They think thee mad? I'll show thou mad, my lord.
Were kisses all the joys in bed,/One woman would another wed.
My love is as a fever, longing stillFor that which longer nurseth the disease;Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,The uncertain sickly appetite to please.My reason, the physician to my love,An...
Reading your sonnets? asked Orphu. Mahnmut closed the book. How’d you know? Have you taken up telepathy now that you’ve lost your eyes? Not yet, rumbled the Ionian. Orphu’s great crab shell was lashed...
Where Do You Show Up to Share What You Have to Offer?When You Love What You Do-You Share It Daily
Sous les ifs noirs qui les abritent,Les hiboux se tiennent rangés,Ainsi que des dieux étrangers,Dardant leur oeil rouge. Ils méditent.Sans remuer ils se tiendrontJusqu'à l'heure mélancoliqueOù, poussa...
A sonnet might look dinky, but it was somehow big enough to accommodate love, war, death, and O.J. Simpson. You could fit the whole world in there if you shoved hard enough.