ballads to cynical limericks, All my eloquent "your smile" haikus to "fuck your denial" lyrics
I knew it was broken the moment that I became unsure 
You know my name and claim to know my soul, That wickedness shows plainly in the face, Yet wicked parts do not comprise a whole. There’re secrets hidden in the empty space. Is it indeed the contents of a heart,
Do I dare call upon what may be fair? That I am only a constructive fraud. The smell of blood lingers in the night air, And I am left by love and lost to God.   This I that may take blame for Banquo's death,
Macbeth seemed like a noble fellow, He fought hard and seemed mellow. The witches’ prophecies brought out a different side, One filled with paranoia and fake pride. His first murder started his quench for blood,
Quiet soul- shall I pray thee sleep in peace
               It’s been 3 years to this day sense the accident. I don’t even know why it was called an accident, nothing about it was accidental. The police don’t know that. They never will.  
To be or not to be Why even ask the question? They are just going to assume something about you anyways   Are you the Romeo to my Juliet? Are you the mean girl Lady Macbeth?
One-two and tick-tock Ribbons and lace tied up in a knot Like the one in my stomach, the one in my throat The one in my head that hangs from a rope Give me your hand, tie it up with strings
There is a land of radiance that shines
Why William d
A Shakespeare sonnet to befit a king The sun will rise a bird will sing All these clichés to express emotion Of love of sadness of endless devotion
The pestilent air around me breathed.
Say not that Shakespeare is timelessly highin stature of poets I must observeLet me feel, let me taste words in my mind’s sigh;do not command my pen and ink to serveYour analysis of an art not meant
My sixteen
  Once upon a time, she was his precious little girl Back then, no one could say anything about him
I have a theory,
Is it better left unsaid Or shoud I scream About how everything felt so real And how much you mean to me   The colors were so clear  I could see the difference between Periwinkle and blue
I've learned many things In the eighteen years of my life, Many of them being rather disconcerting. Perhaps to you, But not so much to me.
If Love is the End all be all, Then I guess I'm missing out. But I suppose it's better to be single,
An adaptation of Shakespeare's Hamlet's To be Or Not to Be Written by: Kristin Elyse Harlan   To go on, or not to go on: that is the question: Whether tis nobler in the mind to continue
Hamlet speech To be or not to be now that is my question/ Weather to act to or not react and then explain my confession/ Is it right I don't react, I feel I'm losing control/
Orchestrating art, New life in the old classics, Shakespearian Director
"red imp you stink"always tossing ink Goodfellow's worth no troubleer he goes errs left rubbleshine a shoe change a facehe moves at a startling paceto and fro from king to queen
I am Corey and I live day to day. Pop culture influences all I do. But not just what the people see today, but also what happened long ago too. From Twitter to reading a Shakespeare play,
Romeo and Juliet will forever be in love Their love stretches from the moon to the sun and forever above To describe their love, you can not compare it to the infinitely changing silver moon
I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for my love of Shakespeare. He led me to the world of Macbeth and King Lear. He taught me to die for love in Romeo and Juliet. And live with no regret.
I know that you can feel me softly breathe,But with each breath my heart beats fainter still,And though, my love, it's you I'd never leave,I know that it's my time and that I will.
Ohh, but a laugh.As precious as a flower.'Tis not what's in a name.'Tis what is in a laugh with an open hand beside it.     (March 20, 2012)
Three famous words of Shakespeare   I've spent thirteen years of my life in school I think I'm ready for another 4 plus.   I saw the heartbreaks; the failures; the successes
The everyday rush, The voice never hushed: What's the truth, what's the meaning? Is there purpose for living? I ask when I pause, When I feel that I've strayed. Am I holding the cause,
That truly is the question, isn’t it? Not just regarding the life or death bit; It can be what you want to be doing, Or not doing, like viewing, or wooing.
When into the west Apollo has gone And the depths of night surround me I am found in the shadows waiting there For my love and lord to appear
Poetry I just cannot seem to quit. Is their another form that I could do? Dickinson's poetry is not worth shit, And there is nothing that can beat haiku. It sure seems that Robert Frost knows his stuff,
Shall I compare thee to the deafening silence of night? How it is strong and angry, how it crushes my day into tomorrow, and keeps a lock around my sight. At times you grasped me so tight,
  Ode to Shakespeare     William Shakespeare, a genius old bard,     Famous are all of his characters’ names,     Hamlet, Macbeth, and Romeo starred,     Etu Brute? King Caesar exclaims.
You're not the one for me You don't even know who you love I don't know why it took me so long to see That the greatest love of all comes from the one above  
The maiden walking down the crowded road, Unknown, unlucky vessel for defeat, Not seeing Cupid’s humble, red abode, Is struck within, filling void hearts in heat.
There he sits, glaring up at me: I shudder. In wondering the meaning for this strange interaction, haunting memories appear. Now, he is my Paris: with no comparison to my true love, Romeo.
