To the Lady Alice Walker

To whom do you want me to sympathize?
A young girl looking to move her way out
And to forget the arms in which she's cried
A girl with no care, just looking to shout
About the antiquity and art
Of everyday home items
Who tries to runaway and won't do her part
A girl who acts like she can't be frightened?
I cannot like this child who has no pride
In the life she came from, her family
From her family, herself she has pried
Till what they have left is her memory.

Ah, Too Sing America

Ah, Too, Sing America.

Ah know it's been said before.

In the voice of my brother.

And my español speaking sister.

Ah, Too Sing America

With a With a different sounding song.

phonetically-written speech.

Is that really wrong?

Ah want you to hear how we really sound.

Ah say “tuh instead of to

Does that really bother you ?

This is the voice of of African and Caribbean descent

It’s early 20^th century and Ah lead the Harlem Renaissance

So lwer-ower.

Take a look at what that means.

To: Junot Diaz, "Fiesta"

When I first read your story, all I can think about are feelings. Feelings based on, anger, sadness, guilt, and little of happiness. I truly understand the situation involving with this story of yours.
This story is pretty much going through the same problem I use to go through with my family. When I was young, my mother use to take over my life and pushed me to become as a school teacher. Life is just never fair. Fair enough to satisfy you. Too much guilt and anger. Where's happiness when we needed one?Anyways, this story is very interesting. so much drama involving with families. There are some disappointments. For instance the mother. I thought women would know better involving with relationships... I guess not.

I too, sing America

into the sky

Once in a tree
The great Sycorax placed me.
Then freed
But is under by another by thee
Name Prospero
O how I served him and me heart felt cold
Thought i's in a hole
Then, is once again set free.
Now I fly into the sky admiring beauty everywhere
This amazing new feeling I've never before feel,
I think I begin to heal.
Up here, I see the two nowhere,
With pressure no more,
My flight continues.
The breeze blows in me face
How everything is now lovely
And full of grace.
Shouting matches I hear no more,
but the mild wind's song.
Agony I see no more,
But the wonderful blue and white from above
And the grassy green from below.
I'm into the sky relaxing clamly
I go where me soul desire
As I can go anywhere freely.

Misunderstood....

Is it wrong to be different? Does it make you a bad person to stand up for what you think is is right? Sometimes a lost soul is not an indication of a blank mind it is just a matter of being misunderstood. It is not wrong for your children to want more than what you had. Let them challenge the unknown and the people who do not believe in them, for that is what builds strength. Strength and courage and, let's not forget couriousity, is the the backbone of tommorw's leaders. Do not allow yourself to sulk in the should haves and would haves if things were different. Things only change when you make them change. Learn your past, stay in your present and question your future. Do not be passive with your voice. I used to think that those who questioned the out of the "norm" were strange but the truth is they are just misundertood. I wish more people were like that!

I, Too, Sing America!

I really enjoyed Julia Alvarez's poem I, Too, Sing America. Made me think 'bout my own struggles with identity growin' up in America. For land that's 'sposed to be free and equal we sure don't all have the same comin' to us. Makes me think of that horrible man Lindner, who was tryin' to buy me out of my house. I is an American, my Walter worked himself to death for us to get our dream house. I'm proud to be who I am. All I got is how far my family's come in America. I ain't all concerned with my roots like my daughter Beneatha is. Times are changin' tho'. Seems like us colored folks, even woman have more of a voice. I like that Julia Alvarez uses poetry as that voice. She's real great at bringin' together American culture with her own. Readin' her poetry would do some good in helpin' Americans be more acceptin' of different cultures.

Obsessin' over the drowned man

My daughter Beneatha keeps on pushin' me to start readin' them books she's always got her noise in. She got me to read this short Story The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I thought it real nice how they showed that poor drowned man all the respect you show your own loved one even tho' he was a stranger. Life ain't been that sweet to my people. People shouldn't be so 'fraid of what they don't know.
One thing I didn't understand 'bout this story was them woman and how they was wishin' so bad that their men was more like the "handsome drowned man". It's a shame they lettin' that man get their head's all silly. They got all concerned wit some superficial nonsense. They get so caught up in this man they say, "'Praise the Lord,' they sighed, 'he's ours!'" last I known we are all the children of God. He ain't belongin' to no one else. One should be happy with what they got. God blessed you with who you are and you best not take that for granted. I loved my big Walter and wouldn't have traded him for nothin' or no Esteban. He worked as hard as any other man if not more. Even them men lettin' this man get in their brains, comparin' themselves to him.
It's a real blessin' when people act selfless. I ain't so sure that they was all that selfless actin' tho'. They got themselves lost. They busy comparin' their way of lives to ideas 'bout what this stranger's life was like. They make his death 'bout them. In the end they're way of life ended up changin' because of this man. All this fuss over someone 'cause they different. If they ain't hatin' on you 'cause your different then they hatin' on themselves 'cause they jealous they ain't like you.

