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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424828" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Chatter Chief Of Staff Application 1331 After William Shakespeare Hamlet's Soliloquy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To verse, or role reverse, that's in the question, <br>when writer's block may cause some indigestion -<br>[with contests tougher then the going's rougher] -<br>Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer<br>the strings and sorrows of outrageous scribblers, <br>the binges of obsessional dribblers, <br>the noisy cutters' red, black, unread bubbles: <br>or to take arms against such teething troubles<br>and by opposing, end them? Still keep one's cool, <br>guide, bona fide, and gladly suffer fools? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's surely something wrong in A.P. rules<br>when talent's topsy-turvy turned by ghouls, <br>when terms of reference ability are not retained.<br>Here trophy credibility must be regained.<br>For here are pressing claims and urgent needs, <br>though many try, scarce one percent succeeds -<br>and one percent of these may save their soul<br>as contest pressures take their toll<br>of high ideals, oft leaving empty shell<br>and little else as epitaph, - ah well! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fame, fickle, tithes her victims. Writers' knell<br>tolls far more frequently than curtain bell.<br>Thus those who would their sacred dream preserve, <br>who from rhyme's chiming path would never swerve, <br>must make much sacrifice. To serve, - observe, <br>the scene, and by to serve we mean to fend -<br>(or else to disillusion most descend) -<br>the heartburn and the thousand natural shocks<br>rejection's heir to when rejection knocks. <br>Are value judgements devoutly to be wished <br>when versatility by contest rigging's dished? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our scribes just fate deserve. To serve, observe<br>the entry they reserve too often stands<br>ignored, spinsterlike longing for unknown hands, <br>the shining silver, gold, bronze thus reject<br>the restless queue, as order ready-pecked, <br>full of sound and fury points a clue <br>shows some exchange their trophies. Much ado <br>'bout nothing scribblers screeding sticky caps<br>with spelling errors knitting self-writ traps...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To write, page lighting wait. Oh what a weight -<br>especially where some poetry postdate! <br>A.P. needs change so fairly dreams may come<br>when shuffled off the uniform, brain numb, <br>to often dumb, eraser rubs. Where's the respect? <br>Aspirant writers though they introspect <br>earn due reward to compensate long hours, <br>so unacknowledged, taxing all their powers.<br>expending energy for scant applause<br>as others benefit at their expense, <br>to few the points, to most so little sense. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For who would bear these whips and scorns for long, <br>envy contumely, commentator's wrong, <br>the pangs of wasted lines, free-versed, despised, -<br>(the impudence where, uninvited, eyed<br>the worthless stranger who advances tried, <br>who may not be so easily denied<br>in public places audience - we've cried!) -<br>Waste in untasted verse, those long delays, <br>days melting into nights, nights into days, <br>the insolence of judges, the sharp spurns<br>that patient merit from the unworthy takes.<br>When writer might some true quietus make<br>with rare home cooking? Who would fardels bear, <br>insults A.P., with little time to spare, <br>to grunt and sweat under a wordy life<br>with strife at work, A.P., through envy, - strife! <br>But that the dread of nothing else to do, <br>lest dreams sound hollow, isolation too, <br>or kids to mind, rent find and clothing too, -<br>threats unemployment act upon morale.<br>‘Tis true, and all too often ça fait mal! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The options open often puzzle will, <br>and make us rather bear those ills we have<br>than fly to others that we know not of.<br>Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, <br>for few will answer truly to life's call.<br>Thus the native hue of resolution<br>is sicklied over with pale cast of thought<br>losing all instinctive love of writing! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Should one desire to act upon dire fate, <br>ambitions fire! React! No longer wait! <br>then the principles inspire to undertake<br>cooperation by your side, correct mistake<br>create a pool of judges early, late, <br>who either added are to contests' weight<br>or offer critiques daily of the fate<br>doled out to worthy writers ill displaced<br>by favorites applauseless trophy placed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Chatterer should Mission Statement draft<br>to standards raise as current wordy draught<br>blows best away - we witness with disgust<br>both fore and aft enthusiasms bust<br>by mini groups with macro pains to spill<br>on others where no praise may ever fill<br>the offline void some here avoid with just<br>a minimum of contact, feathers fussed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On Mission Statement we could dwell awhile, <br>with workshops, shining sense and grooming style, <br>but who can guarantee attention span<br>with four thoughts max, as forethought many ban? <br>One could continue till the cows come home<br>to roost, to working shed, led docile in the gloam, <br>conclusion's called for here so I perceive<br>with Chatterer to booster A.P. heave<br>sigh of relief as quality improves, <br>emotions interplay - which feeling moves -<br>ambition principled and well perceived<br>to Karma adds Divine as verse we leave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hamlet's Soliloquy<br>To be, or not to be: that is the question: <br>Whether 'tis nobler in mind to suffer <br>The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, <br>Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, <br>And by opposing end them. <br>To die: to sleep; <br>No more; and by a sleep to say we end <br>The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks <br>That flesh is heir to. <br>'Tis a consumation Devoutly to be wish'd. <br>To die, to sleep; <br>To Sleep? Perchance to dream! aye there's the rub; <br>For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, <br>When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, <br>Must give us pause: there's the respect <br>That makes calamity of such long life; <br>For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, <br>The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, <br>The pang's of depised love, the law's delay, <br>The insolence of office, and the spurns <br>That patient merit of the unworthy takes, <br>When he himself might his quietus make <br>With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, <br>To grunt and sweat under a weary life, <br>But that the dread of something after death, <br>The undiscovered country from whose bourn <br>No traveler returns, puzzles the will, <br>And makes us rather bear those ills we have <br>Than fly to others that we know not of? <br>Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, <br>And thus the native hue of resolution <br>Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, <br>And enterprises of great pitch and moment <br>With this regard their currents turn awry <br>And lose the name of action.<br>William Shakespeare Hamlet</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jonathan+Robin">Jonathan Robin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424828" data-title="Chatter Chief Of Staff Application 1331 After William Shakespeare Hamlet's Soliloquy de Jonathan Robin" data-description="To verse, or role reverse, that's in the question, 
when writer's block may cause some indigestion -
[with contests tougher then the going's rougher] -
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the strings and sorrows of outrageous scribblers, 
..."></div>
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