Month: April 2018

“Sonnet 40”

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all:
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call—
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed if thou this self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robb’ry, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

– William Shakespeare, “Sonnet 40”

“Sonnet 65”

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall time’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

– William Shakespeare, “Sonnet 65”

“The Road Not Taken”

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.

– Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”

“Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind”

Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.

– William Shakespeare, “Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind” (As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII)

“Elegy V: His Picture”

Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
‘Tis like me now, but I dead, ’twill be more
When we are shadows both, than ’twas before.
When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann’d,
My face and breast of haircloth, and my head
With care’s rash sudden storms being o’erspread,
My body’a sack of bones, broken within,
And powder’s blue stains scatter’d on my skin;
If rival fools tax thee to’have lov’d a man
So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then,
This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say,
“Do his hurts reach me? doth my worth decay?
Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
Should now love less, what he did love to see?
That which in him was fair and delicate,
Was but the milk which in love’s childish state
Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough
To feed on that, which to disus’d tastes seems tough.

– John Donne, “Elegy V: His Picture”

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The Ex

I am not sorry that you’re not here,
I do not wish for things to be different.

You must hate me so much,
For all the pain I have caused you.

I hope you find her someday soon,
The one that is truly made for you.

I know she cannot be me,
Because you are not the one for me.

I am sorry that you’ve had to wait all this time,
Only to realize that we are not meant to be.

Maybe someday once you’ve found her,
You’ll be able to forgive me.

Until then I hope that we will never meet,
I could not bear to see the hate in your eyes for me.

© Sharon Kaur-Schuelke


Remorse seeps into my heart
Displacing the warmth of happiness

Trust, I do not
Love, I am afraid to
Sacrifice, I refuse to

The mind is unreasonable
And endlessly protects its reservations

I revel in the self-imposed exile
From the chaos of dichotomy

Kindness, I need to offer
Friendship, I turn to
Hope, I must give

The heart is always hopeful
And offers love unconditionally

© Sharon Kaur-Schuelke

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The dull ache of pain and agony
The dread of its eternity
Lulls me to sleep tonight.

Cupid and his arrow
A figment of my desperate imagination
Endlessly waiting for that strike.

Loneliness spreads itself through my veins
Patience waits to be rewarded
Wishful thinking is all it is.

© Sharon Kaur-Schuelke

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