Best Shakespeare Poems
You had me oblivious to your antics,
as you hushed me tenderly by the creek
into your hide and seekable
soul-surrendering secret relief.
There, you cottled me into softness
with a simple chin caress,
which continued to smooth
the entire twisting course
of my delicate remorse.
My garments shifted
from their skin,
slipped into the witnessing wind.
You convinced me to sin
so remarkably, so recklessly,
for one worshipped glide
of feigned intimacy.
I bemoan my mixed senses
behind the curtain of uncertainty.
Oh, Romeo, if only I'd known you.
If only I knew that
your prestigious people-pleasing smile
was practice for the play.
That those granny pleasing manners
and Band-Aid banter
would soothe my soul to sleep.
That those jovial jokes
and caramel coated coaxing
would lead me quietly to the creek
where your meaty man hands would span
each inch of my innocence and beyond.
That your chivalrous, chiseled chest
and incandescent camper's scent
would be compressed
against my gentleness.
By this indulgence
I had relinquished your respect
and you had tossed my trust.
So dissolved the blending of lust,
and with it the end of us.
Your camouflaged fibs
of forever love
would continue deep
through the space in my ribs,
into the closing scene.
Romeo, so applause-worthy were you
on your secret stage that
Shakespeare could have cast you
just as you had cast me.
Tubby or not tubby
fat is the question!
Jan Allison
21st November 2014
I ran into Shakespeare the other day.
Told him I too am writing a play.
He asked about the premise, which was a reeler.
I had no idea he is a big premise-stealer.
I told him the plot, and he took a few notes.
I was excited when I saw him put them into his totes.
What will you do with them? I asked him, truly awed.
He would not tell me, because Shakespeare is flawed.
Just one thing, he asked, what is a hooker?
I thought that was funny, he's quite a humorous cooker!
A harlot, a whore, a rounder, tart, courtesan, I said.
"Oh, a strumpet!" he guessed, and his face turned all red.
So the next time you use the word strumpet remember to thank.
The guy who reintroduced this word to me - I call him Hank.
It's a fun word for sure, and will get some attention.
But don't use it if you are haughty with high needs of pretension.
Shakespeare, your words are interlaced with mine
With brilliant words of wit I choose from verse,
Yet I could never write near as divine.
Many have tried and failed... a poet’s curse.
You’ve set the bar beyond clouds in the skies.
Your clever words rain down as crystal tears.
My breath released in awe inspired sighs,
I marvel their relevance all these years.
I know your image like I know my own,
Your high forehead, your dashing bearded face.
How fond of your written verse I have grown,
Your clever lines share elegance and grace.
You will forever have my loyalty,
As you inspire all my poetry!
© Nov. 3, 2016
To a sapling, the truth is its own root system. Unseen, it delves into the darkness of the earth, not to impress the wildflowers or imitate the towering oaks, but to find its own necessary water and anchoring stones.
It does not worry if its roots twist in an unusual direction, or if a neighboring pine grows taller faster. It only knows its own need for depth, for the truth of the soil beneath it.
For this, above all: To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day; Thou canst not then be false to any man.
So it is that the young tree, in its steadfast authenticity, finds its voice. The unfurling of its own unique leaves and the branching of its limbs become a blueprint of its inner resolve.
It draws nourishment from the darkness, and in doing so, reaches for the light. As its trunk strengthens and its canopy spreads, it does not have to consciously decide to offer shade to the weary traveler or shelter to the nesting bird. Its generosity is the inevitable influence of its own secure growth.
For how could a tree, true to its own deepest needs, produce a withered branch? How could it, when anchored so profoundly in its own being, not provide for the life around it?
The shade it casts is an effortless gift, the fruit it bears a natural bounty. The tree does not fake a thicker bark or pretend to bear different fruit; it simply is. And in its quiet, undeniable existence, it nourishes the forest, making the very ground around it richer and more whole.
Its integrity is a silent echo in the wilderness, and all who pass beneath its leaves are better for it.
