Break, Blow, Burn: Day Three

William Shakespeare: The Ghost's Speech

While undeniably poetic, with an amazing use of language, symbolism, and all, I guess this didn't have the same oomph to me as a standalone poem. It feels like part of something larger in a way the other works didn't. But I guess that could be a case of what the definition of a poem is, really.

Even in the description, Paglia refers to how certain lines fit into and fulfill ongoing themes within the play as a whole. But, moving past that point, it is very reminiscent of the last work we reviewed by Shakespeare, whereby you can read it through once and immediately understand everything being said. It's probably been so long since I've read Shakespeare, going back to my abandonment of higher education in my teens, that I've carried around ever since the false baggage of its dense wordplay and hard to decipher imagery.

Break, Blow, Burn: Day Two

Had some family drama/tragedy this afternoon, so will do The Ghost's Speech as part of tomorrow's batch.

Shakespeare: Sonnet 73

Off to a good start. I'd probably read this before at some point in my life, but it's been way too long to remember when. So I read the sonnet a few times before delving into Paglia's analysis, although it seemed pretty straightforward. Three metaphors for man's life (as a year, a day, and a fire) and then a tag, basically.

Things to note, though. For as much as I recognized when the metaphors switched, as well as knowing the structure of the Shakespearean sonnet, I don't know that I specifically picked up on the "in me" that started each quatrain. Rather, I don't know that I used that phrase to signify the switch to a new metaphor, or whether I used the structure itself to trigger the beats. Something to watch in my close reading, as it is clearly evident upon re-reading.

Break, Blow, Burn: Day One

I don't know if I was ever in love with poetry but, if I had been, the feeling disappeared a long time ago. I remember way back in high school or even college, that I had some slight attraction to the "Romantic" poets Byron, Keats, and Shelley. Keats being my favorite, although I'd be hard-pressed to recite a single line of "Ode on a Grecian Urn," or come up with a second title of anything he's written.

The last poem I recall reading was probably a few years back, when I was greatly interested in the life and work of Oscar Wilde, and read his Ballad of Reading Gaol.

But there has always been some spark that draws me to poetry, just to tune my nature to the power and beauty that can exist when two words combine to create resonance. I fear, as I work on my novel, that there is a feeling that if you shovel enough prose into a book, your point will definitely find its way in there. And, admittedly, there is more opportunity within the long expanse of a novel to get away with such transgressions. Although my preference is to tighten the book and trust that fewer, more carefully chosen words will always serve me better.

So, my interest in becoming a better student of poetry is to serve my desire to write novels and reinforce the notion that less is almost always better.

Inkblot's picture


This was written after/during a bout of severe depression and bitterness. You were warned.


Stories like mine do not get told
Boys like me do not grow old
Pain like mine is never seen
In novel, song or silver screen
Say it again

Chains like mine must go unbroken
Words like mine must go unspoken
No heart like mine should e'er be filled

underdarkness's picture

Eco - Dissipation

Everybody's looking for a reason
To say they're not okay,
And everybody’s searching for something to believe in
So a celebrity hears you when you pray.
Feign admiration, segregation,
When hell comes to call.
Deny absolution, restitution
Without reason for them all.

I don’t need another cause to fight
As I have enough to spare,
So forget your resolution

Gauging Interest: Month-Long discussion for National Poetry Month?

OK, I was going to do this project for me and my own personal growth, but then I decided: why not make it something a bunch of us can do on the site?

In short, April is National Poetry Month, and I was going to use that occassion to read through Break, Blow, Burn: Camille Paglia Reads Forty-Three Of the World's Best Poems.

Since there's still nearly 2 weeks, it seems like everyone would still have time to buy or check out the book from the library before April 1. We could either make up a schedule in advance to get all 43 in, or just pick 30 of the 43 and do one a day.

underdarkness's picture

Who Has the Upper Hand?

