In honor of Shakespeare’s 454th birthday today, April 23, 2018, I would like share his sonnets 116 and 130 and a parody written using each of them for inspiration:
W.S. Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
I Don’t Accept Marriage of Truth
I don’t accept the marriage of truth in our minds
despite impediments I implement more bigly lies
which alter facts to fiction when any facts it finds
or twist the truth with repeated constant denies.
Oh yes it is one of my favorite strategic tricks
I tell lies about lies when truths are unshaken
let spokespersons ‘alternative facts’ enter the mix
the effects unknown but at face value will be taken.
Lies are a Trumpery tool trick using timed WH leaks
Mueller collects and gathers them in and then some
lies pile up on page after page by the days and weeks
then uncovered and exposed in the grand jury room.
If my lies detrimental to democracy are ever proved
then I never uttered one and Mt. Rushmore moved.
W.S. Sonnet 130
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head;
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some pérfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
My Tax Returns Will Never See
My tax returns will never see the light of day
I dread not rubles or ties with Russian red
my money stashed in Wall St. every which way
its whereabouts known only inside my dyed head.
I have rubles galore unmasked Russian red and white
haven’t seen any in my accounts for months and weeks
I’ll have to have an oligarch over for drinks tonight
give him some old Trump vodka and see if he leaks.
I’ll roll my rubles over in some small Swiss bourse
time to lay low stop contacting my Russian oligarchs
now time for a few rounds on my Mar A Lago course
greenback leisure for us mighty plutocratic monarchs.
Yes, my friend Vladimir Putin thinks my brain is ‘rare’
as usual only with himself does he care to compare.