Conversation with Shakespeare’s Sonnet 100

Where art thou, muse, that thou forget’st so long

To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?

Oh inspiration never leave me, and if you do, let that be a kind of inspiration in itself. For you have no idea the power that you hold over me. Writing is not a choice, it is a need, an insatiable craving for creation.

Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 

Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?

Don’t waste precious time by letting me write fluff. Always give me the words through which I can see the world clearer, and give others a new prospective.

Return, forgetful muse, and straight redeem 

In gentle numbers time so idly spent; 

If, for good reason I’m sure, you do leave me for a time, come back to me sweet inspiration and doubly make up for all the time lost.

Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem

And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 

Tell me all your stories, and let me write them in a way that is undeniably inspired.

Rise, resty muse, my love’s sweet face survey, 

I love you. I know no other way to live, can’t you see I will never betray you?

If time have any wrinkle graven there; 

If any, be a satire to decay

And make time’s spoils despised everywhere. 

My body may decay, my mind may become forgetful, but I will never let time take my love for you.

Give my love fame faster than time wastes life; 

So thou prevent’st his scythe and crooked knife. 

I want my love for you to be known across the world, and not because I died a tragic death before people got to read my written thoughts, but because my love for you produces a truth that rings loudly in the hearts of readers. If I could remain in the hearts of people beyond the span of my life, then my debt to you would be immeasurable. I only hope that my words can do our love justice, oh sweet muse, dear inspiration, I love you. Never leave me.


A Friendly Stroll

“Where are all the men?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want a modern day Don Quixote to find me, his Dulcinea.”

“Don Quixote was crazy, and since when are you a prostitute?”

“You know what I mean! I’m Juliet without her Romeo.”

“Do I seriously have to say the downside to that one?”

“Fine. How bout the Heathcliff to my Catherine?”

“Have you read any of these stories? He was violent and devious, and she was a gold digging hussy that ditched his hairy-moor-lounging butt.”

“Arthur to my Guinevere?”

“So you’re going to cheat with a guy named Lance?”

“Man, where are all the ladies these days?”

“They’re trying to find the Edward to their Bella.”

“I don’t want an overly possessive whiny little boy, I want a gentleman. I want my Mr. Knightley.”

“Now that’s a good one! But you’re missing a key part of all romances.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that smarty pants?”

“Love that lasts, like Emma and Mr. Knightley, or Aragorn and Arwen…”

“Lord of the Rings, really?”

“Those books are brilliant, you shut your mouth!”

“Sorry, I just don’t think romance when reading about a little dude with fury feet carrying an evil ring.”

“That is my point! Your ‘great love’ isn’t just going to see you and want to go on a quest to earn your hand in marriage. When you find each other, it may not be all fairy dust and instantaneous mushy-gushiness, but he will treat you like you deserve to be treated. So stop being crazy and wait, because it will take time to let yourself fall, but when the time comes, it will be magic.”

“I thought you said there wouldn’t be any fairy dust?”

“Oh I give up!”

“Hey Nikki?”

“What Lo?”

“I miss our walks and talks.”

“Me too.”

“Love you Dragonfly.”

“Love you Butterfly.”

Fallen Giant


I saw the fallen giant

as the snow came down.

His roots an intricate tapestry

of shallow beauty.

If only they had dug deeper.

If only they had fought

the icy winds of deception

that convinced the giant to

take it’s face from the heavens

and rest it’s head on the ground.

The snaky vines probably attacked

as soon as the giant clumsily

let it’s body hit the soggy moss

laden tree-coffin.

I wonder if they whispered

comforting words as they

tied the giant down.

I wonder if he even

realizes that he will never

touch the sky,

or talk to the clouds again.

Thank you God for giving

me roots that dig

deep into rich earth.

I know that when the

tempting winds of deception

come and try to

bend me beyond repair,

a branch or two may

break, but I will

never fall.

The knots of my life

are the scars that

remind me to keep

my eyes on you.