My mistress’ eyes (in answer to William Shakespeare)
My mistress’ eyes has a bluer hue to them
than the colour of the cobalt sky,
not coral nor tomato can compare
to the soft care that I find on her lips
and the touch of her fingertips
is more gentle than any breeze
and the colour of her hair is rarer, more unique
than that of grass, or that which metal wires can hold
and her breasts and nipples
has a greater purity, enticement to them
than any snow or the darling buds of May
and the beauty that she holds, is more fragrant
than the flowers that even roses do display
when our true need for each other unfolds.
[Reference: Sonnet “My mistress’ eyes” by William Shakespeare]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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KISS ME KATE! (for Helen)
A Blazon sonnet?
That’s the one an
Elizabethan lover
would turn his
Elizabethan Miss
into a
list
itemise her attributes
(hidden or otherwise)
& tick ‘em off
bit by bit
like a ledger clerk
closing an account.
From the colour
of her eyes
(always had to be blue)
to the colour of her
hair(always a blonde)
from toes to tit
in one hit.
Sincere...not
the least little bit!
Yawn...stop me if you have heard this one!
A fashion accessory
for the gay young blade about town
already fallen out of fashion
before it had barely begun.
“Oi...darling! ”
“Yeah...you love! ”
“Get your ruff on
...you’ve pulled! ”
“I got 14 lines
Petrarchan or Shakespearean
...know wot I mean? ! ”
And a clever
clearheaded Elizabethan lady
would more than likely
(but politely)
tell ‘em
“Oh...f***est thou
off! ”
******
As Shakes puts it in Sonnet 106
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
Shakey also turned the blazon upside down in his famous sonnet 130:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
Coral is far more red than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breast are dun;
If hairs be wires, blackwires grow on her head.
I have seen roses, damask'd red and white,
But no such rose see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, - yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go, -
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare!
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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In sheer beauty my mistress’ eyes exceeds the sun (in answer to William Shakespeare)
In sheer beauty my mistress’ eyes exceeds the sun,
her lips is more pretty than it’s rising,
her breasts are tender and pure, each one
with a pink fragility, rose tipped, quite amazing
and no wires or even wheat or corn is apt to the hue
of her fair hair, or as tender as its strings
and her breath, her odour outshines that of her retinue
and in its freshness reminding me of new awakenings
and some coy innocence is in the blush on her cheeks
when alluring she is passionate and ready for my delight
and almost hungrily, reaches seeks
for my company, my body as a lily of the night:
spreading her petals, unfolding, drawing me into her embrace
in sheer magic, using almost divine grace.
[Reference: Sonnet 130 My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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You are always flowering in an endless spring (in answer to William Shakespeare)
Some similarities do I find
between you and a day in spring
when lovely birds sing
and rain new life brings
and yet far too soon that season is left behind
and still you stay pleasant and kind
a being without any irregularities, noble and pure
and while the sun brightly shines,
the cobalt sky is blue, your eyes have a darker hue
and when the sun declines before the night
your eyes sparkle with more lustre
than any light of the vast darkness:
and you are always flowering in an endless spring,
with a deep beauty that is true, that I find in you.
[Reference: Sonnet 18 “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? ” by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Reflects The Soul
Your eyes are like a mirror
that reflects your soul.
Some eyes are dark as cobalt
and reflect the deed they do.
Others are a shade of gold
reflect a heart that cares.
While others reflect great sadness
from ill treatment somewhere.
Whatever colour are your eyes
it is not the colour of your soul.
Some people with dark eyes
as jet black as the night.
Hold the gentlest touch
when it comes to others of mankind.
The colour of your eyes
is never an indication to your soul.
It is only passed the colour
does that reflect the soul.
17 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Dunne Studying.
Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.
poem by Terry Collett
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It Is Not Beauty I Demand
It is not Beauty I demand,
A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair.
Tell me not of your starry eyes,
Your lips that seem on roses fed,
Your breasts where Cupid trembling lies,
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed.
A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,
Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,
A breath that softer music speaks
Than summer winds a-wooing flowers.
These are but gauds; nay, what are lips?
Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
Whose brink when your adventurer sips
Full oft he perisheth on them.
And what are cheeks but ensigns oft
That wave hot youth to fields of blood?
Did Helen's breast though ne'er so soft,
Do Greece or Ilium any good?
