W is for Where Art Thou, Muse

Popularly tagged “The Bard of Avon,” William Shakespeare has been called one of the finest writers in English language history. Shakespeare penned 38 plays (including comedies, histories, and tragedies), as well as more than 150 sonnets.

Shakespeare’s best-known works include As You Like It, Hamlet, King Lear, Macbeth, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Othello, Richard III, Romeo and Juliet, and The Taming of the Shrew.

Here’s a savory sonnet for writers everywhere from a wonderful wordsmith.

Where Art Thou, Muse?

(Sonnet 100)

By William Shakespeare

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
   Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
   So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

That’s for all the A to Z Blogging Challenge participants!

The muse awaits! Keep on blogging! The finish line is close!

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Last year’s A to Z post: Wee Words on Writing   

Related Items:

• Just a Gem: A Sonnet Revealing a Find Without Feeling
• Beckoned Homeward - A Sonnet Scripted for the Sacred One
• Wonderful Wordings from William Shakespeare
• Poetry Interpretation in Eight Simple Steps

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Image/s:

Poetry Muse

By Eustache Le Sueur

Circa 1655

Public Domain/Wikipedia Commons

Favorite Classic Poems

Adapted from ClipArt ETC

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Preaching to the Mirror, Perhaps?

Posted for a variety of prompts:

Easy Street Prompts (“and then …”

Meme Express (“peculiar people”)

Simply Snickers (“sleep,” “sorry” and “sweet”)

Sunday Scribblings (“organic”)

That’s My Answer (“I Don’t Really Think I Can Manage . . . Today”)

Weekend Wordsmith (“pens”)

Word-Filled Wednesday (“rest”)

Writer’s Island (“Just Around the Corner”)

Preaching to the Mirror, Perhaps?

Inklings –

A Limericked Tear on a Poetry Rare

Mere ink on a page does not poetry make,

Though often we offer the self-same mistake.

In free verse or rhyme,

Our two cents will chime,

Unless we more effort and energy take.

 

So sorry indeed are the jottings so cheap,

Organic, but trite, scrawled while drifting to sleep –

Sweet longings confessed

But still not expressed,

Peculiar people and pens reaching deep.

 

We claim, “I can’t manage the verse. It’s too hard.”

But just ‘round the corner, a muse stands on guard.

The poet, distraught,

Then catches true thought,

While some of us settle to mimic the Bard.

 

We pray inspiration may blind us with light,

That inklings may overflow to our delight.

Poetic to wax,

We dare not relax,

But rewrite and edit with all of our might.

 

Fine wordsmithing builds in the depths of the heart,

As words coalesce into musical art.

With rhythm and poise,

So much more than noise,

A true poet beauty may ever impart.

 

Please take no offense by these barbs, if you will;

We preach to the mirror with homily shrill.

The longing of lore,

Creative rapport

Does drive us to dare require more of the quill.

 c2009 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Classics Class - a Teacher's Lament on Students' Descent

Let's take a peek in a present-day high school English class, from behind the teacher's desk. Are we dumbing-down literature and creative writing? What has happened to culture and literacy?

Classics Class

"Publish or perish!" the principal said.
Perhaps I would be better off left for dead.
My dreams, they are filled with inkblots of red,
And my editing pencil has run out of lead.

A sophomoric essay has caught me off-guard,
Comparing an MTV star to the Bard.
Old Will's reputation is suddenly marred
By teen disrespect and complete disregard.

Want to read more? Click here to read "Classics Class: A Teacher's Lament."

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