one sonnet and various lines



O never say that I was false of heart

Though absence seemed my flame to qualify



Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediment. Love is not love which alters

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 wand’ring bark

Whose worth’s unknown although his height be taken

Love’s not Time’s fool , though rosy lips and cheeks        Within his bending cycle’s compass comes

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks

But bears it out to the edge of doom

 If this be error and upon me proved

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

                                                       William Shakespeare

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Ozymandias – Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveler from an ancient land

`Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear —

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.’   SHELLEY


I met a woman from an ancient land

She  dusted off her clothes and then reclined;

“You look as if you’ve traveled far,” I said,

“Have a cold drink and then some peace of mind”

  •                                                                                  ME




Pleasure and action make the hours seem short



The stroke of death is like a lover’s pinch

Which hurts and is desired


Brevity is the soul of wit


Men’s vows are women’s traitors


The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief


“Touch me once more, she smiled and said to me:

“Touch once more my tits,” she said to the man,

“I’ll give you a pair of   acres.”

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are

Of imagination all compact


What’s done is done and cannot be undone


False face must hide what the false heart does know


In time we hate that which we often fear


The devil can cite scripture for his purpose

There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind

Women may fall when there’s no strength in men

Forgiven thieves may be strong time in time

False face must hide what the false heart does know

Though all his loves go rushing down the Rhine   (whoops!)

In time we hate what we always feared

At the Temple finding time out of time






    on a stormy night


I’m sitting here alone, a storm outside,

As flesh and bone all disappear to dust,

I think of  the unholy things I tried;

And wonder near the end now what will last.


I loved a woman who eluded me

Amid the dust, noise, frantic in the rain,

Around each corner of the Paris streets

I watched her disappearing by the Seine.


She’s not a lover of earthly climes,

This gorgeous apparition of my dreams;

My love of her exists now beyond time:

She’s what is true, while all the world just seems.

Through hours and weeks as sorrows come again,

Unknowing Her I’d never lift a pen.

                                              (C)2016 by William Milne



“A hundred Keyboards you may play
Always, always, every day,
But I say, a bird sounds good,
That sings in the untouched wood!”

from a poem by Mari Muthu




William Milne's profile photoMari Muthu's profile photo

William Milne

Sep 23, 2016

Great stuff! Good going…. perhaps an edit.

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