Eyes can with baleful ardor burn,
Poison can breath that erst perfumed,
There's many a white hand holds an urn
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
For crystal brows--there's naught within,
They are but empty cells for pride;
He who the Syren's hair would win
Is mostly strangled in the tide.
Give me, instead of beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind,
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never linked with error find.
One in whose gentle bosom I
Could pour my secret heart of woes.
Like the care-burdened honey-fly
That hides his murmurs in the rose.
My earthly comforter! whose love
So indefeasible might be,
That when my spirit won above
Hers could not stay for sympathy.
poem by George Darley
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The Colour Of Your Eyes
(mckernan / tanega)
Who am i
To say you didnt love me?
When I cant remember
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
I dont know
How I missed loving you
Still I cant remember
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
Why didnt you see me
Standing there
Standing there with dreams of love?
To fill the empty shades of grey
I can see
Now that youre leaving me
All the shades of autumn
In the colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From the Drama of “Charles II”
COME and kiss me, mistress Beauty,
I will give you all that ’s due t’ye.
I will taste your rosebud lips
Daintily as the bee sips;
At your bonny eyes I ’ll look
Like a scholar at his book:
On my bosom you shall rest,
Like a robin on her nest:
Round my body you shall twine,
I ’ll be elm, and you be vine:
In a bumper of your breath
I would drain a draught of death;
In the tangles of your hair
I ’d be hanged and never care.
Then come kiss me, mistress Beauty,
I will give you all that ’s due t’ ye.
poem by Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen
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After Her Death I Dreamed Of My Love (Cavatina Sequence)
(After William Shakespeare)
After her death I dreamed of my love,
with eyes sparkling
somewhat divine like the stars that glitter,
somehow existing
in the dark outer space, with her two hands
reaching, touching,
the circumference of this great earth,
with a sash of vast planets in her girth.
White blazing braking thunder was her breath,
her eyes were blue
as the purest kind of cobalt hued sky
her love was true,
even much greater than it was before,
her retinue
were the elements, some power divine
and still she wanted to be only mine.
[Reference: 'Cleopatra's Lament' from 'Antony and Cleopatra, Act V, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Love Has No Kind Of Impediments (Cavatina Sequence)
(after William Shakespeare)
Love has got no kind of impediments,
it does stay true,
its direction does not wander about,
its simple bright hue
like a star sets an unfaltering mark,
it does shine through
the darkest bitter kind of circumstance
goes far deeper than only some romance.
True love is present in every glance,
some soft lips, cheeks
do entrance, but its totally timeless,
it does not seek
something better for itself, it's selfless,
at times it's meek,
yet wild, unfathomable in essence,
it draws two people to its own presence.
[Reference: 'Sonnet 116: Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds' by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Flower’s Name
(after Robert Browing)
I
Through this garden her steps swept
before she opened the gate,
where roses with dew wept
and not a moment longer she could wait,
while there was something gracious in her walk
before she stopped a moment at the letterbox,
in the distance children’s voices she heard talk
while her arm brushed against the snow-white phlox.
II
Her feet carried her in ready steps as she passed by,
saw red carnations in a row
and her eyes sparkled bluer than the sky
while she felt a gentle breeze blow
everywhere flowers and buds did God praise
in their beauty almost casting a spell
while they were blooming for days
with more loveliness and vibrant colours than anyone can tell.
III
She found a flower much more lovely
than any other one she had ever seen
while bees were circling it lively
and to smell it she was keen
but did not know the flower’s name
while it was something precious that she did found,
the flower was blushing as if it were aflame
where it was growing in bloom upon bloom from the ground.
[Reference: “Garden Fancies: I: The flower’s name” by Robert Browing.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Coloring Book
(fred ebb / john kander)
For those who fancy colouring books
And lots of people do
Here's a new one for you
A most unusual colouring book
The kind you'll never see
Crayons ready?
Very well
Begin to colour me
These are the eyes that watched him as he walked away
Colour them grey
This is the heart that thought he would always be true
Colour it blue
These are the arms that held him and touched him
Lost him somehow
Colour them empty now
These are the beads i wore
Until she came between
Colour them green
This is the room that i sleep in and walk in
And weep in and hide in
That nobody, nobody's seen
Oh, colour it lonely, please
This is the man whose love i depended upon
Colour him gone
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are Unique!
