Winners announced here!
Write a short poem that begins with one line from any Shakespeare play or poem. The poem should be two to four lines in length. Post it in the comments section below under your full name and general area of residence (“Bob Smith, Denver, Colorado”). Two entries allowed per poet.
When: Now until June 24, 2019 midnight EST. Winners Announced July 1, 2019.
Who: Anyone in the world, any age or background, may participate. From within the Society, anyone, including Advisory Board Members, not involved in judging the contest may participate. (If you are outside the United States, you will have to have a PayPal account or a bank that accepts U.S. checks to receive the prize money if you win.)
Prize: $100. You will also win this William Shakespeare pen donated by Joe Tessitore of New York City.
Judge: Advisory Board Members and selected poets.
Entry Fee: None
Examples: Our first example and the idea for this contest comes from Mr. Tessitore, who came up with this contest. Thank you, Joe!
In the Toilet
Brevity is the soul of wit,
yet on my brains I choose to sit,
long-winded, (here a pun, methinks!).
Small wonder, then, such humor stinks!
Concussion
O, full of scorpions is my mind!
Their pincers on my cerebellar side.
They cannot let my thalamus go.
Neural stimulation evermore.
Monty Phillips . . . France
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep . .
Would seem, at first, a hopeless thing to try.
But it can be achieved in just one sweep;
A tragicomedy to wet the eye.
1st line from: ‘A Lover’s Complaint’.
Beauty
“For beauty lives with kindness”
Hear ye now! Let praises ring
for magic in the early spring,
and, dwell again with gentleness.
Sally Cook — Western New York
Joan’s Dilemma
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot,
I doubt she wants to do a lot
Of keeling to a boiling pot
For, if too cold, who’ll eat a lot?
This line from Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act V, Scene 2 – Winter
Sally Cook – Western New York
New Politics
O brave new world, that has such people in’t! —
Who shout and scream, have tantrums, and then spin’t —
Think this the way to change that crucial minute.
Just can’t get over that they didn’t win’t,
Above line from final act of The Tempest.
Tomorrow? and tomorrow? and tomorrow?
This worry-fretting fear, when will it end?
Oh, what will happen to me? Joy, or sorrow?
Anxiety has never been my friend!
Shakespeare Overweight
Though Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
Of the ranged empire fall,
This bulge upon my belt, in its demarche
Proves an impregnable wall.
A Shakespearean Problem Solved
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I turn for solace to a sweet girl’s sighs.
Bruce Wren, Chicago, Illinois
Bruce Wren, Chicago, Illinois
Bruce Wren, Chicago, Illinois
Physics > Metaphorical Language
“O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn’d!”
‘Tis the most metal thing that one could say.
Consider, though, that eyeballs are not metal
And rather squish than shoot amid a fray.
A Daughter, Ravished
“Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee.”
O, my shame died when they who raped me died;
My father’s shame could not die while I lived.
He wrote in me his shame and burned the book.
Rachel Kohler, Corvallis, Oregon
Lucy- West Texas
“Thus with a kiss I die”
I drowned in blooming roses and soft lips
But how dare I forget that those roses have thorns, and those lips have teeth.
I’m sorry! ^ This one was an accident, I sent it too soon.
“Thus with a kiss I die…”
Swimming in blooming roses and strawberry lips
Drowning—How dare I forget that those roses have thorns and those lips have teeth.
“My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still”
For I no longer remember who I write these love poems to
But I hold my breath, bite my tongue, and write her some daffodils
-Lucy, West Texas
I didn’t read the instructions carefully I just wrote a poem based on a
Shakespeare line.
Now I have seen the lights of foreign ports —
Strange constellations to my wondering eyes —
And gazed on glittering golden royal courts,
Bright mirrors of the sun beneath the skies.
And in the warmth of homes in frozen lands,
By glowing hearth fires I have broken bread,
And in the northern sky I’ve seen the dance
That living flames in strange wild measures tread.
But giving sweeter pleasure than them all
A comforter for travelers in the night
Now comes to meet me with her welcome call —
“That light we see is burning in my hall.”
The quotes are there only to show where the Shakespeare line is.
A woman moved, is like a fountain troubled,
but one that’s not will quench our thirst
like waters from the Pierian Spring,
wherefrom our wisdom’s nursed.
Today we put forth tender leaves of hope,
but hence a convocation of politic worms
will pompously start nibbling at our scope,
till we submit to its voracious terms.
Fire, Bright
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
If that’s life, well! I can’t find it in me to worry
Burn out! Yes, bravo! What a masterpiece of fate!
Hand me that knife! I’ll show you just how bright I bleed
Golden Rule
And chastise with the valor of my tongue
I will, for you have left your mind behind,
By all the stars, we are queens!
Destined to reign, destined to rule
Fortune forbid my outside hath not charmed her
In her fragile mind my glowing look doth speak
to her and her alone.
Yet were I were to him, as she wishes to be for me!
God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
Did you think He would approve?
Your altered declaration
Is so far from His creation.
Burnaby, BC, Canada
“Mistress’ Eyes,” a Haiku
My mistress’ eyes are
Nothing like the sun, for they
Shine through dark of night
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And mirror image doth shame thou gaze
In youthful splendor lieth old age now
Thine beauty’s treasure bereft of praise
SONNET CLIII
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
His love-kindling fire I trieth to keep
I, sick withal, sought Match.com
And thither findith another creep
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come –
Or lacking mirth, at least no days too glum.
Old wrinkles have I plenty, more’s the shame.
Glad days or glum, the wrinkles always came.
Rebecca Jessup
Belfast, Maine
“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come” is from Merchant of Venice.
Tis’ but a scratch
The continuum of time and space is yet safe
O’er there! Tis’ a butterfly, one I wish to catch
Oh no! A plague o’ both our futures!