How Shakespearean Am I?

Well after getting successfully distracted from my Irish Poetry essay, I had stumbled across this little weird test thing on Oxford online Dictionary (at least I was sidetracked to something educational).
If you type in a song or poem, or perhaps a phrase of your own everyday language you will receive a percentage of how Shakespearean you are. So I decided to have a go. This was my first entry:
The lone quiet riparian holds the beauty of youth long lost
Smiles and laughter echo faintly
Flowing through blankets of snowdrops, cowslips all glossed.
Tears so fragile and dainty
Fall from the children mourning for their past
With a Faery hand in hand,
Cries stream from small eyes, pain so grand.
(my own poem)
The result was 90% Shakespearean. It also asked if I lived in Rose Theatre.

I can see what I shall be doing all night :)

A Faery Hand in Hand

24- Write a poem that’s different in some way from anything you’ve ever written. Take a chance! Be wild! 

The lone quiet riparian holds the beauty of youth long lost

 Smiles and laughter echo faintly

Flowing through blankets of snowdrops, cowslips all glossed.

Tears so fragile and dainty

Fall from the children mourning for their past

With a Faery hand in hand, 

Cries stream from small eyes, pain so grand.

Autumn leaves swiftly descend, covering the key

Of an escape, a longing 

To be free of all sadness, all despair and feeling of grief.

Shrills form patterns of yearning

Creating Nocturnes that howl through the trees

With a Faery hand in hand, 

Cries stream from small eyes, pain so grand.

Winter quickly ascends up the meadow so cursed and malice

Death of the beautiful kingdom

Snow freezing the hidden world, all sounds and all lushness

Ice fingers choosing the next victim.

A child to suffer from a new found ache

With a Faery hand in hand, 

Cries stream from small eyes, pain so grand.

No child should feel the torment of his soul in the place of such beauty,

Nor feel such anguish,

No child shall return home, but stay in the place of a deathly

Land and can only wish

That no one enters the meadow in fear of the haunting,

And hear the cries of the long lost children

With a Faery hand in hand, 

Cries stream from small eyes, pain so grand.

Perfection

10- Pick a one line song lyric to serve as an epigraph to your poem. Then, write the poem to accompany it.
 
"Sometimes perfection can be
It can be perfect hell, perfect..."
How we can be blind to see
Marks on our Souls that do reflect,
Perfect imperfections.

Yet why does it hurt when perfect
Souls float into your perfect life,
And destroy what you cant detect,
Like your heart wrecked by a knife
Of sad imperfections.

Why is she so damn perfect,
Perfect at killing my lone soul,
And why does she seem to neglect
Trying to make the perfect whole.
Hurtful Imperfections. 

 "Sometimes perfection can be
It can be perfect hell, perfect..."
How we can be blind to see
Marks on our Souls that do reflect,
Perfect imperfections.

Quotation from Jack's Mannequin - Bruised 

Starry-Eyed Night

9- Quickly jot down four verbs, four adjectives, and four nouns. Write a poem using all 12 words.

Unveil the fate that the night brings.

Hold me close under the heavenly stars.

Dance with me across the enchanting springs.

Serenade me with your beautiful love.

An Addition to A New Goal

I recently published a post stating that I was going to attempt to write a new poem each week. However a nice friend gave me this and I shall cross them off as I go:

1- Write a poem where each line starts with a letter from your first name (an acrostic). It can be about anything, but it should not be about you or your name.

2- Who was the last person you texted? Write a five line poem to that person.

3- Find the nearest book (of any kind). Turn to page 8. Use the first ten full words on the page in a poem. You may use them in any order, anywhere in the poem.

4- Write a haiku. They’re often about nature, but yours can be about anything.

5- Write a three line poem about lemons without using the following words: lemon, yellow, round, fruit, citrus, tart, juicy, peel, and sour.

6- Write a poem of any length incorporating every word from your latest Facebook status.

7- Take a walk until you find a tree you identify with, then write a poem using the tree as a metaphor for yourself or your life.

8- Write a Cinquain on a topic of your choice.

 9- Quickly jot down four verbs, four adjectives, and four nouns. Write a poem using all 12 words.