Here in the big city that never sleeps… The building of Empire, the Midtown rush, From places to go, and people to meet, Reborn every day from chaotic hush. The boulevard of lights and New Year’s Dreams, Isle of immigrants, Lady Liberty. Horse-dra
  How odd that one you do not know today,                                         Becomes the one you cannot live without.
Let love not be just an impassioned flameDark like charcoal in a matter of daysFleeting birds escaping, his misled aimSomething so exaggerated in plays
They loved on a deathbed. Rather,their love was that of a deathbed love.
  Its simple parts cannot ever redress The mystery that dances across its folds Cloth and thread, no account for the success Which strikes plain garment with magic untold The power it wields to fully impress
I play tribute to words when I etch them onto my arm with a new black sharpie. I doodle until I  find it fitting to stop, but I never do. My body becomes a canvas, my mind spinning with thoughs I cannot contain. Peace.
The "Once Upon a Time"s and "the Last Week I"s never really seemed like much When such a better way existed To tell a story.   And when I took into account all that I knew about 
I close my eyes and breathe as I try to remember my likes, my loves, my dislikes, my hates, my hobbies, my work, my friends, my enemies. I have to remember my character, my lines,
Enthralled by your unbounded beauty That I admire all seven days a sennight, It is me that you do not see; My heart pounds madly at your mere sight. Although we descend from people of conflicting histories,
My father was the constant sun of mine Placed in the center of my universe, Dictating daily toils, joys, and time, My seasons, too- though seasons deeper go Than gravity due to the sun, for as
A girl with a silent struggle Words caught in her throat Carefully blended in Edges too blurred Easily missed. Someone with a name But a name of no distinction. “What’s in a name?
Shakespeare was full of himself About every other sonnet he sings About the beauty gazed upon forever All because he himself made the writing kinda clever
To be or not to be, that is the question Or is it a hidden, forbidden sort of oppression? Neither a borrower, nor a lender be, I can’t be anything else, I can’t be me. You see,
I. Flamed. Amazement. That is, I would have done so, If water were flame. If the rain could burn, I would be a fiery sea, Rising from the sky.
Though I know you not, I’m compelled to write Of your beauty, and nature so tender Your smile radiates, And shine like moonlight.
Fair is foul and foul is fair Lies, betrayal, hatred, and blood Loom freely in the air. Dearest hero turned foe Believe the literal truth and fell to an all time low His lady acted not as his conscience
Shall I compare thee to your brilliant self? May your intelligence pray tell more lines? When I see your books sitting on the shelf It reminds me of your wonderful rhymes Sometimes I recall your serious death
This song has me thinking, only thinking bout you Playing your voice, soft, sexy, and smooth It has your beat, soul and style The rhythm of your walk, talk and smile These charmable notes glide me side to side,
Its anger crashing on the sodden land To darken innocence and turn it gray The mighty power of the Sky god's hand His blackest soul that blocks the light of day Its wails, so full of bitter resent
Shall I compare thee to a birthday cake? Thou art more layered and more fattening: Harsh winds do force thy candles fire to shake, And birthday’s end does cause a happening:
Why compare thee to a summer's day? No good could ever come of it; Yours is a beauty that drives men to slay, And Aphrodite to throw a jealous fit.
In a remote European kingdom Lived two feuding families: the Montagues and the Capulets. Romeo, a Montague, met Juliet, a Capulet, at a party one night.
"If I should die before I wake," Fingers slip into the lake Queen Anne halo Floating lace "I pray the Lord my soul to take," Reeds do pull From leagues below Tendrils snaking to and fro "One world was not enough for two," Such eyes now clouding Th
I smile when I read this line of Shakespeare And I nod to myself And think That never have I been so satisfied With a few words typed on paper.
Shall I compare you to a city’s spark? You are more beautiful and more lively: Noisy traffic may even reach the park, And alley ways appear all so eerie: Sometimes too hidden nature does reside,
Is love somnolent in our hearts truly? Within our breasts dost sleep til true love meet? Trust it is clear it is not so for me, Within me passion dost each morning greet!
He tunes and he listens, No place for devices. And he writes till his fingers bleed, Yet rarely revises. For love speaks through him, Tis’ an act of God. His art conceives harmony,
Track One: The beat plays and he ignores that intuition Grabbing his notebook and pen to begin his rhymes It’s like his love's past is causing this prevention
Hearts of fire and eyes of icy gaze Bask blithely in thy branded bitter guise. Glower gently, for thou durst not shall faze, Myne own love hath made twice bitter allies.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Your beauty cannot compare to many women of my beloved Britannia; So no, that is not grand enough for my princess of the fay,
Well Sir, I say my eyes are bright and shinning My lips, as red as candy apple's skin My breasts are fine so quit your whining My hair is divine, Sir I think I win. Wires you say? Your creativity is declining.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair Let Macbeth live in all our prayer. Stir the cauldron till it’s nice and hot Have the witches burned and shot. Meet Macduff upon the field
Two hearts together hath been sworn, But by a father's words so harsh hath been torn. Banished away for an act so just, leaving behind his true love and true lust. Running so fast with blood stained hands,
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