The quintessential of nyctophilia, wrapped in bridal attire, slowly and slowly as in somnambulism there goes the heroine of timeless tragedy to supersede her lovers feigned insanity.
Her beloved father is no more, being killed by her suitor's intrigued tyranny;
ignored to be drowned, to burn in the flame of plotted felony.
Jilted, to be startled by the selcouth performance of her handsome wooer's vile strategy;
there goes the most beautiful heroine ever to be the victim of fated irony,
immersed in senseless lunacy, to vanish from the sight of Hamlet's fatalistic eyes to bid adieu to the agony,
slowly and slowly to be disappeared into melancholic darkness from the dazzling maniac opaque sight;
there goes the Danish heroine of evergreen tragedy.
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN
Jim’s fallen head over heels for a girl,
He’s forgotten his mates; they’re in limbo
One whiff of her scent, his head’s in a whirl
But why did he choose Sue THAT blonde bimbo?
Like a shadow they are never apart
Stuck together tightly with superglue
This bleached blonde airhead has stolen his heart
Jim bade all his old friends a fond adieu
Every single day they are together
Still they only have eyes for each other
Arms wrapped around her, true love forever
Jim wears jumpers knitted by his lover!
On bended knee Jim gives Sue a huge ring
He splashed all his cash to buy her some bling
WHEN A WOMAN LOVES A MAN
Sue won’t hear a bad word about her Jim,
with rose coloured glasses, Sue is blinkered
He lets out huge farts, but Sue will just grin
She just giggles and calls him a stinkard!
Jim snores like a steam train, he never halts
Sue turns over and pulls up the covers
She totally ignores all of Jim’s faults
They’re besotted since they became lovers
Jim’s mates pity him; he’s under the thumb
With a ring on her finger Sue’s smiling
They are contented and Jim’s never glum
Sue adores him; she thinks he’s beguiling
Forever in love through good times and bad
Sue chose Jim because he looks like her dad!
Two English Sonnets Contest
Sponsored by Mark Massey
Two Sonnets written with my sincere apologies to the Bard!
Checked with how many syllables 10 per line
12~14~16
If we could look into the seeds of time,
and say which grain will grow and which will not,
we would arrange our affairs defiantly
in the face of current opposition.
If a thought should geminate and flourish
in the barren soil of the status quo,
it would likely be by sheer providence
that ideas would come to fruition.
Our dreams, our very imagination,
are what keep our momentum in this world.
Sans the prospect of incremental feats,
we would not strive to attain excellence.
If the portent of riches entices us,
would we forsake every value system
to attain the pinnacle of success?
No one could portend the foreordained path.
Dedicated to my beautiful sister, Dr. Barbara Voglino, with thanks for introducing me to some of the greatest literature ever penned. Love you, Sis!
The bedroom we shared,
Always quiet as a tomb
Until my sister Bobbie would ask
If I wanted a tale
She spoke of a white whale
And a captain named Ahab, bent on revenge
My favorite featured a black bird called “Raven”
I loved every story
And the lessons they taught
She even shared Shakespeare
Her voice was so gentle --
I was under her spell
I asked so many questions, oh my!
On the wings of her stories, to dreamland I’d fly
Now as we age, I dread the dark time
When angels will carry one of us away
No children have I; our parents are gone
She’s eleven years older, but I don’t know how
I could live without her, our bond is so strong
Still, years pass by and this I know
My storyteller and I will one day part
Each time we talk, we end with, “I love you”
And I make sure she knows how I learned
To love Shakespeare and more, from stories she told
These memories I’ll cherish
No matter how old
*Written December 9, 2020
For L. Milton Hankins “Story from Your Childhood” Poetry Contest
Why don't I love thee?
Let me count your awful ways-
Idle, cheating, bastard.
the frozen breath would stain
the night sky black,
as it swallows the harmony
of a lone cricket choir.
your skin reflects
our shroud of sweat,
your teeth sacredly protest
across my naked shoulders
in this Moët room.
The half moon comes
to rest its rays,
casting a former shadow
on fingers that climb my ribs
like desperation clings to the ladder.
