Archives For Poetry

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Taming of the Shrew


SCENE,—Sometimes in SICILIA; sometimes in BOHEMIA.


SCENE II.—The same. A Room of State in

the Palace.

Inch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!—

Go, play, boy, play:—thy mother plays, and I

Play too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue

Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and

clamour                                  [have been,

Will be my knell.—Go, play, boy, play.—There

Or I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now;

Andy many a man there is, even at this present,

Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the

arm,                                                 [absence

That little thinks she has been sluic’d in his

And his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by

Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there’s comfort

in’t,                                                      [open’d,

Whiles other men have gates, and those gates

As mine, against their will: should all despair

That I have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind.

Would hang themselves. Physic for’t there is


It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

Where ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful,

think it,

From east, west, north, and south: be it con-


No barricado for a belly; know’t;

It will let in and out the enemy

With bag and baggage: many a thousand of us

Have the disease, and feel’t not.—How now,


Mam. I am like you, they say.

Leon.             Why, that’s some comfort.—

What! Camillo there?

Cam. Ay, my good lord.

Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest

man.—                              [Exit MAMILLIUS.

Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold:

When you cast out, it still came home.

Leon.                                         Didst note it?

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions;


His business more material.

Leon.                                   Didst perceive it?—

They’re here with me already; whispering,


Sicilia is a so-forth:  ’tis far gone

When I shall gust it last.—How cam’t, Camillo,

That he did stay?

Cam.                  At the good queen’s entreaty.

Leon. At the queen’s be’t: good should be pertinent;

But so it is, it is not. Was this taken

By any understanding pate but thine?

For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in

More than the common blocks:—not noted, is’t,

But of the finer natures? by some severals

Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes,

Perchance are to this business purblind: say.

Cam. Business, my lord! I think most under-


Bohemia stays here longer.

Leon.                                   Ha!

Cam.                                       Stays here longer.

Leon. Ay, but why?                                  [treaties

Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the en-

Of our most gracious mistress.

Leon.                                       Satisfy

The entreaties of your mistress!—satisfy!—

Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,

With all the nearest things to my heart, as well

My chamber-councils, whereing, priest-like,


Hast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed

Thy penitent reform’d: but we have been

Deceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d

In that which seems so.

Cam.                             Be it forbid, my lord!

Leon. To bide upon’t,—thou art not honest;


If thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,

Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining

From course requir’d; or else thou must be


A servant grafted in my serious trust,

And therein negligent; or else a fool,

That seest a game play’d home, the rich stake


And tak’st it all for jest.

Cam.                           My gracious lord,

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;

In every one of these no man is free,

But that his negligence, his folly, fear,

Amongst the infinite doings of the world,

Sometime puts forth: in your affairs, my lord,

If ever I were wilful-negligent,

It was my folly; if industriously

I play’d the fool, it was my negligence,

Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful

To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,

Whereof the execution did cry out

Against the non-performance, ’twas a fear

Which oft affects the wises: these, my lord,

Are such allow’d infirmities that honesty

Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,

Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass

By its own visage: if I then deny it,

‘Tis none of mine.

Leon.                Have you not seen, Camillo,—

But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-


Is thicker than a cuckhold’s horn,—or heard,—

For, to a vision so apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute,—or thought,—for cogitation

Resides not in that man that does not think


My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,—

Or else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought,—then


My wife’s a hobbyhorse; deserves a name

As rank as any flax-wench that puts to

Before her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t.

Cam. I would not be a stander-boy to hear

My sovereign mistress clouded so, without

My present vengeance taken: ‘shrew my heart,

You never spoke what did become you less

That this; which to reiterate were sin

As deep as that, though true.

Leon.                             Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?

(On 9/24/14 – Join me for the continuation of “The Winter’s Tale”,

ACT I. SCENE II. (cont’d)—The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

My Poem of the Day

(09/22/14) #2

I’ve Had It©

There is no end to what I can do

No ease in what I have to say

I can do it with or without feeling

On any given day

But I’d like the comfort of you warmth


The feel of your touch

When we are together it’s just magnetic

Which is why I have to end it

Because I just can’t seem to get anything done


I’ve had it!

