Best Shakespearean Poems

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...

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Halloween Sonnet

It's Halloween, that spooky time of year,
when scary monsters prowl the streets at night,
those freaky ghouls make me shiver with fear,
in costumes that give me a dreadful fright! 
 
Pumpkin lanterns cast a dire, eerie glow
as eager children arrive at my door;
Candy offerings on...

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Iambic Pentameter

A renaissance delight beguiles our sight.
Such enigmatic smile on face doth hold
our wonder why such cheer's in gentle light,
and hidden secret's veiled from view untold.
What name do we ascribe to model's grace.
Is she from noble family fame and ease,
but certain nomen's sore to know...

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Ascend to Shakespearean summer sky.

I loved Shakespeare as a girl
When a sonnet was like a melody
And I was not admitting
Impediments to true minds.

Our mark is fixed with the
Demise of one as the only force
Powerful enough to cast our
Corporal union null. 

And separation will be Doom...

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Plucked from Shakespeare 
and plopped in Central Park,
Sturnus vulgaris, the mimic,
conquered New York.

It made it there,
You know it made it everywhere;

The continental stage stolen.

And here on my fence amid this tragedy
To be   blessed with a modicum of bliss;

The sparkling spring songster
with his treasured...

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Macbethian witches, their curses, their physicks
bubble, bubble
whatever they are they're a great deal of trouble....

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The moon doth appear in that dark horizon
And glistens with a beam of drifting light.
Let thy passions stroll with the companion
Of forlorn hovering clouds in moonlit night.
O Nature, sing not thy lonesome songs again
For I doth find a friend in each of thy cells.
I rejoice...

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Thou has the fairest of features my love.
My conscious of thy beauty shall not die,
It surrounds me thus, as immortal glove.
Your piercing beauty of blue eyes, as sky.
Thy warm body I shall ever cherish,
To whom my soul doeth forever belong.
Thus my desire for thee shall...

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Trochaic Pentameter

Pretty eyes that show such deep affection
make the joy bells chime this day in my heart.
Why should I now be her great selection
most think she's a wondrous piece of fine art.
My head resonates bell loudly ringing
like to tintinnabulary paean.
Eyes that make the chimes to...

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The quiet city, is still half asleep 
the morning moon's glow pierces through the sky, 
stars gather close, as if they were in heaps 
watching faint clouds, as they slowly drift by. 

What will become of this December morn? 
Will the birds sing happily, in...

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I love to swap things with my friends.
	Today I’ve got a recipe
	to offer you. Please send me yours.
	Let’s make some “soup” with poetry.

	You must have fourteen cups of fresh
	strict meter. Just one brand will do;
	that’s iambic pentameter.
	For spicy sonnet flavor, you

	add just a pinch of...

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ask yourself this:

do I, a romantic fool, dare
pretend to write of your perfect shape?
oh yes, I do … I must!
for your unadorned contours are
overwhelmingly staggering to
the naked eye, and if observed by the
average person this way
your stark beauty would stun
them into silence …
such enticing perfection...

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Go look up the original sonnet called An Uplifting Sonnet. This one's called The Uplifting Sonnet because of the fact that it's actually much more Shakespearean and it flows better strangely. Rock on and pen on, all! I hope this verse is thrilling. P-soup me...

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Sienna’s notebook matches the blue sky,
along with the stripes in her plaid shirt sleeves.
Cold pushes me and I wonder why.
The ground is littered with the trees’ old leaves.
Grass is dying from the lack of sunlight. 
Trees constantly dance to their own wind song.
Ants run from...

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What Shakespeare didn’t write he left to me
In this, a brand new world and century
The English language lives and breathes, alive
A poet’s job is helping it survive

The Muses use us, soul and body, mind
To write of things that can not be defined
The subject matter always...

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