Wednesday, April 9, 2014

National Poetry Month, Day 9: Love's not time's fool

A tempest. 
It's a good thing National Poetry Month is ... a month, because here it is the second week and we're sharing our first Shakespearean sonnet, No. 116. What the heck does it mean? Here's some help.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
And today, over at Writer's Digest Poem a Day challenge for said month, the prompt is:
... write a shelter poem. Shelter might be a structure like a house, apartment, or hotel. Shelter could be a tent or cardboard box. Shelter could be an umbrella, overpass, cave, or car. Shelter could be a state of mind, part of a money laundering scheme, or any number of interpretations.
After eight hours of pondering, this is all that happened:

Shelter in place

That last day we walked down Oxford Street
not holding hands, the rain and wind slashing
through us; you shielded your eyes, as if
from a great light; I, half-blinded by water,
tried to hang on, but the effort was feeble –
over us the black umbrella turned inside out,
and proved to be no shelter from the storm.

Oh come on what else srsly,

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