Tuesday, 21 June 2011

Inspiration through the Ages

Sonnet 141

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But ‘tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue’s tune delighted,
Not tender feeling to base touches prone;
Not taste, nor smell desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone.
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
The proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be.
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

10 Things I Hate About You

I hate the way you talk to me
And the way you cut your hair
I hate the way you drive my car
I hate it when you stare

I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind
I hate you so much that it makes me sick
It even makes me rhyme

I hate the way you're always right
I hate it when you lie
I hate it when you make me laugh
Even worse when you make me cry

I hate the way you're not around
And the fact that you didn't call
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Untitled: A Love Poem

Like a green penny,
It lies rusted in the gutters.
Forgotten, or casually discarded
By the Uncaring

Picked up
It burns like steam;
Invisible, but inflicting
Thorns into fingertips.

Broken in half, possibly
Re-united pieces into whole;
Til broken again
And returned to it’s gutter-home. 

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