Battle of the Southern U.S. and the Irish styles

After immersing myself with these works of Flannery O'Connor, Eudora Welty, and Alice Walker I cannot help but see the similarity in our linguistic style. The poor rural communities that produced their writings bear resemblance to the makeup of rural Ireland; on both sides of the pond we display a strict sense of tight-knit xenophobic culture. In regard to these authors I admire how they incorporate their native land in the writing without sounding like a product of the environment. By this I mean that the South plays a role in the stories but these authors are able to not only present Southern values but expand and question them. Another point where Southern and Irish styles converge is in the attention to detail. I especially liked O'Connor's visual approach to her writing which influences the detail she incorporates in her scenery. This is also seen in Welty's work, I particularly love the vivid scenery in "A Worn Path." On one final note I think both our cultures pay close attention to tradition. As I traveled beyond Ireland throughout Europe I never failed to recognize the importance in the Joyce family name. I see this same trait in Walker's "Everyday Use" where she forces her reader to examine the significance of tradition and the culture it breeds. With so many similarities I cannot help but feel a close connection with these women of the South.

This is how....

From the not so common short story of the "Girl" by Jamaica Kincaid I find out that there are some stories that can be told without having a plot, no setting, no narrator, and with not particular point of view. Just telling what you want to say could also become a short story that will not have all the rules on how to made a story but the other person will no what is about. Where in the story "Girl" I could clearly see that it was talking about a person that believe she/he knows everything about life and want it to tell his/her child how things are done and how to do it. Because everything is done the same way or end up the same way like Margaret Atwood "Happy Endings". Where she base all her different happy endings with the first one where they life happily and die at the end. Showing a dark but pleasant kind of happy endings, at the same time saying that all endings are the same no matter how they start........

International Inspiration

I have just recently completed a short story masterpiece, The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World, written by the Colombian writer and journalist, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The one thing throughout this short story that I admired the most was the reaction and acceptance of the village people. I always knew that I was not the only one who believed that we, as human beings, should accept all other human beings, even including strangers to our own societies, as we would to our neighbors. I have grown up in a life with a very different type of people, dealing with discrimination, strong criticism, and judgement that includes death, violence, and exile. I have always secretly craved societal peace, with welcoming people such as the villagers of this Latin American Cape.

If it were the people of my community who found this dead man washed up upon the shores, they would most likely ignore it, thinking maybe the pour soul had died for a good reason, and then maybe pray to feel better about themselves. If not, then they may just discard of the body even more so, after thinking of a good enough reason to. However, the people of this story halted their daily lives and took the corpse into the community to care for properly. They cleaned the corpse, handmade respectable clothing for him, claimed him as their own, and held a proper funeral. This place that Marquez has created filled with people of peace and acceptance is a place that I have only dreamed heaven to be like, if there really is one. Marquez has successfully proved to me that I am clearly not the only one who can sympathize with 'others.' I hope others are just as inspired by these international natives of peace, just as they are inspired to actually grow bigger because of Esteban.

Raisin in the Sun Themes

We see many themes in Raisin in the Sun by Lorainne Hansbery, themes such as dreams as the main characters in the novel struggle to deal with certain circumstances that effects their lives. Everyone has a dream and everyone struggles trying to peruse that dream.

Another theme in the book that i noticed other than following your dream is the theme of "family." Family is an important part of the book through out the play. Family sticks together through hard times and through good times. The mom in the novel tries to keep the family together and their dream of purchasing a house.

A family must over come hardships and learn from it as we see this in the novel when the insurance money got stolen. The family in the book comes together and are strong characters who can over come any obstacles as long as they stick together.

American Dream....What is it?

You always grow up thinkin certain ideas that make up the American Dream. Well for some they want that nice house, they wanna put a smile on they famlies faces, they wanna teach they family the right way to live. I use to think my Amiercan Dream was to own that liquor store.... mama just didnt get what a great a'vantage that woulda been to the family.... no she jus didn't see it. Yeh I wanna nice house for my family and thats what mama went right on ahead and did... and i'm glad she did it. Now my family can grow and be happy, specially wit the new baby on the way. Now I can teach my son what it really means to be a man and I can put a smile on my wife's face. Maybe willy taken that money was the best thing that happened to us.... it brought my family closa. I guess you could say now my family bein happy is my American Dream.

Admirable Woman

A woman who has adjusted to many things in life
and overcome many more,
her face is full of strength.
She has, we can see, wit and faith of a kind that keep her eyes lit,
and full of interest and expectancy.
She is, in a word, a beautiful woman.
Her bearing is perhaps most like the noble bearing,
of the women of the Hereros of Southwest Africa -
rather as if she imagines that
as she walks she still bears a basket
or a vessel upon her head.-ACT 1, scene 1.

