Sweet Dreamz

I had a vaginal ultrasound a week ago and my gynecologist told me I have several cysts on both of my ovaries, mostly on the right one. He did not say how big they were, but from what I saw on the ultrasound screen they look to be roughly pea-sized.

The pain is literally all the time, mainly in the middle of my lower abdomen and lower right abdomen, though at times it is more severe than others (generally worse at night).

This pain has been happening for about four-five months now, and my gynecologist has put me on Visanne pills for the pain. I m wondering, will this require surgery? I m only 20 years old so I m worried about damage to my ovaries and reproductive organs.

Medusa

A beautiful face with a crown of snakes,

A Medusa for sure, she'll make you quake.

Though the snakes are hidden deep in her mind,

She'll coax them out and leave you blind.

Beware, it's not your body she'll turn to stone,

Though you'll still be wishing you left her alone.

Driving men crazy with her looks and her wits,

It's all they can do to not be bewitched.

What could make her so toxic, you ask,

What lurks behind that alluring mask?

Why, a heart of ice and a golden ambition:

To force all men into her submission.

She hides many a trick up her sheer, sexy sleeve,

The best being what her appearance can weave:

Venomous tears that sizzle her cheeks;

An infectious laugh, her best of techniques.

A final weapon, deployed with care,

Completes the poor men's waking nightmares:

A promise to reveal all that's concealed,

While never removing her feminine shield.

Still, she strings the men along at her whim,

Taking their sanities to the shadowy brim.

They'll never get what they prize most of all,

For a Medusa always holds men in her thrall.

-Veronika Chac, 20

My Bloody Kin

The menu spills its contents to my eyes,

While animals tread in human disguise.

They tear into meals with egos galore,

It's a gory feast I can't ignore.

I study them all from a lonely booth,

Seeing them fight, nail and tooth.

These are my relatives, my bloody kin,

So I rightfully watch them suffer and sin:

A husband beats his loving wife,

A sister took her sister's life,

Innocent children get the lash,

And the priest took off with all the cash.

Digesting this meal of sinning souls,

Dreaming how to be human no more,

I rise like a gunshot--bill left unpaid--

And heed my heart's true serenade:

What if I weren't born a human,

Instead part of nature's union?

Among the trees...living with deer...

Creatures that never give cause for fear.

These are humans in wild disguise,

The truth now seems so clear to my eyes!

No egos mar the choices they make,

They are pure, shrewd, alive and awake!

These are the kings of nature in truth,

They fight for their meals, nail and tooth.

All these creatures in savage skins,

They are my relatives, my bloody kin.

-Veronika Chac, 20

Earthbound

With the sun shining on his bed,

The farmer heaves a sigh.

He must plow the fields, bake the bread,

And to God's will comply.

Why does he slave so righteously,

With not a soul around?

In this private dynasty,

Who could make a sound?

He scythes the wheat, he butchers meat,

While sweat drips down his brow.

The pain of labor so bittersweet...

He cannot, must not, disavow.

For if there was no work,

How would he go on?

Work in an office, be a clerk,

While nature so does spawn?

No, he says, and views the trees

And the bird nest on his porch.

The pollen drifting on the breeze...

And the orchard in the gorge.

This is his domain,

He is king of fields and sheep.

No man can say he does not reign

Over his vast and open keep.

Yes...this is his place,

With not an office to be found.

Only cattle, birds, and nature's grace

And the God that had it crowned.

With the moon shining on his bed,

The farmer heaves a sigh.

He has plowed the fields, baked the bread,

And to God's will complied.

-Veronika Chac, 20

Earthbound

With the sun shining on his bed,

The farmer heaves a sigh.

He must plow the fields, bake the bread,

And to God's will comply.

Why does he slave so righteously,

With not a soul around?

In this private dynasty,

Who could make a sound?

He scythes the wheat, he butchers meat,

While sweat drips down his brow.

The pain of labor so bittersweet...

He cannot, must not, disavow.

For if there was no work,

How would he go on?

Work in an office, be a clerk,

While nature so does spawn?

No, he says, and views the trees

And the bird nest on his porch.

The pollen drifting on the breeze...

And the orchard in the gorge.

This is his domain,

He is king of fields and sheep.

No man can say he does not reign

Over his vast and open keep.

Yes...this is his place,

With not an office to be found.

Only cattle, birds, and nature's grace

And the God that had it crowned.

With the moon shining on his bed,

The farmer heaves a sigh.

He has plowed the fields, baked the bread,

And to God's will complied.

-Veronika Chac, 20

Dainty Little Claws

With hair like gold and gems in her eyes,

No one thinks she's planning demise.

For how could a gentle woman like her

Ever cause a whole country to burn?

She smiles and primps her fairy-gold hair,

Unknowing targets had best beware;

And painting her nails the color of blood

To better hide the deeds she's done.

Gowned and crowned, she takes her leave,

Slipping the poison up her sleeve.

For men never think to die at a ball,

But lucky for her she is no man at all.