Copyright 2014

I’ve Had It©

Felina Silver Robinson

My Poem of the Day


A Mother Lost©

A mother loves her child

Through thick and thin

Inside and Out

The question is

Does she love herself the same

Mother and child

Two peas in a pod

Filled with laughter

Filled with hope

Lending a hand wherever it’s needed

Giving smiles a mile long with hugs that comfort

A mothers job is never done

A mothers job is never easy

Sometimes the toll it takes goes unseen

Sometimes the wounds just won’t heal

Sometimes there’s no more running and no more hiding

Sometimes those who vowed to protect her just can’t do what it takes to save her

So feeling she no longer has a choice

She thinks it best to leave this place

The Place she’s called home

With those she’s dedicated her life to

But she chooses to leave without them

Including her child

The one she adores

The one she vowed to protect at any cost

Maybe, just maybe

She felt this what was best

So now she’s gone

Seated high above with the angels

Looking down on her child

Hoping to be forgiven

For what she felt was right

Believing things would be better

A mother will always do anything

To protect those she loves

This mother was lost

But now she’s found

High in the sky

Just glance up above and you may see her

She’s the one with the bubbly laugh

And the smile that doesn’t quit

Copyright 2014

A Mother Lost©

Felina Silver Robinson

This poem is dedicated to a friend of mine who passed away recently.

She leaves behind her loving son and new husband. May she find her peace in the sky above.

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Taming of the Shrew


SCENE,—Sometimes in SICILIA; sometimes in BOHEMIA.


SCENE II.—The same. A Room of State in

the Palace.

Leon.                         Too hot, to hot! [Aside.

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

I have tremor cordis on me,—my heart dances;

But not for joy,—not joy.—This entertainment

May a free face put on; derive a liberty

From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,

And well become the agent: ‘t may, I grant:

But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,

As now they are; and making practis’d smiles,

As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as


The mort o’ the deer; O, that is entertainment.

My bosom likes not, nor my brows,—Mamillius,

Art thou my boy?

Mam.                  Ay, my good lord.

Leon.                                              I’ fecks!

Why, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d

thy nose?—

They say it’s a copy out of mine. Come, cap-


We must be neat;—not neat, but cleanly, cap-


And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,

Are all call’d neat.—Still virginalling

[Observing POL. and HER.

Upon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf!

Art thou my calf?

Mam.                  Yes, if you will, my lord.

Leon. Thou want’st a rough pash, and the

shoots that I have,

To be full like me:—yet they say we are

Almost as like as eggs; women say so,

That will say anything: but were they false

As o’erdyed blacks, as wind, as waters,—false

As dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes

No bourn ‘twixt his and mine; yet were it true

To say this boy were like me.—Come, sir page,

Look on me with your welkin-eye: sweet vil-

lain!                                               [may’t be?

Most dear’st! my collop!—Can thy dam?—

Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:

Thou dost make possible things not so held,

Communicat’st with dreams’—how can this


With what’s unreal thou co-active art,

And fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent

Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou


And that beyond commission; and I find it,—

And that to the infection of my brains

And hardening of my brows.

Pol.                                   What means Sicilia?

Her. He something seems unsettled.

Pol.                                          How! my lord!

What cheer! how is’t with you, best brother?

Her.                                                  You look

As if you held a brow of much distraction:

Are you mov’d, my lord?

Leon.                             No, in good earnest.—

How sometimes nature will betray its folly,

Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime

To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines

Of my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil

Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech’d,

In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,

Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,

As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.

How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,

This quash, this gentleman.—Mine honest


Will you take eggs for money?

Mam. No, my lord, I’ll fight.

Leon. You will? Why, happy man be’s dole!

—My brother,

Are you so fond of your young prince as we

Do seem to be of ours?

Pol.                               If at home, sir,

He’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:

Now my sword friend, and then mine enemy;

My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:

He makes a July’s day short as December;

And with his varying childness cures in me

Thoughts that would thick my blood.

Leon.                               So stands this squire

Offic’d with me. We two will walks, my lord,

And leave you to your graver steps.—Her-


How thou lov’st us show in our brother’s wel-


Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:

Next to thyself and my young rover, he’s

Apparent to my heart.

Her.                             If you would seek us,

We are your’s i’ the garden: shall’s attend you

there?                                                [be found,

Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you’ll

Be you beneath the sky. [Aside.] I am angling


Though you perceive me not how I give line.

Go to, go to!              [Observing POL. and HER.

How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!

And arms her with the boldness of a wife

To her allowing husband! Gone already!

[Exeunt POL., HER., and Attendants.

