Category Archives : Poetry

Sonnet 57

So, I’ve been going back and memorizing some of my favorite poems. I decided to refresh Sonnet 57 first. It’s nice and easy. Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hourWhilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of noughtSave, where you are how happy you make those.   So true a fool is love that in your will,   Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.  This one is particularly easy to memorize. The repetition of Nor is helpful. The last bit is a bit complicated and can sometimes get confused because you have: Where you may be, and then you have Where you are. I suggest you use the method where you repeat the whole thing each time through, adding two sentences each time. Or one if you are having trouble with two. So a memorization practice would go like this: Being you slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do, till you require And on […]

Praise the Lord

the curtains are down, but they’ll soon reveal a most inter-esting play the lights are dimmed round the stages keel the strings all finding A the woodwinds leap to lead the charge oh how the notes do fester the curtain’s up on our little dirge act I, Jesus Christ, Child-molester Here’s a man of 33, who never lays with chicks hangs around 12 random dudes, you get the basics He’s never married, or so they say, but let’s avoid polemic he represents the God of love, yet in the bible hate’s systemic he says a bunch of preachy stuff, that contradicts his father who promptly has him cruified, why exactly do we bother? I am not involved in family squabbles, nor am I a Roman so I don’t feel much guilt for him, nor think his death an omen They say though he’s the son of God, and yet he is a god, that’s the gist then how can those who believe in him, count themselves as monotheist? Let’s all pretend that 2 are 1, and leave out the confusing 3rd and see this god for what he is, from the eye view of a bird Here’s a man who makes two kids, one out of the other? And to propagate the species, basically Eve is screwing her brother! They all run around nude in their father’s back yard,until a talking snake gave Eve a magic apple, of which eating was a big mistake? They’re all kicked out of daddy’s house, to live a life […]

RE: You spirituality

if silenece is golden, then I must be made of lead and if looking through someone elses eyes is easy then I say it’s something to which I must be led i am not some starry minded aging hipster, dizzy with a purple haze of spirtual pornography, and dread, for the bleak and unrelenting truth that most of us are dead. it’s so easy to say so many things, like this or that is true, but to say is five trillion miles away from the definition of to do. Spiritual common sense, delivered in the form of cereal box copy, complete with one glow in the dark soul and secret druid decoder ring or eastern style metaphysics on the prowl for the ultimate and sloppy come while I am left here, numb, from the loss of my religious bling Everyone is flashing their designer spirituality driving around in God’s Signature SUV, in a sort of twisted upbeat 1984 virtual reality. I am not interested in a big brother God and religious goodfacts nor do I need some faux demonology, that my interests it distracts Almost said attracts. I only want the real, the truefacts. I would say on this that I am intractable and irrascible, Let’s stop this relativistic nonsense and bring about a crucible, Not to see the truth, but to see these McShamans burned, To see all of these false prophets churned and urned If it means I have to give up my freedom to express truth, I’d sacrifice it to give up […]

Yo Ho Ho

yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum a pirate’s life is the total sum of the drum’n pulse of the beat’n sun and that sun, beats as one yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum yo ho ho and a bottle of rum no man’s free, as he could be Fiddle dee dee, oh they never see good and evil’ve naught’n liberty yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum yo ho ho, and a bottle of gin life is the mess, we all are in and it’s no sin, if you begin to be wild outside, that you may win yo ho ho, and a bottle of gin yo ho ho, and a bottle of shine no soul wants to be left behind behind the lines, and when it’s time for heaven on earth, will we toe the line yo ho ho, and a bottle of shine yo ho ho, with a heart of steel not every man can really feel here’s the deal, I’ll tell you real -any man can be another’s meal yo ho ho, with a heart of steel yo ho ho, with an heart of lead the sleeping world is the land of the dead and if you dread, the morpheus bed then don’t be led with only your head yo ho ho, with a heart of lead yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum yo ho ho, till we reach the sun yo ho ho, for each and every one yo ho ho, until kingdom come […]

Walk, don’t run

For a feeling of freedom often finds distress abounding and a sense of daring seeks a release of all resounding in the quick and dreary mind of futures fated fortunes lies a prediction of undreamt pasts unlived and unloved to be Death in all that is wanton and wished for, dreamed a clear vision of the spilled viscera of unmet hopes schemed and we butchers making sausage from the ever flowing gore but the chore of life marches on, the tireless martinet Run! Don’t walk, do you think this is a play? say what you will, of all this dreary parsody a comedy, yes! but nevertheless, in a dramatic way then say you now, speak of what you really want to say don’t hold back, but say it wrong and you’ll rue the day then a slap on the face and a short walk off a long pier know that words and pens are mightier than the sharpest swords, we gaily run to throw ourselves on them every hour, of every day

Put your life, back in the box.

things are far worse than you feared, and life is but a grind we’re all in little boxes here, to escape are we disinclined We decorate our prison cells with lots of fluff and frills, how slowly do they pestle us down, like wheat within the mills With quarters small, here’s the tour, let me get you a seat, you’ll want first row for what comes next, to make your day complete In this corner we have all the things you’ve lost along the way stacked upon toys you never had, and all the games you couldn’t play these are all the valentine’s that you never did receive, signed with love by girls, who you, they never did perceive. this other corner? filled with eulogies that were never meant for you about all the great deeds and wonderous things, that frankly, you’ll never do here’s all those thoughts and fantasies you wouldn’t want displayed be glad they’re locked up tight in here, your own nostalg’arcade Here’s all those little lies you told, for no good reason at all and here’s the ones you told yourself, when you didn’t have the gall to face the relentless truth of your own, suffocating mediocrity and quell the torrential shearing tides, of a lifelong’s hypocrisy Oh Ho! What’s this, last but not least, the finest things you’ve got, all these hopes and dreams, smiles and cries, and stomachs in a knot All those wishes for a better world, and plans for a fuller life all the kids you’ll never […]