Lorraine Hansberry describes Mama in this manner to show the struggle she faced and how she can still walk with her head held high. The American Dream. Mama puts forth a resounding effort to keep her life and the life of her loved ones on track. An admirable trait and an admirable woman to say the least. Don't you agree?

Lord give us strength

Oh Lord, What am I going to do with that boy? I spent my life time workin' on raisin' him up right. He ain't behavin' like no man of the house that I ever seen. 'Bout time he learn real responsibilities like a grown man do! Man's got to start at the bottom and build himself up to get to the top! All that sweatin' and buildin' our Big Walter did was thrown away by that boy's selfishness. Oh Lord give me hope when all hopes been lost! All that money thrown away for his own evil doings. He done no thinkin' 'bout his boy Travis, or his sister Beneatha and her schoolin'- Poor dear Ruth, and with baby on the way, what they gonna do? Boy don't think clear 'bout the future. He robbed us all blind of hopes and dreams. Lord please, We got to keep our strength in these tough times! God bring blessing on my family.

Scent of interest

What we always say, " A picture is worth a thousand words"
What do you think of this picture of me?
Would you say this picture demonstrates the type a person of who I am?
I have legs on top of my head as though they are my antennas.
With my interests, all I can think of is complimenting about my wife. So beautiful and sexual. That is pretty much I have in mind. I can imagine myself spooning her very closely and just smell her lovely scent. Ah! love!

I would like to know what you think of this picture of me.
Let me know how you feel about me.

Middle English and More...

http://www.library.manchester.ac.uk/inthebigynnyng/

The language of our land is coloured by many influences and often misunderstood. I find those not in contact with properly educated clergyman are particularly adept at misunderstanding, mispronouncing and generally bastardising the eloquence of the English language.

Great research is being done and many rare manuscripts being studied at Kings College and The University of Manchester, the link above will show you some of these works such as these.

Life Can Be a Barrel of Disappointments, Sometimes

I am thoroughly impressed by the rich characters Ms. Hansberry has created in her A Raisin in the Sun. Many of the characters in this play are struggling against their positions in life which have somewhat been dictated by society. Each reacts in their own individual way: Walter is angry, Beneatha can be pessimistic and cold, Ruth is weary, but each of them is hoping for something more, something better for themselves and their family.

When I began reading, initially I found Ruth to be more likable and thought I would relate more to her. As I continued, I found myself sympathizing with Walter. When a person feels trapped and overwhelmed by life's disappointments, they are capable of doing drastic things to break free. I feel Walter, though somewhat misguided, is trying to provide for his family, but has become reckless because he does, indeed, feel trapped. Some may view Walter as selfish and uncaring, but sometimes one has to be a bit selfish in order to stay sane. I believe you cannot wholly give in to the will of others because you will lose your own identity along the way.

Walter needs to do what he sees as necessary to become more than a chauffeur, more than a common worker and to become a provider for his family without relying on his mother and his wife. He is taking the steps necessary to become a man in every sense of the word.

So, Walter, I commend you, just be wary of the cost of your freedom.

What we have

Mr. Hughes, I do feel we can relate.
Each poets of our own renaissance time,
I fervently do wish we could debate
The meaning of you, and yours, us and mine.
We're both alone, yet part of something more
We write of love, though for different views.
How I wish I could find you, just past my door
How I wish you were here to give me clues
Teach me, please, of Simple's dark Chicago
Show me, please, the difference in our homes
Or do not, for between us, I am long ago
To the world, you and I will be here, but gone.

Nobody understands me.....

I want to have a serious conversation with my wife about the world today about who I am and all she can say to me is eat my eggs. I try to tell her that this mornin I was lookin in the mirror and thinking about it.... I'm 35 years old; i've been married eleven years and I got a boy who sleeps in the living room- and all I got to give to him is stories about how rich white people live. She says I say the same damn thing everyday, but I'm tryna make a point, but all she has to say is, "Eat your eggs walter, and go to work." That's what's wrong with colored women these days they don't understand how to treat their man. They don't understand how to build them up and make them feel like they somebody and can do something. I am a man tied down to a woman with a small mind.... she just doesn't understand me.

Life of D.H. Lawerence

I, D.H Lawrence grew up as a sickly son. My life was always involved with pressure and domination. I do wonder when was the last time I smiled. Let me think; Never. Well, maybe once and that is when I met my true love. I have many complaints and issues involving with others. For instance, my dearest mother. She gave me no freedom nor my own desire. I had no choice but to be trained as a school teacher just like her. A desire that is not my desire. However, trained as a school teacher leads to one of my great interest. An interest called "Art" My relationship between my mother and I gave me one of the greatest masterpiece of my art work. I had to go through my first experience of life by helping my dearest mother die by over dosing her with sleeping pills.
Ah! there goes my illness. An illness that I can not end. My illness is telling me that I am not going to live much longer. Which means I shall quit as a school teacher very soon and continue writing more.
I had an affair with my wife who I tend to have violent fights and sexual bonds. Every experience of my life from childhood to my adulthood, I would include it as my greatest art work. Based on how I feel by putting it in great literature words of mine.
Well, look at the time here. As soon I have reached to my 15th art work, it is time for me to go.
My illness have arrive and had taken my soul away.