(On 9/23/14 – Join me for the continuation of “The Winter’s Tale”,

ACT I. SCENE II. (cont’d)—The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

My Poem of the Day


How Lucky I am©

When I was young

I had a dream

Like all little girls do

I dreamed that I was going to grow up


One day become

Mrs. Robinson

All I wanted was happiness in between

Full of love and family

It’s certainly a common dream

But knowing who you would end up being

And knowing this as a child

Is something quite special

As a child

I never put the face and the name together

As the years passed I met Joe

Although I knew his last name was Robinson

I never put two and two together

That the Joe I grew up knowing

Was the same Joe Robinson I would eventually marry

When I think about it now

It’s almost like a fairytale

Although 9 years my senior

It didn’t seem to faze me

There was no one else that had

Ever captured my heart the way he had

Nor the way he still does

There has always been something about his smile

How it lays perfectly across his face

Each time our eyes met

There was such a twinkle that danced from within his eyes

His cheeks were always rosy

And the gentle laugh that danced at the edge of each word he uttered

Kept me listening and hanging

To all he had to say

And making me wish I never had to leave

I feel so lucky to have been able to have a love for so long

And then following through on the feelings

Until we were wedded

Although we both had other partners

We finally found our way

And in the end we ended up where we were always meant to be

So if you have ever had a dream

Don’t let it go

It might not come today or tomorrow

Just wait

It will find its own way

True love takes time, patience and dedication

How lucky I am to have my JR

And living in my real-life dream world

Where nothing is perfect

But is indeed real

And worth each moment of living

Copyright 2014

How Lucky I am©

Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Taming of the Shrew


SCENE,—Sometimes in SICILIA; sometimes in BOHEMIA.


SCENE II.—The same. A Room of State in

the Palace.

My prisoner or my guest? by your dread verily,

One of them you shall be.

Pol.                           Your guest, then, madam.

To be your prisoner should import offending;

Which is for me less easy to commit

Than you to punish.

Her.                         Not your gaoler, then,

But your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you

Of my lord’s tricks and yours when you were


You were pretty lordlings then.

Pol.                                  We were, fair queen,

Two lads that thought there were no more


But such a day to-morrow as to-day,

And to be boy eternal.                        [two?

Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o’ the

Pol. We were as twinn’d lambs that did

frisk i’ the sun

And bleat the one at the other. What we chang’d

Was innocence for innocence; we knew not

The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d

That any did. Had we pursu’d that life,

And our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d

With stronger blood, we should have answer’d


Boldly, Not guilty; the imposition clear’d

Hereditary ours.

Her.                    By this we gather

You have tripp’d since.

Pol.                              O my most sacred lady,

Temptations have since then been born to’s!


In those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl;

Your precious self had then not cross’d the eyes

Of m young play-fellow.

Her.                               Grace to boot!

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say

Your queen and I are devils: yet, go on;

The offences we have made you do we’ll an-


If you first sinn’d with us, and that with us

You did continue fault, and that you slipp’d


With any but with us.

Leon.                         Is he won yet?

Her. He’ll stay, my lord.

Leon.              At my request he would not.

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st

To better purpose.

Her.                       Never?

Leon.                                 Never but once.

Her. What! have I twice said well? when

was’t before?                                [make’s

I pr’ythee, tell me: cram’s with praise, and

As fat as tame things: one good deed dying


Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages: you may ride’s

With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere

With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal:—

My last good deed was to entreat his stay;

What was my first? it has an elder sister,

Or I mistake you: O, would her name were


But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?

Nay, let me have’t; I long.

Leon.                              Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had sour’d themselves

to death,

Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clap thyself my love; then didst thou


I am yours for ever.

Her.                        It is Grace indeed.—

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose


The one for ever earn’d a royal husband;

The other for some while a friend.

[Giving her hand to POLIXENES.

(On 9/22/14 – Join me for the continuation of “The Winter’s Tale”,

ACT I. SCENE II. (cont’d)—The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

My Poem of the Day


IMG_0355.JPG (2)

Photo “Kissing Apples©” by Felina Silver Robinson

Seasons Change©

I gazed upon my garden

Only to see it changing

I spied the first leaves turn colors

from a strong green to a bright yellow-orange

This sign reminds us of winters cold chill

No more flip-flops or shorts that belong to hot summer days

Confused roses are budding

But I wonder if the cold nights air will leave them limp and lifeless on the next morn

Leaves on the ground

Crunching underfoot

Golden sunrises and sunsets

Extra puffy clouds scatter across the sky

Howling winds are your frequent companion

Oh how I love it when the “Seasons Change”

Copyright 2014

Seasons Change©

Felina Silver Robinson



Photo “Colored Mountain Top©” by Felina Silver Robinson©