Bibliography

Appelbaum, Stanely, and Paul Negri, ed. Great Sonnets. Dover Thrift Edition. Mineola, New York: Dover Publlications, 1994. 17-18. Print.

Donne, John. "Songs and Sonnets." Poems of John Donne. Vol I. E. K. Chambers, Editor. London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 1-82.

Jokinen, Anniia, comp. The Works of John Donne. Luminarium Editions. Luminarium, 2007. Web. 13 Apr. 2012. .

Such Need for Damnation With in My Soul - My Soul Devoured - I Need Repentance - BATTER MY HEART, THREE-PERSON'D GOD (12/12/1607)

There is no salvation for me, yet as I further my Orders under the Anglican faith I find doubt with in myself. Nothing more do I find more troubling then the filth, that questioning of my Lord, His Son, and The most Holy Ghost. Though I am not alone in my struggle, and in this pursuit I will not-I cannot- fail. For I am on a pedestal of faith and I find it strangely difficult to regret my conversion for the sake of my house's prosperity. Is there need to? Strange thoughts and hypocritical self-accusations float and dwell with in my mind. I feel the need of a purging. A violent overthrow of these emotions.
A rebirth of self of life, which only my Lord God can give me, he tri-being of light and fire. The covenant to Noah is no different then my need. To save my forsaken self I need a violence of the Almighty, and guidance and freedom. To push and pull from Him in order to further my faith, though if I stray to far let Him enslave and break me! For only with Him can I be mended again, I am a slave that is continually freed and loved by him; I require his imprisonment in order sustain and contain my sinful self. I am continually violated by him so that I may bow in humility to his Word and Awesomeness.

As I put to paper these hard yet yielding thoughts of contradiction and paradox I must remain in line with my orders and set an example for my audience and congregation to aim for.

Once rejected, Once dead, Twice Infatuated - THE APPARITION (2/19/1599)

My hear trembles with the trepidation of her refusal and scorn. How must I continue when she has so thoroughly slain me? I gain not a thing but spite from her with my living heart. I must ask of her: If my ghost had come hither to her bedside, would she have the strength to refuse me?

For there is no slaying what is dead whether it is a incorporeal form of the shadow of my heart. As the candle wanes and the shadows lengthen so does my love, but then it begins to die as the heart's shadow is eclipsed into the background of darkness!

I sense he husbands failure and I must pursue what he has left. I know she has no strength to stir his prude and passionless dreams. I am there awaiting her beckoning, ghostly I will assist her in preserving her heart. Her Love! For what has a better view of preservation then a ghost, especially since she rejected and killed me, my love is already spent on her, so what loss of hers is it that she collects? For my innocence still quakes for her from with in myself, much more disturbing than ever could her repentance be.

Deduction of Thought and Time - THE COMPUTATION (07/03/1592)

Unbidden time holds me stagnant. I scarcely believe what role my bi-decade life time has led me to such longing for one such as her! I can try to add the figures and integers of time, but I am at a loss! I sense a distinct break down! While the great Shepard of our faith is Forgiveness by eight and plague ridden my town rots around me, all I feel is the despair of our separation!

I am naught but a shade in this life without your graceful presence. The world may turn,but I contemplate if I must and when and if this insubstantial existence can come to pass in your absence.

Not One, Or Two, But Three - How Sad Be I? - THE TRIPLE FOOL (06/11/1590)

Three wee hours till dawn! I am but restless in my jester ways and mental state! Such a broken spirit of love I bring nothing but Grief and cycle to my Grief! Words to song and verse, I fail! What is the point? The context is opaque! Creation of art and form of life's breath, becomes null as it circles my mind! The pain and ceaseless remembrance of my own grief!

I whine with out fail, and I capture my pitiful self upon this heated summer's uncertain and protean glare! Like dawn's twilight I both admit and deny myself in my works and verse ever to struggle against a slope of pain and memory!
Oh, yes! I know how the pleasant mixes with the terrible, but how it commiserates itself! The good is like the dawn, brief and bright, but fading to the inevitable burn of noon!
For this I am not only foolish for the sake of love, but for the reason of expressing such mediocre outpourings in aching and mewling lines!

The bitterness I now feel stems from my own awareness that man has no regress but to place such feelings in poetry, for with no such restraint the feelings surpass him.

As this thought occurs to me I sense the brow-clawing clarity come upon me. I have passed a great sigh into words, and with such the purpose of those words is to be published by my soul. And so I remain, yet another kind of fool who hopes to convey and pass my grief and love to those who enjoy my verse! Again the fool am I hope succeed, but perceive only failure, as my poetry is not only what it's future readers make it, but what I the Lord and creator and facilitator make of my own love or grief and verse!

A Constant Itch - An Irritation? Or Blessing in Disguise? - THE FLEA (05/29/1590)

As I gazed upon naught, but beauty in her I was rejected! No flattery, no wealth or turn of phrased loosened that prude mind and tight skirt!

Then miracle and genius stole me! There I spied upon sweet lady's skirts a flea! A sufferer of basorexia much like myself! yet he succeeds where I stand as close to failure! Deftly I incur milady's attention to our sanguine companion and his gift to our needed union.

This insect is able to join us, my lady and I, so why is it that we cannot freely make this decision ourselves? Marriage be forsake! the mixing of precious iron is more than a simple oath! This flea is a consummation of ourselves, I press upon her. This flea contains the essence of myself so completely that to destroy and render said pest would defile I and herself!

Alast! She did prick its fragile body, and bloody tear appered and she though my parley defenestrated. Though, I continue, It is but a simple flea! Why is this poor creature subject to such a cruel fate! For where in does its guilt lie? Where is the fault in its noble and natural pursuit? Please, I concluded to her, do not let such a sacrifice be wasted for what is done has been done, and is well with the world and posed by nature not man.

Oh! My Burning Eyes! - THE RISING SUN (04/30/1590)

A night of revelry disturbed upon an open shade with the suns piercing ray! We see both night and day, the sun and moon are with mankind, indeed, to infinity. The sun unruly disrupts my rest post-consumption serving to have me questions its ruffian burn!

Gladly I question the sun, as any decent man should! I one held slave to it with books in tow; the butchers wart also indebted to wake and sweep the floor, sullen, but ever busy under the glow! All temperate or wild tides of Gaia know the sun, and time alone is His equal.

Though despite its constancy, I wonder, how can such temporal things such as clouds and eclipsi stop mankind's perception of the sun? And with such disruptions, how are there tomorrows? I must examine my object of love beside me, on such a plane of relativity. Are Princes and lands of jewels subject to the whims of the sun? Like my love, are they, are we, am I still subject to this ever moving heavenly body? I must conclude that Princely, richly, or lovely man exist with in the structure and movements of the rising sun. That I and my love must also bend like royalty to its presence and move forward beyond this bed-our current center and focus.