She laughs and charms them with her wiles,

All the men she has of course beguiled;

Powerful men with swords in their belts

Are falling victim to velvets, silks and felts.

She gets them drunk and removes their wits,

The attack of poison she will permit.

She sits and sips at a vintage wine,

Watching the meager lives she'd confined.

For a lioness keeps its prey in its paws,

And she did have some very dainty little claws.

-Veronika Chac, 19

Dainty Little Claws

With hair like gold and gems in her eyes,

No one thinks she's planning demise.

For how could a gentle woman like her

Ever cause a whole country to burn?

She smiles and primps her fairy-gold hair,

Unknowing targets had best beware;

And painting her nails the color of blood

To better hide the deeds she's done.

Gowned and crowned, she takes her leave,

Slipping the poison up her sleeve.

For men never think to die at a ball,

But lucky for her she is no man at all.

She laughs and charms them with her wiles,

All the men she has of course beguiled;

Powerful men with swords in their belts

Are falling victim to velvets, silks and felts.

She gets them drunk and removes their wits,

The attack of poison she will permit.

She sits and sips at a vintage wine,

Watching the men whose lives she'd confined.

For a lioness keeps its prey in its paws,

And she did have some very dainty little claws.

-Veronika Chac, 19

Dainty Little Claws

With hair like gold and gems in her eyes,

No one thinks she's planning demise.

For how could a gentle woman like her

Ever cause a country to burn?

She smiles and primps her fairy-gold hair,

Unknowing targets had best beware;

And painting her nails the color of blood

To better hide the deeds she's done.

Gowned and crowned, she takes her leave,

Slipping the poison up her sleeve.

For men never think to die at a ball,

But lucky for her she is no man at all.

She laughs and charms them with her wiles,

All the men she has of course beguiled;

Powerful men with swords in their belts

Are falling victim to silks and felts.

She gets them drunk and removes their wits,

The attack of poison she will permit.

She sits and sips at a vintage wine,

Watching the men whose lives she'd confined.

For a lioness keeps its prey in its paws,

And she did have some very dainty little claws.

-Veronika Chac, 19

Dainty Little Claws

With hair like gold and gems in her eyes,

No one thinks she's planning demise.

For how could a gentle woman like her

Ever cause a country to burn?

She smiles and primps her fairy-gold hair,

Unknowing targets had best beware.

And painting her nails the color of blood

To better hide the deeds she's done.

Gowned and crowned, she takes her leave,

Slipping the poison up her sleeve.

For men never think to die at a ball,

But lucky for her she is no man at all.

She laughs and charms them with her wiles,

All the men she has of course beguiled;

Powerful men with swords in their belts

Are falling victim to silks and felts.

She gets them drunk and removes their wits,

The attack of poison she will permit.

She sits and sips at a vintage wine,

Watching the men whose lives she'd confined.

For a lioness keeps its prey in its paws,

And she did have some very dainty little claws.

-Veronika Chac, 19

The Fox

The fox sniffs for prey, round and round,

Hoping to find its dinner around.

Quietly stalking through marigold leaves,

Hiding in the dying eaves.

Autumn is the fox's choice,

Scarlet leaves make its coat rejoice.

Hunters envy their silence and skill,

Knowing the fox goes in for the kill.

Scattering birds, it pounces up high,

Prey crying its death to the sky.

It picks the bones clean and wipes off the blood,

Scampering through the dust and mud.

Sharp and quick, it pricks up its ears,

Hearing a sound that tapers its fears:

The crack of a bullet with a sound like a whip

Scaring the fox right out of its wits.

He runs through shadows, jumps over logs,

Plunges into the mysterious fog.

He runs to the left just a fraction too quick,

Giving the fox no time to think:

The bullet embeds in the fox's brain,

Ridding it both of cleverness and pain.

-Veronika Chac, 18

The Circle

The girl sits

And contemplates this:

Why is the world so cruel?

She comes to a conclusion;

It's not a delusion:

Evil was meant to rule.

Why do so many die

And in ditches lie,

With their countries deaf and blind?

She knows the country's

Just in it for money,

No matter the bodies they find.

The food's all gone,

No jobs to spawn,

And poverty continues to swell.

But the men of power

Do never feel sour

In their comfortable, golden shells.

The girl sits

And contemplates this:

Why is the world so cruel?

She comes to a conclusion;

It's not a delusion:

Evil will always rule.

-Veronika Chac, 18

Rewired

Books never told him how to be,

Books always showed what he wanted to see.

He didn't see a maturing wife,

Nor did he have a lonely life.

He could have the life of whoever he chose,

Not a middle-aged man's whose speaks of woes.

The protruding belly is all but gone

When he has reading glasses on.

But instead of making him feel inspired,

The stories are getting him taut and wired:

This is no life for a man like me,

With people to meet and a world to see!

So he shuts and burns up all his books,

Gives his wife a loving look.

No more print for the two of them;

They had a savings account to spend.

