Shakespeare and MeShakespeare and MeShakespeare and Me9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You may see me as a fool,
Bearing words too grand to know,
But theatre was your calling,
So to Shakespeare I did go.
I asked him to give me words,
To sway your affection dear,
And listening with attentiveness,
He drew his best works near.
He gave me his grandest words,
And said that you would see,
Though those words are written by his hand,
The sentiments belong to me.
Don't see them now as obsession.
Don't look at me with distain,
For I could be the greatest love,
Your heart did ever attain.
On ShakespeareOn Shakespeare3 years ago in Historical More Like This
Like most artists, I think that Shakespeare was something of a paradox. A collection of paradoxes, if you like. And I think that one of his paradoxes was this: He recognised his own power as a dramatist, and yet he accounted his plays to be things of little lasting value.
This is not to say that he disliked the theatre. On the contrary, I think that he loved both it and the fellowship that it brought him. After all, the plays are as much about the theatre as they are about anything else. But I think that in his heart of hearts, he regarded poetry as being the technically more demanding, and artistically higher, form. And I think that it was through his poetry, rather than his plays, that he entertained some hopes of being remembered.
I think that he felt, quite keenly, that had he not been required by necessity to earn a living - that had he been born an aristocrat - then he would have concentrated solely upon poetry, and not written the plays at all.
This would have been broadly comme
The Mysteries Of ShakespeareSo this is what it feels like to die,The Mysteries Of Shakespeare3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one heart beat an hour & a million breaths a second.
Hypothermic kisses on the summer solstice, but having
solar elliptical hallucinations makes me surrender my
five senses on winter's bones.
The queen has implanted snow white's heart behind my
arctic ribs, because i could never believe in true love's
kiss - until i met you.
I called you Romeo as my negative 5 degrees lips grazed
I had became your Juliet by the 'Black Arts' death.
Our suicidal secrets could unravel the history of love conquering all.
but - - they don't deserve breathing one's last through Shakespeare's eyes.