Shakespeare Overload

                  ( and loving it )

 

 

 

              

 

 

My friends all seem to tremble when I mention poetry;

oh my, they say, I thought it died a hundred years ago,

they wince at all my quotes, such as, ' To be or not to be '

And mock me saying Shakespeare is just not now apropos.

Shall I compare ... I stutter, and they giggle foolishly;

to what ? they cry; To what ? Oh not that dreaded summer's day

when she walked through the raindrops with a face that ghoulishly

disheveled all the darling buds that could not get away.

And though I bite my lip, I sense the curving of a smile

and see myself in tights while quoting something eloquent;

' I come to bury Caeser, but it may just take a while

I did not bring a spade and now forget the sad lament.'

But this worm is for turning and I'll bear their scorn no more;

so let me shout ' Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war ! '

 

 

 

 

       I See Them In The Shadows

 

 

             

     

 

Spiders in my bathroom, spiders in my hair,
spiders on my eyelids, spiders everywhere.
Spiders in this poem crawling through the ink
spiders painted blue and spiders painted pink.

Spiders seem to haunt me everywhere I go
spiders in the raindrops, spiders in the snow.
Spiders are the universe, spiders are the sky
night time just a cloak of spiders crawling by.

Cobwebs hang from Jupiter, cobwebs hang from Mars,
spiders riding horses, spiders driving cars.
Venomous they watch me, driving me insane
spiders in my blood and spiders in my brain.

 

   

                          Drunken Sonnet

 

      

 

 

I'm writing this While verY very DrunK
so .. tra .. la..la..la..la..la .. I don't care,
my breath smells like a rather angry skunk
and sadly I've
                         just
                                 fallen
                                              off my
                                                          chair..

I'm writing THis While .. Oops .. Oh what a pain,
I think I may have written that before,
three thousand champagne bubbles pop my brain
and now I'm ǝpısdn uʍop and on the floor.

So shobbal, shobbal, woopsee doodle poo
dead camels smell and elephants are pink,
could Shlakespeare rite a shonnnet like I do
or would my verse have driven him to drink.

A hangover is worse than being dead,
Beware the Demon Drink ! A wise man said.

 

 

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