I'm different and I'm happy
So I have much to prove.
I have to show I'm worthy of love...
Worthy of care... admiration..
I have to prove that I deserve
everything that "they" deserve.
I have to be more than "the gay kid".
I have to be more than a student,
a son, a friend...
Just so I can stay where I am.
My heart's conflicted, because inside
I know.

underdarkness's picture

Beautiful Venom

By night she walks among the dead.
By day she walks among the shadows.
In hell she sees the pain in light.
In heaven she binds and tests the hallows.
Her venom lies, the sacred dies
Upon a crown of acid thorns.
The beloved toxins cracking down
To blood-drenched hair, the story warns
To bid no trespasser entrance to grief
While praying love, a preaching thief,

Mango_Loo102's picture

My Own

In a labyrinth
Walking tightropes
Between two different worlds
Of humanity and savagery
It destroys me
And Defects my happy delusions
I've come to come conclusion
That collision is soon to come
Give me your strongest scream
Not your feeble dreams
Feed me your darkest truths
Not your unbidden lies
Shadows that ooze and drip
Upon the walls
Shroud my solid epiphany

Rayven's picture

Every Day

I wrote this as a birthday present for my mom, well part of it(the present, not the poem >.<) her birthday is on Valentines day.
It is very different than other things I've written...

Every Day
I walk
Every day
I smile
Every Night
I think
Every Night
I slumber
Every Morning
I lay
Deep in Contemplation
Of what lies ahead.
Every Day
I walk
Every Day
I smile
Every Night
I strip

Patch's picture

Not enough Yang for all my yin

NOTE: This is me just spitting out words on internet paper, i don't wanna hear any "constructive criticisms," or otherwise complaints. Doubt many people read my shit anyway.

Clean room
clean slate

pink hair on girls's picture

he died

the horse that i always ride at my riding lessons, the sweetest horse ever, my favorite horse in the world DIED tiday. he fucking died!!!!

Rayven's picture


Yesterday consisted of just about nothing. My mom and I both had dentist appointments. That wasn't fun.

I got in contact with my friend, he isn't turned agaisnt me. Yay.

But then I have also been trying to fix my friendship with another person. For whom I badly wrote a poem...Here it is.


Anywhere wandering
mattering not the color of the sky
ground beneath my feet

underdarkness's picture

A Gracious Farewell

Just when I thought I knew you
I found I never had.
The love you gave was insecure
Not quite so golden-clad.

What drew me in was kindness;
A friend above the rest.
Until you found out my secret
Our friendship was a test.

How can one bind by such a thought
And lie to break a day?
I’ve heard the way you speak of me
Once I turn away.

All I ever saw in us was friendship,

underdarkness's picture

I published my book!

My book of poetry has officially been published!


If you buy a copy, you're bound to find some of the poetry I've posted here within its pages.

pink hair on girls's picture

a poem about remembering

a poem about remembering

i will always remember laughter
pounding in my head
a smile on my lips
anything they said i laughed
from the joy of new friendship
remembering the happiness
and remembering the sadness
i will always remember laughter.

i will always remember discovery
finding out that i love her
accepting myself for who i am
having the time of my life

Inkblot's picture

The Bones Beneath Your Skin

The Bones Beneath Your Skin

Others have gazed at your stormy eyes
In anger, madness, even love
Before me, but none of them have seen
The deep and tender fear behind those eyes
The fear I saw when you looked at me,
Your hands tracing the contours of my throat
And I feel it too, an uncertain falter in the caresses of my hands
It is not each other we fear

pink hair on girls's picture

poems from a year ago

two poems that i wrote last year, i know its long, but read them:


Queen of the rosebuds
voice flowing out,
golden hair singing with her
down her back
the rosebuds
in submission
bow their heads
when she sings
her voice,
sweet honey
in the mouth of the fairies,
who dance
to her song
in mystical awe
and the goblins
even them,
in their caves under-foot

TheSohoSai's picture

A Quandry of Opposites

I have a rainbow necklace
And I do not wear it
I am not proud
Of being Proud

I am loud
In my own chamber
I am obtrusive
In private

I am ashamed
Beneath the blankets
I am blank
On the streets

In my head
I rail
But by my face
You would not know it

By my words
I am a crusader
But by my actions
I am nobody

Yet I am happy

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