Archives For Poetry

My Poem Of The Day 


stars at night


I look upon the sky this night

And the stars so bright

I find myself with such delight

I can scarcely utter a word

I’m mesmerized all the while you speak to me

My head is in such a flurry

Of emotion

For I’ve never been wowed

By someone so bold as thee

I now find myself all starry-eyed

While wild but free

Yet carelessly

Deciding upon your question

You ask me again

While beneath the stars

If we should be wed

Under the moonlit sky

By the end of July

And I find that I am


I cannot believe my fortune

I mustn’t answer in haste

In the event that I’m dreaming

But a pinch on the cheek

Seems to indicate

That all is real

And you patiently stand


So I answer with glee

And Agree

To marry thee

With all the stars

Underneath the light of the moon

By the end of July soon upon us

By Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Julius Caesar


ACT I, SCENE II. A public place.

Re-enter CAESAR and his Train

I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar’s brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train:
Calpurnia’s cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross’d in conference by some senators.

Casca will tell us what the matter is.



Let me have men about me that are fat;
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’ nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Fear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous;
He is a noble Roman and well given.

Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit
That could be moved to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart’s ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d
Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
And tell me truly what thou think’st of him.

Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA

You pull’d me by the cloak; would you speak with me?

Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day,
That Caesar looks so sad.

Why, you were with him, were you not?

I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.

Why, there was a crown offered him: and being
offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand,
thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.

What was the second noise for?

Why, for that too.

They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?

Why, for that too.

Was the crown offered him thrice?

Ay, marry, was’t, and he put it by thrice, every
time gentler than other, and at every putting-by
mine honest neighbours shouted.

(On 4/29/15 – Join me in the continuation of

Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar

Englut (v.)

Englut means swallow up, gulp down, devour. Englut, is cited in several of William Shakespeare’s plays. I’ve chosen to cite from Timon of Athens (Tim II.ii.171) “Flavius says to Timon: “How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants this night englutted!”

Timon of Athens Play by Shakespeare

#ShakespeareanWordOfTheDay,, @FelinaSilver, #FelinaSilverRobinson, #Englut

My Poem Of The Day 


Trapped Inside Himself©

Born to both a mother and father

A bouncing baby boy did come

Little did he know he would never be the son they so longed for

He danced in the mirror with his head held back

Watching each strand of his hair fly like the wings on a bird

He stood there wondering why he must be trapped inside this male shell

He wanted only to wear colorful dresses

And sport long curly hair like his mothers

He wanted to paint his toenails and bat his long eyelashes

But as long as he looked the way he did

He knew he had to play the part

For years and years

He played the game

All the while dying inside

He became a husband

He became a father

Nothing he did could make him feel whole

Only the moments he stole for himself

Inside his walk-in closet

Where he locked the door

Put on his floral print dresses

And his wig and his make-up

Then and only then did he feel whole

One day he decided there would be no more closets

There would be no more games

It was his turn in life to live it as he wanted to

He saw a doctor who gave him some pills

To start changing his insides

Years later came many a surgery

Till one day he was able to open his eyes

To the face he had always wanted

One that could smile with pride

Made up as any other woman would be

By Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Julius Caesar


ACT I, SCENE II. A public place.

What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
Choose Caesar for their king.

Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.

I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye and death i’ the other,
And I will look on both indifferently,
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Caesar; so were you:
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter’s cold as well as he:
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me ‘Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?’ Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy;
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Caesar cried ‘Help me, Cassius, or I sink!’
I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
Is now become a god, and Cassius is
A wretched creature and must bend his body,
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their colour fly,
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, it cried ‘Give me some drink, Titinius,’
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world
And bear the palm alone.

Shout. Flourish

Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap’d on Caesar.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that ‘Caesar’?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with ’em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say till now, that talk’d of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass’d but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once that would have brook’d
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.

That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim:
How I have thought of this and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further moved. What you have said
I will consider; what you have to say
I will with patience hear, and find a time
Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
Brutus had rather be a villager
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.

The games are done and Caesar is returning.

As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve;
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day.

(On 4/28/15 – Join me in the continuation of

Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar

Enfettered (adj.)

Enfettered means placed in fetters, enchained, enslaved. Enfettered, is cited in William Shakespeare’s play Othello (Oth II.iii.335) “Iago alone says about Othello and Desdemona: “His souls is so enfettered to her love.”

#ShakespeareanWordOfTheDay,, @FelinaSilver, #FelinaSilverRobinson, #Enfettered

My Poem Of The Day 


My Intended©

He is my dream

And it would seem

That he has never seen me

For a time I would dine

In the spot where I could behold him

Without him knowing I was there

Upon each gaze

I’m amazed

At how perfectly in place he is

So kind and gentle

And respectful to all that surround him

He would offer his last dime

And his time if needed

He is proud but it would never

Stop him from succeeding

His time is well spent

Helping others

He seems quite content with

The little things in life

Grateful for the air he breathes

For the silence of the night

For the sun on his back

He will joyful bend your ear

Telling stories of his travels near and far

Giving you the feeling of almost being there

He may not be a rich man

But he is the owner of unfathomable knowledge

There is nothing he can’t do

I’m so enchanted

So engaged

With all his is

I can’t think of much else

Than my desire to call him my own

I work to muster the gumption to

Share my affections

Before it’s too late

For I know I will remain alone for the rest of my days

Wondering what might have been

By Felina Silver Robinson