10- Pick a one line song lyric to serve as an epigraph to your poem. Then, write the poem to accompany it.

11- Write a list poem.

12- Tell your life story in 6 words.

13- Write a short poem that a child would like.

14- Write a bad poem, make it as lousy as you can, do everything wrong, let yourself be awful.

15- Post a poem (written by someone else) that you love (for any reason).

16- Respond to the poem you posted yesterday with a poem of your own.

17- Write a poem that employs a rhyme scheme.

18- Write a poem without any end rhyme, only internal rhyme.

19- Imagine yourself doing any household task/chore, then write a poem using what you’ve imagined as an extended metaphor for writing.

20- Write a narrative poem detailing a specific childhood memory.

21- Choose one of the poems you’ve already written and posted as part of this challenge and re-order it in some way. You could rearrange the lines or stanzas or even words in a line. Think of it as a puzzle!

22- What is the first car you bought/drove/remember? Write a poem about it.

23- Write a seven line poem that begins with “it’s true that fresh air is good for the body” (from Frank O’Hara’s poem “Ave Maria”) and ends with “this is our body” (from Gary Snyder’s “The Bath”).

24- Write a poem that’s different in some way from anything you’ve ever written. Take a chance! Be wild!

25- Write a poem that includes all of the following words: pistachio, ink, pebble, weather, varnish.

26- Gather some magazines/catalogs you don’t mind cutting up and spend ten minutes flipping through them looking for words/sentences that spark your interest. Cut out the words as you go, and (at the end of the ten minutes) arrange the words to form a cut-out poem.

27- Begin with the title “The Poem I’d Never Write.” Then, write that poem.

28- Visit a virtual art gallery and look around until you find a piece that intrigues you. Write a poem inspired by the artwork.

29- Briefly research a poetic form of your choice and write a poem according to the rules of that particular form.

30- Write a poem employing extended metaphor to illustrate the experience of the last thirty days.

So I wonder if I can complete this.  

A New Goal

After tidying up my room (only cause I got told to), I found a worksheet that contained a list of poem formats. I then decided that I should get my inspiration back and write a poem each week using a different format.
So the first is a Cinquain:

War

Blood. Hatred

An unjust fighting

Scared. Trapped. Death. End.

Attack

 

What Happens When You Have No Sleep

 Apparently, lack of sleep degrades my mind into a sense of mush, and this is what happens during a six hour free at university.

Sat with a pen, forcing out words,

waiting upon inspiration.

Shutting my eyes, thoughts soar like birds -

creating some mean frustration.

Lack of sleep equals distant mind.

Distant mind equals some unknown

or obscure thing to find,

hidden inside my darkest zone.



Elephants, tomatoes, even milkshakes

transform into something fearsome.

Charging forward, and creating earthquakes,

destroying my mind as they come -

screaming and squeeling, more evil sounds.

Who could have known that such simple things

would have the effect of crying clowns,

and what ever nightmare he brings?



Thoughts of being choked, sometimes being stabbed.

More often then enough, I've survived being shot.

Perhaps its my job to be somewhat grabbed

into hostile reality, or perhaps not.

Maybe I'm sane, or just plain crazy

but being a hero kinda sucks.

Or la di da di da di da...maybe

it will earn me some major big bucks.



One may think the above is my sleep,

once my eyes have closen.*

In reality its more than a sweep

of crazy daydozin*.



* yes I know these words aren't real!

There was a young man....

"Rain rain go away,
Come again another day.
Little Johnny wants to play;
Rain, rain, go to Spain,
Never show your face again!"

Though outside it is raining quite heavily and with random bouts of Thunder and Lightning, the weather has actually nothing to what I am about to say. I spend roughly a good few hours a day  trying to find something that I probably threw out to the rubbish many months before. But upon doing so I found some work in one of my folders from the beginning of second year university. 
A tutor told my seminar group to think of a few limericks. Now said seminar group contained quite the number of guys and immature girls. 
This is what happened with my group:

There was a young man from  France,
Who had bees stuck down his pants.
They stung his poor bum,
And made a bad hum.
That poor young man from France.

