Sonnet LXXXVII

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

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F*cking gnarly animal that speak pretty f*cking words by Matthew James French

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Protest by Ella Wheeler Wilcox - 1850-1919

To sin by silence, when we should protest,
Makes cowards out of men. The human race
Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised
Against injustice, ignorance, and lust,
The inquisition yet would serve the law,
And guillotines decide our least disputes.
The few who dare, must speak and speak again
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,
No vested power in this great day and land
Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry
Loud disapproval of existing ills;
May criticise oppression and condemn
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws
That let the children and childbearers toil
To purchase ease for idle millionaires.

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Akeem Chandler-Prescod also known as StonedwithCupid is a spoken word artist, songwriter, audio engineer, rapper, theatre practitioner and creative director from the island of Barbados. He has amassed several awards such as 3 Silver Medals at the National Independence Festival for Creative Arts, performed at numerous notable Barbadian events, won numerous competitions and has even performed in South Africa at the Vrystaat Festival. In addition he has been nominated for Poet of The Year at the GineOn People’s Choice Awards as well as Music Video of the Year with a spoken word video, making it the first poetry video to be nominated for that award.

His work is a combination of spoken poetry, rapping, chanting and unorthodox use of environmental sounds to create musical beds which he then lays his witty, thought provoking lyricism to create a niche poetic product. The pieces echo his inspirations which include Outkast, Sade, Erykah Badu, J Cole and Damien Marley.

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Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

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The Garden

There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.

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I Carry Your Heart With Me

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

I am never without it(anywhere

I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling

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The Things We Dare Not Tell

The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,
But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;
Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,
But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.

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Little Tiger

Little Tiger, burning bright
With a subtle Blakeish light,
Tell what visions have their home
In those eyes of flame and chrome!
Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay -
Holding when thou wouldst away:
What dark lore is that which thou,
Spitting, mixest with thy meow?  

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Blue Song

I am tired.
I am tired of speech and of action.
If you should meet me upon the
street do not question me for

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Fact and Fancy
By H. P. Lovecraft
How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind
Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind;
Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude,
And wreck the solace of the poet’s mood!

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Death, be not proud BY JOHN DONNE

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

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I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, BY EMILY DICKINSON

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading - treading - till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through -

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The Sun Rising BY JOHN DONNE

Busy old fool, unruly sun,

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains call on us?

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

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“Alone” BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

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The Road Not Taken by Robert Lee Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

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Ditty Of First Desire by Federico García Lorca

In the green morning

I wanted to be a heart.

A heart.

And in the ripe evening

I wanted to be a nightingale.

A nightingale.

(Soul,

turn orange-colored.

Soul,

turn the color of love.)

In the vivid morning

I wanted to be myself.

A heart.

And at the evening's end

I wanted to be my voice.

A nightingale.

Soul,

turn orange-colored.

Soul,

turn the color of love.

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Harlem by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

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Apologia by Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde

Is it thy will that I should wax and wane,

Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,

And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain

Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?

Is it thy will Love that I love so well

That my Soul's House should be a tortured spot

Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell

The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?

Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,

And sell ambition at the common mart,

And let dull failure be my vestiture,

And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.

Perchance it may be better so at least

I have not made my heart a heart of stone,

Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,

Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.

Many a man hath done so; sought to fence

In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,

Trodden the dusty road of common sense,

While all the forest sang of liberty,

Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight

Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,

To where some steep untrodden mountain height

Caught the last tresses of the Sun God's hair.

Or how the little flower he trod upon,

The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,

Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun

Content if once its leaves were aureoled.

But surely it is something to have been

The best beloved for a little while,

To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen

His purple wings flit once across thy smile.

Ay! though the gorged asp of passion feed

On my boy's heart, yet have I burst the bars,

Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed

The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!

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The Morning Comes Before The Sun by Susan Coolidge

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose

From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;

Softly and still it grows and grows,

Petal by petal, leaf by leaf;

Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks

Its dreamy fetters, one by one,

And love awakes, and labor wakes,--

The morning comes before the sun.

What is this message from the light

So fairer far than light can be?

Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright,

In haste the risen sun to see;

Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart,

Count the charmed moments as they run,

It is life's best and fairest part,

This morning hour before the sun.

When once thy day shall burst to flower,

When once the sun shall climb the sky,

And busy hour by busy hour,

The urgent noontide draws anigh;

When the long shadows creep abreast,

To dim the happy task half done,

Thou wilt recall this pause of rest,

This morning hush before the sun.

To each, one dawning and one dew,

One fresh young hour is given by fate,

One rose flush on the early blue.

Be not impatient then, but wait!

Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,

By midnight angels woven and spun;

Better than day its prophecy,--

The morning comes before the sun.

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