Good-Bye.

To D.H. Lawrence

D.H. Lawrence,

The way that you have written your brilliant piece of work, Piano, has illuminated me into a feeling in which I have not felt much of for the most part of my life. The image that you use in the first quatrain of this poem, of a young boy sitting underneath the same piano that his mother is playing and singing by to create a sense of delight for everyone in the room, is an image of a pure, innocent memory; a memory of which I am a bit jealous of as well. After the death of my father, Nathaniel Hathorne, I was only four years of age, and my mother since has lived her life in great solarity.

In the second quatrain, you also portray this image of pleasurable Sunday evenings during the winter solstice, with your family happily singing along to church hymns. I have never felt an experience so warm, for my bride's family were the only ones present to attend even my own wedding. In the third and final quatrain, you tell us about how you yearn for these fond memories to take place again in your life, understanding that those days are over. This has given me a sense of how enjoyable these memories are, again, and it also helps me in understanding your age and experience.

You have cleverly used the term Piano, not only as the theme of your poem, but also as the title, for piano is also a term meaning soft, or softly, like the sound of your mother's voice, or even the faint, soft, and distant sound of her singing voice lurking around far off in your memory. I would like to glorify such work of yours, hopefully magnifying your splendid imagery to others.

James Joyce examining the importance of depth in a setting

My story "Araby" is a great example of how Ireland and its unique culture manifested itself so deep in my literature despite spending most of my adult life in self-imposed exile from my native land. While this presence of Ireland continues throughout my works it doesn't limit the perspective from which I write but rather it strengthens my perspective. This story "Araby" comes from my work Dubliners, a set of descriptive tales centered in the city, By using embedding my writing in the culture I'm free to view the society on multiple levels of religion, politics, and tradition's effect on common Dublin life. In ensuing works I pushed the limits of conventional narrative and plot structure with dense writings like Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. I feel that it's an interesting point that one can interpret a setting on so many different levels rather than simply as a location. Culture can shape plot, even the dialect and patois of the work, an effect that I felt gave my writing a honest view of people while delving deep into psyches and passions.

Modern Day Feminist?

I find it interesting that much of my work has come to be regarded as "feminist" literature. I wonder, if I were a man, would my writing still be considered as such. I understand how it could be read and interpreted in this way, but I have to say, I do not wholly agree. I have written from experience, some my own and some gained through observation. I have tried to create characters with their own identities, who have their own unique circumstances and obstacles to overcome. I wanted to convey a view of reality through the eyes of an individual, whether they were male or female.

The purpose of my short story, The Story of an Hour, was not to condemn the institution of marriage, but to examine what marriage can feel like for one person, in this case the story's main character, Louise Mallard. Keep in mind, in the 19th century, woman had few options other than marriage. More were slowly becoming available, but we were a long way off from the many options women have today. Many women married young (I myself was married at 20 and had all of my six children by the time I was 28) so they were unable to develop any sense of self outside of the expected role of wife and/or mother. Marriage could be oppressive, especially if a woman had an overly controlling husband or if she was overwhelmed with familial and social responsibilities.

The possibility Louise sees of having a life that is completely her own is exhilarating and exciting to her. As she begins to whisper, "free, free, free!", it is not without a thought for her supposedly dead husband; she remembers fondly his "tender" hands, his face that had "never looked save with love upon her". She had even loved him..."sometimes". It is the possibility that she would be in complete control of her own destiny that causes Louise to emerge from her room feeling like a "goddess of Victory", triumphantly facing a future of her own making.It is Louise's crushing disappointment that kills her. When her husband walks through the door, it is too much for her to physically and emotionally accept, and she dies.

This piece is not "feminist" in the sense of being anti-marriage or man-bashing, it is a study of an individual's feelings. That individual happens to be a woman. I hope as you read my work you come to realize that the emotions I tried to convey are universal and not specific to a single gender.

Call me daring, but call me Hawthorne.

Is it much to early for me to publish such bold statements of my thoughts to the public eyes of Salem Village, and even beyond? Can the citizens of our community handle such thought, such enlightenment, during this era? What lies for me in my future I do not yet know, for the "good" puritans of our community may strongly disagree with my insightful findings. Other people of this village obviously are too ignorant to have any interest or understanding outside the walls of this stringent Puritan society. However, the issue at hand is too late to assist, for my work has already been published for other witnesses to ponder.