In my search for you,
I tried to find the scent
Of your baby's skin body
In the flowers of my garden
But I could not
Since yours is unique! ...
In my search for you,
I thought I found in the rain,
The freshness of your lips
But I realized it wasn't the same
Since your lips are unique,
For I tasted them in my dreams! ...
In my search for you,
I observed the shining stars above
But I couldn't find even one
As brighter as your eyes
Since your eyes are unique,
I saw them clearly in my dreams! ...
In my search for you,
I mistook the Ocean's breeze
With your gentle warm breath
Delicately caressing my body
In the middle of the night
But it was just a dream! ...
If I can't find you at all
Within my solitude in this Earth,
Maybe you can find me,
I give you a clear clue:
We may finally find one another,
Either at the end of the Rainbow
Or by heaven's gate! ...
Oh, my missing Angel,
Where are you right now?
I guess only time will tell me
And then, we will be together
Once and for all! ...
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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My Colouring Book
(fred ebb / john kander)
For those who fancy colouring books
And lots of people do
Heres a new one for you
A most unusual colouring book
The kind youll never see
Crayons ready?
Very well
Begin to colour me
These are the eyes that watched him as he walked away
Colour them grey
This is the heart that thought he would always be true
Colour it blue
These are the arms that held him and touched him
Lost him somehow
Colour them empty now
These are the beads I wore
Until she came between
Colour them green
This is the room that I sleep in and walk in
And weep in and hide in
That nobody, nobodys seen
Oh, colour it lonely, please
This is the man whose love I depended upon
Colour him gone
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red;
Red is the colour of anger welling up inside me,
Red is believing and then having doubt,
Red is the colour of love and romance,
Red is the colour of the end of my nose on a cold winter day.
The colour of little red riding hoods coat,
Red is mars high up in the sky;
The colour that flushes my cheeks after playing sport and getting embarressed.
The colour of my sore sad eyes after crying.
Red is the colour of my warm blood flooding my veins,
Which shows Human Bondage,
Which shows the life within me,
Red is the colour of ambition burning my soul,
Red is the colour of the devil, which feeds me my power.
poem by karlia Ashlyn
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I Know Your There
WHEN I WAKE IN THE MORNING
I FEEL THE MORNING AIR
I SEE THE BEAUTIFUL SUNSHINE
BABY I KNOW YOUR THERE
I WALK INTO THE BEDROOM
AND SEE YOUR LITTLE BEAR
MY EYES THEY FIL WITH TEARS
BABY I KNOW YOUR THERE
I THINK BACK ON MEMORIES
ME AND YOU GOT TO SHARE
MY HEART IT ACHES WITH SADNESS
BABY I KNOW YOUR THERE
I WONDER WHAT COLOUR EYES YOU HAD
AND ALSO WHAT COLOUR HAIR
I FEEL A BREEZE AROUND ME
BABY I KNOW YOUR THERE
SO LITTLE MAN IF YOU HERE ME
PLEASE ALWAYS KNOW I CARE
I LOVE YOU AND I MISS YOU
BUT BABY I KNOW YOUR THERE
poem by Becky Tuffs
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Passion Of A Poet
in the world of the poet
passionate about his next poem
there are many trees reaching
high upon the skies
there are bluer skies up there
there are black and white birds
blending
day and nights
dusk and twilight
there will be more things to see
in colors and tastes and
scents of onions and
roses
there is no world as passionate as
a poet in love
with his craft
his beloved asleep in the beauty of her
closed eyes
his lips touching the nipples of her breasts
his tongue unraveling the magic
of a navel
in the world of the passionate poet
there are never aching eyes
perhaps only
an aching heart still wanting to embrace
so much love
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The blossoming
I thank you Lord
that you by grace blessed me
to let my slender flowers grow
flooding over in bell like strings
in internodes, joints of roses
not peach, purple or pink
like others of my kind
but in a pure white colouring
with odourless buds opening
and some ridicule, hold my words,
my verses of rhyme and free form in parody
but my flowering is from your hand
and I can understand that they are thinking
of flowers like roses, irises, geraniums
which are tempered against the elements
bringing forth fragrant odours
that perfumes the air
but in your shade and care I am blossoming.
[Reference: The blossoming by Tatamkhulu Afrika.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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