Not so bad ey...just keep going.

There was a young boy named Nick,
Who had a very small dick.
His pants would fall down,
And he wished he could drown.
That poor little boy named Nick. 

And alas!

There was a young girl called Beth,
Who had unusually bad breathe.
She ate some mints,
Then along came a Prince.
Who said you still have very bad breath.

(I think our group didn't pay attention to the rhythm of the limerick very well)

 
  

The Deadly Curse

Eyes burn alight, ugly emotions hold a flicker

Of a fiery furnace. A sight one would not look into if they

Wish to escape from streaks of venom, hidden glamour –

Her cruel bewitching spell. A cold hearted stare to kill the prey,

Human to predator, the crouch became her.

Become the Part We Both Love to Hate

 

Me.

I like to be alone.

No one around.

No Sound.

Just me.

I like to be imaginative.

Live in a dream world.

My Own Place.

Just me.

You.

You spoilt this.

You are the man in my nightmares,

You are the haunting.

Just you.

You.

Are the knife in my veins.

The blackness in my soul.

The darkness of my mind.

Just you.

You.

Turn Love to Hate.

Pure to Black.

Life to Death

You.

Cause everything pain.

The evil within a smile.

Cause the innocence grief.

You

And me.

Are different 

The Burn

Curse you,

You immortal child -

You demon of life.

Damn you

To the unending of Hell;

And the beginning of pain.

Vex you,

You impetious life

With a heart of stone.

Blight you,

You little imp, you sprite

Of fire and ice.

You have the face of an Angel,

But the soul of hate.

Those that cant show warmth and joy to you,

Only show your reflection of pain.

The carcass of your face,

(Once was the skin of a saint)

Crumbles before your very eyes.

The Angle soon begins to fade.

No longer the Angel,

So pure not tainted.

Now becomes the demon -

Ill-spirited and evil

December

Coldness running through my body -
Searching for the warmth,
That's no where to be found.
Is stare at you from afar,
I try to shout you.
Words but yet no sound.
Aches taking over me,
Pains starting to show.
I wish I could say.
If only you could know.
Falling to the ground,
With no control.
Looking into the world above,
You took my soul.
Waking up somewhere new,
A place never seen before.
Glancing behind me,
You close the door.
You wrap me up in the warmth.
And now I'll always remember.
How you saved me from those
Cold days back in December. 

Heaven or Hell

Now after reading Milton's Paradise Lost, I have come to the conclusion that when Judgment Day is upon us, I wish to go to Hell. It may seem that this is the worst possible choice that a person can make but I can't bring myself to care.


Milton says that it's very quiet in Heaven. The word "silent" is repeated several times. The heavenly choir is there, but it is mute. It seems that is all a bit too perfect even for Milton to describe.Everyone is standing around just looking at God:


"From his sight received/Beatitude past utterance" (Book 3, l.62)  


And for this reason, why go to Heaven if there is no passion, no noise, just peace and quiet. Didn't God say that in Heaven we can have anything yet people are just standing like statues. 
I'd rather go to hell and live in a state of pandemonium. Where I can feel passion and have fantastical conversations. 
   

A new day

The sun that rises in the east;

Marks the beginning of the day, the start of something new.

The most beautiful thing

That's impossible to beat, so unique too.

The shades and tints –

Pinks and blues, that brighten up the sky.

The biggest star

That our eyes see, the beauty that's up so high.

Some days this star can be hidden –

The eclipse from the clouds and the moon.

With the day that is closing,

The setting of the sun begins too soon.

The sun that sets in the west;

Marks the ending  of the day and the dying of something new.

The most calming sight

That's scenic and so romantic too. 

The bending of colours -

Reds, blues and black, that darken the sky

 The biggest star

That now begins to fall from up high.

Now that the sun

Has gone to shine in other places.

Other tiny  stars

Are reflected on young people's faces.

Even though the sun

Has gone and only the starts can be seen

In the sky,

The magnificence is there and will always remain.

You are like the sun,

The moon and stars, which are hidden in your smile.

The sparkle in your eyes

Reflect the beauty  of above.