This is for the own good of our society. One needs to rise above the crowd, and illuminate the thoughts of others, otherwise our community will forever lay at the feet of Puritanism, even if it is the foot of Puritanism that is kicking the narrow-minded dirt into the eyes of it's followers, causing them to become blind to any other subject of thought. Who am I to set an example for the rest? Well, I am Nathaniel Hawthorne, one who is educated, and one with the ability to vision what is being blocked by the thick walls of Puritanism to it's followers. It was my own great-grandfather, Colonel John Hathorne with his narrow beliefs, that made the Salem Witch Hysteria what it was. This is not something that I am proud of, however the past was here and created the history for the rest of us to learn from. Why do I feel as if I am the only one enlightened? Maybe now others will follow along my revealed trail of curiosity and questioning, while the authorities may stay at the same pace they are going, headed in the same direction they will never fall away from. As for me, on the other hand, I think there is something more to learn from life. This is something that only the ones with true potential and questioning may be able to capture.

So what if I may question the "true" faith of many Puritans, including it's leaders? It only takes one idea to begin a new journey into something that was otherwise never thought possible. That is why I do not carry on my biological "Hathorne" last name, which is made up of evil morale and ashamed memoir. For the love of something worth believing, call me daring, but call me Hawthorne.

Going To Heaven

GOING to heaven! I don’t know when,
Pray do not ask me how,—
Indeed, I ’m too astonished
To think of answering you!
Going to heaven!—
How dim it sounds!
And yet it will be done
As sure as flocks go home at night
Unto the shepherd’s arm!

Perhaps you ’re going too!
Who knows?
If you should get there first,
Save just a little place for me
Close to the two I lost!
The smallest “robe” will fit me,
And just a bit of “crown”;
For you know we do not mind our dress
When we are going home.

I ’m glad I don’t believe it,
For it would stop my breath,
And I ’d like to look a little more
At such a curious earth!
I am glad they did believe it
Whom I have never found
Since the mighty autumn afternoon
I left them in the ground.

Do you agree with my journey to Heaven?

Sonnet 130

For though Shakespeare is my hero
He writes as if he is right next to his mistress
He writes as though he is in sexual activity with his mistress
I love how mysterious he is
I try to emulate his style with my writing
This sonnet is a remarkable one
One in which sexuality is brought out in those times of his many romantic events
For my style is one that noone can repeat
I think he was just trying to pour out his heart to his mistress without revealing to much
Tremendous piece of work
Shakespeare i adore the way you write and i hope that one day i can remembered as you are for your love poetry
As do i write love poetry but on a more sexual stage
What do you think Shakespeare is trying to say in this sonnet?

On the eve of a hallowed day

Till the sun does not shine and the wind does not blow I must pray fervently for the sake of my soul.... On this eve of all saint's day I see a disturbing fetish arising amongst the young people of the nearest village. It seems the desire to dress and frolick about in costumes and disguise has become the rage amongst the youth of this village. Certainly I have warned against the following of such ancient witchery yet I see so many people openly in worship of such things. Their costumes disturb me and they do not know the peril they are in. Upon stopping in their company I was dismayed to see such arrogance and display of foolery. Where is there reverence and respect?

Perhaps the devil himself has rooted in these parts. It is certain the look in the eyes of those about here would suggest as much. Pray Jesus in Heaven that this heathen activity will not drag the entire town into it's grasps!

Though I think I speak most urgently I do not know upon whose heart my words fall. My lady is lost in the seeking of wordly gains and spends little time in prayer as I beg of her. Perhaps the tale I most brilliantly told is lost to her feeble understanding. Ay, tis apparent her doom is assured.

Pride, the deadliest of deadly sins is so very rampant. My soul is saddened by these local uncivilized inhabitants. I will pray with my greatest strength and seek the mercy of our Lord above that I, too, will not succumb to the great vanity of these develish days....

Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 is Wonderful by Pat Mora

I have long been fascinated by Shakespeare's work one of my favorite sonnet from him is called sonnet 18. This poem has several meanings and as poet and writer myself i am quite intrigued by Shakespeare and how brilliant his work is. Sonnet 18 is my favorite sonnet because it has many metaphors and images through out the poem.

In his poem he describes a man comparing summer to his mistress. He uses description of nature and how they all relate to his affection for this one particular lady. The meaning if the poem is that though the seasons will change and the beauty of summer will be gone it wont fade away completely, but the beauty of the mistress will be seen and remembered just as summer will be remembered.

Shakespeare means that the mistress will not be forgotten as long as there are people who see the beauty of her. Shakespeare is writing about someone who is very much in love and how his mistress is as lovely or even more lovely than a summer's day. This poem touches me deeply because the words are very strong and they speak for it's self.

Why I love You?

The breeze through the coconut’s tree that makes you sleeps
The diamond sand that touches my feet
Those warm and motherly arms
That gives you wings and a plate for you to eat

You that catch my heart and soul for ever
Until death does it part or until I have you
I will carry you in my heart for ever and ever
Who are you?

