It’s April, but it’s frigid somewhere…

Give me a forest with trees, flowers and birds, and I’ll be happy. The trees whisper gentle in the breeze, the flowers reflect unadorned beauty, and the birds always sing in tune. The same cannot be said for the character of some of our more frigid class- those who have adopted frigidity in their process from fertility to maturity.

Spring is more temperate than they, summer more pleasant, and fall is not really that, it is autumn- a changing of decor. For the frigid class, spring is overly hot, summer is a tempestuous storm, and fall is just that- a fall off the common sense wagon. If Shakespeare were alive today, and he was living in his forties or fifties, he might write Sonnet 18 more like…

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more tempestuous and pale

Thy skin sags, dried like a crab apple

And thy breath reeks of burnt-out bonfires.

Thy passion numbed, dead as the icy touch-

Would that thou were but dazed by day’s trouble.

Yet thou art winded by every approach of desire,

Thou art weakened by the consuming worm

And thy shoulders and composure aloof

As night draws nearer thy slumber-bed

Thou art disconbobulated in thy head

With passion, warmth, and pleasure completely dead.

As you can see, Shakespeare might be so saddened, so discouraged, he might actually forget the rhythm, the rhyme, and even the reason behind writing his most famous poem. One might even say he might forget his reasoning and go off despondently into the woods to listen to the birds sing, knowing that “his love” no longer had heart enough to care to sing.

But we do not have the luxury of relying on Mister Shakespeare, so this lovely poem and accompanying explanation will have to do for now. I wish it wasn’t so, I believe the bard would have been much more eloquent.

Suffice to say, I am disturbed by this growing frigid class among us, and I pray that some will wake from their slumber and join the rest of us who have hearts that actually show warm emotion, including love.


About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, and entrepreneur- this side of Tir Na N'Og- living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley, store-made soda bread resembles an inedible Irish megalith, and Kerrygold is only found hidden like a luck penny in the belly of Kroger. His blogs are an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of his posts from,,, and are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
This entry was posted in Christianity, Culture, humor, Language, Life, Poetry, Relationships, Women. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to It’s April, but it’s frigid somewhere…

  1. Java Girl says:

    Good morning, you’ve been tagged!! Go check out the link and see what your next mission is! Have fun! There is no pressure to do this post, but just wanted to let you know you were included in the group! 🙂

  2. Pingback: Hilariously Funny: 2013 | thelostkerryman

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