A want to understand
what the other pretends
through eyes, an impatient
glance in a moment
we see a reflection;
my arms braced back
hands full of drunken awkwardness
your fingers imbedded
above my chest, owning flesh
tension can only releases this ache
while your lips search for sound
stopped by times aged hand
coming to rest on our nakedness
(as we become giants)
She was left alone
Standing in the rain
Even though it’s not shown
She’s filled with nothing but pain.
He was supposed to be with her
They were supposed to have a date
He was going to propose to her
But he couldn’t escape his fate.
What’s she to do now?
He was her everything
To him, she made a vow
In her heart, he’s the only king.
He did everything for her
Not caring if their parents opposed
He just wants to be with her forever
To other girls, his heart is closed
Her life began because of him
She just realized life’s neither fair nor fun
How to go on without him?
what now that he's gone?
His memories started with her
But it ended in just a flash
What of now and forever?
He only left her heart a gash
They both loved each other deeply
What will happen now that they’re not together?
An obvious answer came to me
Juliet would immediately go after Romeo.?
How fast time has fled in limitless wingspan
How months and years have merged into eons
Bringing such changes, so awesome and spectacular
I have come swinging open the iron gates
Of the Netherworld where I have been asleep
For over the last four centuries from now
From my prolonged slumber, I am just awake
With my memory intact as in the days
I walked the London streets on my way to Globe theatre
And roamed through the streets of Stratford on Avon
Here, I stand stunned like a Rip wan winkle
Wistfully staring at a world so strange
Wondering how in place of shacks, skyscrapers stand!
How the serene villages into bustling habitats made!
How the frilled frocks into jeans and shirts changed!
Seeing the changes that have come over now
I can only remain perplexed and “tongue tied”,
An expression I used long time back, but still in vogue
Happy I am to revisit the literate of the world
Especially members of my own clan;
My friends of Poetry Soup who wield their pen
To see words are latticed like filmy cobwebs
In diverse poetic forms, on themes and subjects varied
And in rhyming sonnets, my favorite poetic form
Though I stand in a remote and distant tract of time
So happy you still remember me and hail me as an immortal bard
And you name the young lovers- 'Romeo and Juliet'
And write on their amorous romance in honeyed rhyme
You call selfish and cunning people as ‘Iago’
And exclaim on being betrayed- “You too Brutus”
When you are confronted with problems insurmountable
Like Hamlet, you ask the million-dollar question-
“To be or not to be”
My friends, this is my parting words to you
You may live by fame as I do
Through verse, your name you eternalize!
When dead and in solitary vaults you lie
May your verses ring clear in umpteen hearts
And produce echoes that time cannot stifle.
Jan. 13.2023
~Placed First~
Shakespeare in 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I just tried out Soup’s grammar checker
It graded my work at just three
I smashed my IPad into pieces
You might say it kind of irked me
So I loaded up sonnet eighteen
(Compare thee to a summer’s day)
I copied and pasted that poem
Precisely as Shakespeare did say
Seems it’s a long way from perfect
For ‘owest’ he shouldn’t have said
And he’s gonna need to change ‘growest’
Alas, I believe Shakespeare’s dead
And then checker graded his writing
And set it at one point nine three
So what’s the big deal with this Shakespeare?
It seems he writes worser than me!
[Postscript: This epic ode achieved a 1.93: Cest la vie.]
I shalt ne'er be a famous bard such as William Shakespeare.
From mine pathetic poetical quill he hath naught to fear!
Mine immoral mot, "Where'er thou mayest be let thine water flow free",
I fear shalt ne'er compare to Bill's immortal line, "To be or not to be!"
"He hath eaten me out of house and home!" could be said of mine cat!
(Why could not I have conceived that line - all I can say is drat!)
"A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" cried Richard The Third!
(If I had said that, people would have deemed me quite absurd!)
"Brevity is the soul of wit!" and thus "This is the short and long of it!"
Alas, I shan't match wits with Willie so while I'm ahead I'd better quit!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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