You the mother that wouldn’t let go of their kids live
But also the one that wants the best for them
Walkers of the night that will take you alive
You so dark and dangerous that care away many of them

So innocent and pure at the same time
That I get lost over time

A portrait of our pilgrimage

shame...

O...what have people come to? I am addressing to the three men who dare to extinguish my great master, Prospero and the two who had enough to drink! O, i've such a great sense of humor mimicking Trinculo this morning: "Thou liest, most ignorant monster, I am in case to jostle a constable." Heha. "Ignorant monster" make fun of me will he? It was ever so funny when Stephano and Trinculo fought. I seen their faces.
Anyway, the three are truly men of sin! Alonso, Sebastian, and Antonio, you fools! You three dared to draw out your swords at the greatest spirit Ariel? Not on my watch! No one should ever ruin Prospero! I've said this before and I'll say it once more, "the elements of whom your swords are tempered may as well wound the loud winds,...as diminish one dowl that's in my plume... The powers,...incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, against your peace...Upon your heads-is nothing but heart's sorrow and a clear life ensuing."
O, Prospero, my master, I will serve you until i get my reward!

Ariel, by Thomas Gray

A spirit bound to one, her lord
With kindness rescued her from sword
Of Strife and Misery
At her behest to loose the bonds
That held her in his murky ponds
His temper did change key

Lest she forget his noble work
The day which he did swiftly jerk
Her wholly from dismay
She would obey him for a time
And one day he would wax sublime
And cut her bonds away

In meantime she his bidding do
With loyalty put things askew
And speak for Trinculo
But they shall not be cut in twain
The three men friends once more again
Caliban, Stephano

Another form doth she command
To men whose ill name known by lands
And scare them out of minds
Prospero being lord of this
Where they do find themselves amiss
He knows of their dark kinds

The whim and fancies of Prosper
A twink a beat a soft whisper
The spirit carries out
With naught but rare and subtle pleas
That she might finally be free
And give a wondrous shout

The final trick thus well performed
Prospero pleased, his heart hast warmed
To quite its full extent
To lovely Ariel who waits
He lets her go past house and gates
Eternal merrimen

The Tempest can be a soap show on today's television

Walt Whitman

Many a times i have seen the distresses of familiar feud. My favorite part of The Tempest in Act 3 scene 1 was when Ferdinand and Miranda ended up speaking to each other about their love for one another, even though i am known for writing very detailed sexual scenes, i would of written better, no offense Shakes. I love when Miranda asks Ferdinand if he loves her and he enthusiastically replies that he does. I know he is the King of Naples but she doesn't care about his title and she is more concerned with his love for her, now that's real love. They wed. Act 3 scene 2 begins with a quarrel between Stephano, Trinculo and Caliban, but it ends with all of them agreeing with a master plan to get Stephano the throne. But in scene 3 Ariel lets us know why Ferdinand ends up dead and its because of sin. It turns from a nice loving scene in Act 2 into sinful scene in Act 3.

Some advice

Miranda Dear,
The aim of this is to give you a moment's pause. You can do with these words what you like, but know that they only come out of concern (If you do not agree, you are in good company. My words have caused quite an uproar and much debate amongst my critics. In fact, one of my novels was banned because it was deemed subversive and too disturbing for the public). I realize you have been secluded on an island for most of your life and have not been exposed to anything but what your father permits, but is immediately running into the arms of another man a means to break free of that seclusion? As you were imprisoned on the island, so you readily jump into imprisonment again in the form of marriage? Maybe "imprisonment" is too harsh. I am not saying to never marry, nor to completely avoid men, but I am suggesting trying to develop your own sense of self without a man to define you. You are still young and know less about the world than most. I can tell you from experience, marriage and raising a family can be difficult. It can also be lonely. Who knew one could feel so isolated while surrounded by family and friends?

In some respects I envy you, envy your freedom from social norms and proper etiquette. I envy your ignorance of the pressure that comes with being a wife and, possibly, a mother. To blissfully fall in love at first sight is a beautiful concept, unfortunately it is not realistic. You have expressed a desire in your own posting to learn more about the world outside of your island. I believe it would serve you well to turn that desire inward to learn more about yourself as well.

Be assured, I offer these words as kindly advice and nothing more. Good luck, Miranda, whatever path you choose.

Be Wary and Make Haste

Gentlemen,

It is my duty to protect the good Prioress. It is a weight upon my mind now that I must stress the importance of vigilance in this, our tale-telling about her. Let us not forget the spirit of pride which pulls us each about tempting us to reach into our imaginations for the most colorful tale we can weave.

While her comfort and protection are my focus on this journey; her protection is certainly my most serious of these. My horse is not sturdy but it is my hope that he is at least swift and at my beckon in the chance that I shall need to defend my lady. She is quite frail and misguided in the ways of the evil which lurks a

bout this foreign land and people.

