Shakespeare's sonnet is anagrammed into a sonnet with 2 Valentine's Day constraints: it specifies the martyr celebrated in that day down each 1st letter (in bold), and also includes a kind of rose in each line (in italics), relating to the theme in the subject sonnet.
Shakespeare's Sonnet LIV
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth.
Why Tour The World Without You?
So monstrous was the mountain that I've scaled,
And yet, it felt so depthless climbing it.
I cherished no French shore - however hailed -
Nor Turkey's tea-house breaks, I should admit.
The muse starved on the youthful field that showed
Vast flowerbeds of baby-blue and red,
And musk-like odours that they have bestowed
Led to some sense of sulphur in my head.
Eventful hours at evergreen oases
Now bored me, as some worthless moss nearby;
The heart's put out to pasture at those places -
I crave the shade of chestnut in your eye...
No matter what the wild terrain or view,
Each seems desert when it's devoid of you.
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things
When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
Salzburg News
City police arrested Maria von Trapp, a former nun now in her fifties, after anonymous tips led them to find her five hungry girls in filthy-white attire in her basement. "Those girls were barely alive. This mess is pretty shocking", Sgt. Schmidt has stiffly stated. "We think she is bonkers".
The minors slept among the swollen corpses of ponies and fowl (which she has attempted to feed with sweet pies and breaded meat), along with massive heaps of stolen mittens and bloody feline whiskers in messy brown parcels.
Witnesses say the woman was dragged to the street while giggling, and spoke to the snowman in front her home, telling it: "Ward off the evil dogs and bees". She is now under observation.
This sonnet by Shakespeare was anagrammed into a sonnet for Spring with an unusual contraint, all of the anagram's b's, y's and r's, representing blue, yellow and red accordingly, were arranged to create flowery patterns.
William Shakespeare's Sonnet 86
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
Feel Neat Without Heat...
When dawn came to my window with a chill,
The sun's unsteadyray appeared impeded.
The avid rain had my one prayer fulfilled -
The heartyrinse was what our meek house needed.
The flowers their inviting flair did tout -
That lavish sprayrelieved ouryard's faint woe.
Some purple asters, numb with drink, shot out;
A thornyrose did humblybloom and grow.
When thrushes rose up, but, in stormyrush,
Swooped, fairlyruffled, too wet to resettle -
I trod the shore to see, in finest hush,
Greyripples multiply like flower-petals.
There, on the windybay, in earlyrain,
I glimpsed the timely hint of Spring again.
An image is hidden within the anagram. Can you find it?
William Shakespeare's Sonnet 24
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
The True Source of the Morning Radiance
When one dawn nears the house, I wake to view
These frenzied rays, which through the window stream;
The tidy room appears too young and new
When freely, gaily lit by gorgeous beams.
I see them style a crystal vase and plinth
With dots of golden-white, and then I gaze
As they play in the tiny labyrinth
Within the dew-wet primrose in the vase.
But as the rays run by the pure white sheet,
Then softly hit my peachy bride's fair shape,
I fondly think it might stay praised and sweet
Were I to raise my hand to shut these drapes.
It's not the sun that makes these things here bloom;
The sleeper near me - she lights up the room.
A double-acrostic get-well card anagram to the anagrammatist, Mick Tully.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.
How can one fight off the unhealthy fear,
Each day of bothersome examinations,
As humble howls, so hurtful to the ears,
Leave one with silent hopes of liberation?
It might be very wise, though, to be bold,
Not merely for this brief and hasty ease;
Good cheer without that bleakness, truth be told,
Pays off abundantly at times like these.
Remember, then, that everywhere on earth,
One mighty remedy was proven real:
Cure any inner aching with your mirth;
Elation is a potion that's ideal.
So laugh, my friend - all maladies combined
Shan't ever wholly hurt the soul that's kind.
What needs my Shakespeare, for his honoured bones,
The labour of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid
Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?
Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou, in our wonder and astonishment,
Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book,
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took;
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving;
And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
An ode in honour of the bleak death Of Diana
How odd it felt to watch our media
Overtly harnesssassy trivia
To make this darling seem plain and uncouth -
While fans revered the springtime of her youth!
No bogus profiles and no sloppy claim
Would snuff the solemn worship of her name;
Each soul resistssuspicions of her peak,
When so much trashy flack is proven weak!
Let us remember still that soothing charm
(The spark - those avid eyes which knew no harm)
Then stop and muse on the astounding doom,
That set that beauty in this bloody tomb...
Why is our hero bound to lose our love?
And is that urging the demise thereof?
Ah yes, I found the high cost of new fame;
A candle burned - and WE blew out the flame.
Marking of the poem's S's reveals the hidden image of a tombstone.
A Keats sonnet anagrammed into a sonnet about coping with the terrorist attack on September Eleven which also contains 2 fitting acrostics (representing the Twin Towers).
Keats' "When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be"
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love; then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
The Shock Became Fear
Eight earthly years have since gone by, and yet,
Raw pains emerge when new fears shock the nation,
Reviving the perception of high threat,
Of evil plans or an annihilation;
Reminding me of old New York's good-will,
In better times, which then had offered haven,
Still eager for each newcomer... until
The rubble buried Hope on Nine-Eleven.
And each day bodes a harsh fate for the claim
That life is valued here, among this folk;
The ethnic haven was abruptly maimed
And vanished in that rush of ash and smoke...
Cry, earth, for each good fraction of the whole,
Killed near the lights of your eternal soul.
Have you seen my childhood?
I'm searching for the world that I come from
'Cause I've been looking around
In the lost and found of my heart...
No one understands me
They view it as such strange eccentricities...
'Cause I keep kidding around
Like a child, but pardon me...
People say I'm not okay
'Cause I love such elementary things...
It's been my fate to compensate,
For the childhood I've never known...
Have you seen my childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder in my youth
Like pirates in adventurous dreams,
Of conquest and kings on the throne...
Before you judge me, try hard to love me,
Look within your heart then ask,
Have you seen my childhood?
People say I'm strange that way
'Cause I love such elementary things,
It's been my fate to compensate,
For the childhood I've never known...
Have you seen my childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder in my youth
Like fantastical stories to share
The dreams I would dare, watch me fly...
Before you judge me, try hard to love me.
The painful youth I've had...
Have you seen my childhood?
Honoring A Legend
About fifty years ago, a black icon came to the world. He didn't come from a very rich family, and he was heavily burdened with shocking dad issues; However, he loved all of his brothers and sisters very much, and he devoted every day of the week chiefly to spreading joy throughout the community - employing his provocative charisma or a unique knack for highly catchy chants, whether on tour or in the media.
And though some of you would choose to invoke the hefty misdeeds of his past, you have to keep his achievements in mind. He showed you all that the mere color of your skin should not completely define you; he enlightened you on how one could conserve the environment in our times; he taught you to keep your mind open, in a voice at once keen and majestic.
And for these very reasons, this dynamic and well-liked man became the American president last year.
His name is Barack Obama.
(The moral of the story? You might endure in the collective memory as an undisputed legend - if you just don't molest any kids.)
