XX

 

A woman’s face, with nature’s own hand painted,

Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;

A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted

With shifting change, as is false women’s fashion;

An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,

Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;

A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,

Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.

And for a woman wert thou first created,

Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,

And by addition me of thee defeated,

By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.

  But since she pricked thee out for women’s pleasure,

  Mine be thy love, and thy love’s use their treasure.

 

By William Shakespeare

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Sonnet VX

 

When I consider every thing that grows

Holds in perfection but a little moment;

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows

Whereon the stars in secret influence commént;

When I perceive that men as plants increase,

Cheerèd and checked ev'n by the self-same sky,

Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,

And wear their brave state out of memory;

Then the conceit of this inconstant stay

Sets you, most rich in youth, before my sight,

Where wasteful time debateth with decay,

To change your day of youth to sullied night;

  And all in war with time for love of you,

  As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

 

by William Shakespeare  

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14

 

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,

And yet methinks I have astronomy,

But not to tell of good or evil luck,

Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;

Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,

Or say with princes if it shall go well,

By oft predict that I in heaven find;

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,

And, constant stars, in them I read such art

As truth and beauty shall together thrive,

If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;

  Or else of thee this I prognosticate:

  Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.

 

Shakespeare Sonnet XIV

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Sonnet VIII

 

Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly?

Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.

Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly,

Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy?

If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,

By unions married, do offend thine ear,

They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds

In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.

Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,

Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,

Resembling sire and child and happy mother,

Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing;

  Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,

  Sings this to thee: “Thou single wilt prove none.”

 

- Shakespeare

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VI

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

–William Shakespeare

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my muse

----------- 

How can my muse want subject to invent

While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O give thyself the thanks, if aught in me

Worthy perusal stand against thy sight.

For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee,

When thou thyself dost give invention light?

Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth

Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

  If my slight muse do please these curious days,

  The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

 --------

Shakespeare Sonnet xxxviii


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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)

by William Shakespeare

 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
     So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
     So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

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sonnet xxxvi

 Shakespeare Sonnet xxxvi

 -------

Let me confess that we two must be twain,

Although our undivided loves are one.

So shall those blots that do with me remain

Without thy help by me be borne alone.

In our two loves there is but one respect,

Though in our lives a separable spite,

Which, though it alter not love’s sole effect,

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.

I may not evermore acknowledge thee,

Lest my bewailèd guilt should do thee shame;

Nor thou with public kindness honor me,

Unless thou take that honor from thy name.

  But do not so; I love thee in such sort,

  As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report

 

---------- 

 

 

 

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Shakespeare Sonnet XXIX

 

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.

  For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

  That then I scorn to change my state with kings

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Color Poems for the Blind

 

Orange

 The color of perseverance

Warm 

Invigorating 

Reassuring

The color of a mothers love

The color of friendship

Easy to spot

Hard to distinguish

Drawing the heart

Ive always felt that my portraits capture the muses heart through their eyes.....

image.jpg

Shakespeare Sonnet XXlV

Mine eye hath played the painter and hath steeled

Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart.

My body is the frame wherein ’tis held,

And pérspective 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 glazèd 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, wherethrough 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

 

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Shakespeare Sonnet XXIII

 

As an unperfect actor on the stage,

Who with his fear is put besides his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O'ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.

O let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O learn to read what silent love hath writ!

  To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

Thank you all for sharing in my journey of creation. I am humbled to be living my truth everyday. Aloha nui loa to my collectors who have always believed in me. - Carrie Able

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Inspiration via Shakespeare

 

 

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
   To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,

   And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 

But

wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
   To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
   And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

Thank you all for sharing in my journey of creation. I am humbled to be living my truth everyday. Aloha nui loa to my collectors who have always believed in me. - Carrie Able

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