My great strength will surely keep us all safe along this way. My guidance, I pray, will be also to your benefit. Only this past night I saw a vision which has been keeping my mind quite occupied.

Pray we keep our hearts open to fear of the Lord lest we perish before we return to our homes. Keep my mind steady in my quest; many men have dreamt the dream of doom and not been prudent to be watchful as I know I must! I am certain I saw visions in my dreaming which have caused my great dis-ease this day... I dare not look too long on my lady lest she lead me to my doom.

May the saints be with us and watch over us and the intentions of our hearts keep us safe. May the fears of my nightmares prove nothing but the foolishness of a prideful, tempted man. May the creatures of the night not overtake us in the light or darkness of this, our great journey.

o...the flame.....

o, Prospero, great master, hail! I come to tell thou it was horror! The fire was mad, opened its mouth to take the whole ship! All but mariners jumped into the water, then afire with me. O thank goodness safely in harbor is the king's ship. Thou hast promised, my liberty. I done thee worthy service. Prospero did promise to bate me a year. In return, I will serve you every wish, master.

My company is a mix of heathens and fools.

Certainly God is pleased to see such adoration in our midst. Perhaps we will see his countenance on our mission and the road will rise to meet us. Whilst the common folk may look with wonder on such a lot as us; the good Lord in heaven must see our intentions in this travel or certainly he would not have made such a way for us. The path has been fair and lacking trouble and the strangers have been reasonable and quite tolerable. Bless us all for the kindness of the season... My dreams foretold of such a ride but me thinks the way has fared better than imagined. Bless me, Lord, for the patience I now show in the likes of such cunning behavior as we have heard.

While pondering my duties and the array of items now at my attention; it occurs to me that there are more women about than men to keep them. Like children it is well known that they must be kept to a standard or they will run wild and rampant (as we see from our friend from Bath).

Who decided on such an arrangement as we now see? I believe the very assemblage of such a group goes against any law or order about such a matter. Perhaps we are simply the latest style; spent on setting the standard so as to entice the vagabond in need of spiritual nourishment. Perhaps the lot of us shall fair well as God is merciful. I do not, however, plan to stay the course if the wickedness of such tales continues. Have mercy on us all!

The path is clear but the course is muddy due to the intervention and cunning of so many devious womenfolk. Perhaps in due course they will find their place and return a sense of order to this group of prideful souls. I can only pray for such wisdom to befall the men of my company.

I've been living on an island!

What a strange and brutal world it is that I have come upon in the Wife of Bath’s retelling of her marriages! Is it really possible that marriage, that sacred and mysterious thing, can happen on such mundane and vulgar terms as a simple contract? And is it really ruled by something bodily and grotesque? I find it both impossible to imagine and impossible to tolerate!
Although all the knowledge I have of the world comes from my father, I would not consider myself to be foolish…and yet I am now coming to understand how much I have missed in not having a mother! Would she have told me how to deal with a husband so directly, so forcefully, so efficiently as the Wife of Bath? Is it possible, maybe, that there are a set of laws, directly separate from men’s laws, that are women’s laws?
I have grown up on an island with my father, and all I know and understand comes from his teachings; until now, I have thought these teachings to encompass the world and the universe… perhaps in some places he has painted the universe with broad strokes for me, leaving out the details, but I have always thought this picture correct; but now that I’ve seen the world from the point of view of this old woman, I am wondering if my father is unaware of her world, because it is a woman’s world…. Or worse yet – and almost unthinkable – that he is aware of her world, and has chosen to hide it from me!
I would not ever even think to accuse my father of such a thing until now. Why would he want to hide anything from me? Still, the words of the Wife of Bath were so difficult for me to understand, and what I did understand came at such a shock, that it does seem certain that my father has concealed life’s gory details.
Even more shocking than the idea that the bodily functions of marriage (I have known of their existence, but I’m still uncertain of what they are… though I found the prologue very enlightening) was the thought that a husband and a wife might not truly love each other… that a husband might abuse his wife, or that she might be shrewish or unpleasant to him. Isn’t the whole point of marriage for two people to love each other? And shouldn’t a man always respect and care for his wife? How can the Wife of Bath so matter-of-factly talk about Jenkin hitting her? And that horrible book about wives killing their husbands… who in their right mind would put together such a book? I don't blame her at all for tearing pagest out of it!
Still, I find myself torn between two opinions. According to my upbringing, I should probably condemn the Wife of Bath – condemn her for her five marriages, for her hapless surrender to bodily needs, for her loveless and wanton contracts with her husbands; but on the other hand, how can I? She seems to be quite logical when she says,

“ But wel I woot, expres, withoute lye,
God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;
That gentil text kan I wel understonde.
Eek wel I woot, he seyde, myn housbonde
Sholde lete fader and mooder, and take to me;
But of no nombre mencioun made he,
Of bigamye, or of octogamye;
Why sholde men speke of it vileynye?” (ln. 27-34)