-Veronika Chac. 18

Annie Little

She always knew she d be the best,

With her beauty and her brains.

They all told her she was blessed,

With how she never had to train.

She never skipped, she never failed,

She never missed a test.

And as her life was so detailed,

She had vast amounts of stress.

She started taking little pills

To keep her spirits high.

They always came with violent chills,

But she paid no mind.

Only when her hair turned brittle

Did people stop and think:

"Whatever happened to good Annie Little,

To cause her brains to shrink?"

Annie Little just couldn't keep up,

Her perfection was too much.

So now she drinks and goes to clubs

With her cadaverous friends; the drugs.

-Veronika Chac, 18

The Circle

The girl sits

And contemplates this:

Why is the world so cruel?

She comes to a conclusion;

It's not a delusion:

Evil was meant to rule.

Why do so many die

And in ditches lie,

With their countries deaf and blind?

She knows the country's

Just in it for money,

No matter the bodies they find.

The food's all gone,

No jobs to spawn,

And poverty continues to swell.

But the men of power

Do never feel sour

In their comfortable, golden shells.

The girl sits

And contemplates this:

Why is the world so cruel?

She comes to a conclusion;

It's not a delusion:

Evil will always rule.

-Veronika Chac, 18

God's Grace

Heavens gaze on the maiden's face,

Basking in her goodly grace.

Golden locks and azure eyes,

She is the heavens' worldly prize.

But why beauty could not be

Granted to a wretch like me?

With tangled hair and a poxy face,

I show none of the maiden's grace.

But as the maiden is so fair,

Her beauty she of course will share.

But the heavens are not pleased

To see beauty granted to one like me.

So they strike the gold from her head,

Leaving the maiden cold and dead.

I lash and cry and curse the skies,

Knowing that's where gods will lie.

-Veronika Chac, 18

Virtuoso

A desolate canvas in need of tint,

God readies his paintbrush for the imprint.

The stars, He knows, must be bright,

They must give life to the somber night.

But stars cannot be all alone

Since they are nature's stellar throne.

He fills the space with orbs of rock,

Shading the globes with brilliant chalk.

One of the planets catches His eye,

It will be the king of the sky.

Mountains rise from the divine brush,

With seas of sapphire and forests lush.

He crowns the world with a dome of blue,

Cerulean being the perfect hue,

God beams at the planet's birth,

Declaring it as Mother Earth.

-Veronika Chac, 18

Meadowvale

Swaying in the gentle breeze,

The meadow is dotted with lush, green trees.

Flowers adorn their earthy roots,

Being the grasses' fragrant boots.

An oak tree stands at the far end,

With a swing hanging from a bend.

It attracts a girl of kindly heart,

Nature being her love's true art.

She sits and swings up to the sky,

Watching flowers that in the meadow lie.

Their scents travel through her brain,

Ridding her of hate and pain.

She leaves the swing to gaze at the oak,

Malachite leaves she softly strokes.

She smiles at the perfect tree,

Being what it was meant to be:

A flawless structure with its flowers,

Untouched by mankind's cruel powers.

-Veronika Chac, 18

God's Grace

Heavens gaze on the maiden's face,

Basking in her goodly grace.

Golden locks and azure eyes,

She is the heavens' worldly prize.

But why beauty could not be

Granted to a wretch like me?

With tangled hair and a poxy face,

I show none of the maiden's grace.

But the maiden is so fair,

Her beauty she of course will share.

But the heavens are not pleased

To see beauty granted to one like me.

So they strike the gold from her head,

Leaving the maiden cold and dead.

I lash and cry and curse the skies,

Knowing that's where gods will lie.

-Veronika Chac, 18

I recently bought Shakespeare's The Tempest from a used bookstore and the publication dates are as follows:

First Edition published September 1926

Reprinted, September 1929; September 1931; November 1932; October 1933; September 1934; October 1935; May 1936; September 1937; July 1938; January 1939; May 1940; December 1941

Based on those dates, how can I tell which year this particular edition was published?

I have to write poems for English class, and I was wondering if this poem of mine could be considered a ballad. Also, if it's not a ballad, what type of poem would you classify this as (other than a couplet)?

Phoenix Flame

A flawless image of scarlet and gold,

The phoenix is a sight to behold.

Brilliant plumage and soul of flame,

Its fiery wings put jewels to shame.

Ebony eyes blazing with flair,

Blinking tears of timeless despair.

Eternally reborn from somber ashes,

Appraising the world in mournful flashes.

For the phoenix is not a blissful ideal,

Seeing the world as a tragic ordeal.

The phoenix knows this can't exist,

The world is weak and won't persist.

So the phoenix ignites its infinite blaze,

To clear the world of its violent haze.

The flame is bright and sears the mind,

The cosmos sees the mistakes of its kind.

Its thoughts are cleared, its senses restored,

The phoenix envisions a life of accord.

So the phoenix commends the new-found sublime,

Illuminating the world, alight for all time.

-Veronika Chac, 17