January 15

Shakespearean Sonnet #4

It hasn’t rained for awhile up here in Portland. So, we’re still dealing with the ice and the pervasive influx of snowmen and snowwomen. Ugh, we just weren’t prepared for this.

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4.
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shale see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

***

I love writing, and I love the writers who write the words. Good day, all.

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January 14

Shakespearean Sonnet #3

Shakespeare on a weekend? Yes, please! It’s a frozen weekend here in Portland, so I hope you’re warm where you are. Our igloos will only melt when there’s a warm (above 35F) rain. Hopefully that comes really soon. 

***

3.
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shale see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

***

Writing isn’t just a spice of life, it’s all the ingredients in the kitchen.

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January 12

Shakespearean Sonnet #2

Here’s Sonnet #2 from Willy Shakes. Hi, I’m a philistine. 

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2.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter’d weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all they beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

***

Read on, everyone. I’ll post a sonnet every few days or so. Maybe there will be a time where I’ll post a lot of them in the same day. Shakespeare makes you want to both read on and then immediately do anything else to digest its majesty. Great stuff. Have a quality afternoon, all.

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