And indeed, we are instructed to wed in the Bible, but not instructed on the number of times; and as she goes on to say later, there is nothing wrong with marriage as a whole – in fact, we are encouraged by that same Book to wed and to reproduce. Quite rightly, why should any woman be ashamed of such ideas as the Wife of Bath? It occurs to me now that many are not, regardless of what public opinion or common knowledge might dictate. Perhaps women – both today, and in the days of Chaucer – held their own opinions in a sphere quite separate from public opinion and common knowledge, which are often occupied and formed by men. Even if those men are as wise and as good as my own father, they do not know – and how can they? – of that separate sphere of women’s knowledge and opinion. In fact, they are so unaware of it, that I think the two might exist entirely side by side without men ever noticing it! Just imagine: if I had had a mother, and a sister, my mother would teach my sister and I something similar to the Wife of Bath’s ideas, and we would go on and talk amongst ourselves about those ideas, and act on them… and our father would stay entirely unaware of it! We would have a world entirely to ourselves – would it be a right world, a correct or good world? I don’t know! But I wish now that I did not live on an island full of men and spirits, but in a place full of people of every sort – people that might teach me more about the world and its nuances, would show me the things that my father has concealed from me all this time!

Chastity is for the Birds

Reread your bibles, dear friends, for your common beliefs on virginity, marriage, and women are confounded and nowhere ordained by God. I ask you, where would we be if all women remained chaste, as we are taught by men to do? We wouldn’t have much of a human race, that’s for sure. If you want good men in this world, we’ve got to have good lovin’; and that means letting women love whom they please, in whatever way they see fit, and marry as they wish. In my younger days I had plenty of company, and I’m still an honorable woman. My five husbands certainly thought so, for they were all proud to marry me in front of the church door.

My husbands would all tell you I’m the best around as far as wifely duties go, and that’s not from a lack of experience, I tell you. God didn’t make me gap-toothed for nothing! I’ve got some good equipment, if I do say so myself, and I’ll be as free with it as I please, especially in marriage.

While we’re on the subject of duties, I’d like to say a thing or two about husbandly duties. Why do you believe it is only the wife’s duty to love her husband? I’d say it’s also the husband’s duty to love his wife, in the parlor and in the bedroom. He owes me a debt, just as I owe him one, and I’ll give it to him morning and night, as long as he pays his debt to me in return. Ideally, I’d like a husband who’s my slave, just as so many wives are slaves to their husbands, and I believe that I should have the power to do with his body what I wish.

Furthermore, I’ve had just about enough of tales of wicked wives. If women were the ones who wrote the history books, there would be plenty of stories about wicked men. None of my husbands were saints, and one of them even hit me so hard he made me deaf in one ear! He even had the gall to say it was my own fault that he hit me! So I showed him what was what and hit him back. After that he gave me complete control of the house, the land, his tongue, and his hand, and he was as kind to me as I was to him, which was very kind indeed.

Now turn your ears to me, friends, for I’ve got a tale that will teach you a thing or two about how to treat a woman! You think you know what women want most in the world? Hah! We women are varied in our desires, to be sure, but in the end we all want one thing. I’ll give you a hint… it’s spelled R-E-S-P-E-C-T!!

Are You There Gods? It’s Me, Oedipus.

Looking back (a cruel colloquialism) at my tale as entertainment, I have to conclude that it was always as such. Oh, Oedipus of old, I worry for you, for someone must, and clearly the gods do not. What a farce I must have been: a comedy for the divine.

Venerable Sophocles, I do not fault you for your words. How could I? To do so would be to hold you higher than the Olympians themselves. I hold no ill will towards my fellow man, only pity for that tragic Oedipus, and endless questions for the gods that marked me.

Oh, wisest Apollo, did you laugh? Was there jubilation upon Olympus as Oedipus played the fool? What a silly man that was, who cared only to be a good king to his people, and to see no harm come of his family. Surely you must have smiled when I stated, “I would be blind to misery not to pity my people kneeling at my feet.” For I was already blind, was I not, Apollo? I was ignorant of so many things.

Did you giggle, Athena, warrior-daughter, as I unknowingly played the straight man, vowing to bring about my own demise? What a joke it must have been when I declared, “I’ll rid us of this corruption. Whoever killed the king may decide to kill me too, with the same violent hand—by avenging Laius I defend myself.” Searching for a man who was with me at all times: such a paradoxical ruse your brother laid before me. Goddess of reason, you must have at least enjoyed the cleverness of it all.

I still must know why, scholar children of Zeus. What did I do to wrong you? Were you angry that, having doomed me from birth, I continued to live? Curse Laius! He failed both to expose me as a child and to strike me down as a man. Certainly you could not fault me for the demise of the Sphinx, or for searching to rid my people of the plague. These honorable people: your own worshippers! So what, heavenly directors, motivated this plot? What was my fatal flaw?