Bee Lines - Revised Version October 2006
Past and Present's argument:
busy bee belligerent
pollen gummy complement
bagged we present, buzzing by.
Season spent, none can prevent
destiny's predicament
when hive honey government
planned obsolescent workers die.
Sediment by sediment,
shows history self-evident,
defines Time's judgement - no postponement,
no atonement, ‘vein' appeals deny.
Inconsequent experiment, -
memory once fulgurant,
lacking, runny, insouciant
semi-senescent, streams awry.
I came, I went - to what intent?
R.I.P. advertisement?
Time's jokes, sad-funny, represent
transient moment's magician fly.
Permanent no monument.
‘Ici gît' lost figurant,
sad or sunny temperament -
No recommencement, - Death draws nigh.
Heaven sent or Hell's descent?
Seeking key see reverent
Christian, Sunni for portent
all-omniscient search the sky.
Sojourn tent is non-event.
Time flies by, moon gib, crescent.
Fame's gin, rummy, trump-trap vent
turns acescent, none know why.
Sentiment harsh, well-meant,
share same sigh, acquiescent,
proud or puny, soon repent,
share same statement - shroud cowed lie.
Cold, confident, or bland, ament,
trembling shy, bold, insolent,
see aims crumbly fade, fragment,
hopes delitescent ossify.
Circumvent predicament?
Though all try - fool and pedant -
jester dummy document,
share passing cry.
Life is lent, fleet fleece rent:
mortality deliquescent,
scoffs at monied supplement -
soon putrescent, low and high.
So, no comment. Evanescent
humanity effervescent,
you and I, represent
torment lament: born to die.
(11 October 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Busy Bees - Current Version
Heaven sent: bees, busy, fly
hunting honey buzzing by.
Pollen scent pays apiary rent
till men repent greed, source runs dry -
fount fructose. Rent wings' all awry,
Nature denies, most malcontent.
Hive syndrome meant as warning pent
with sugary advice, we cry.
Indecent is the extent
of robbery in broad daylight.
Protest vent represent
one percent of calls to try
to prevent bee supplement
royal jelly, harvest wry.
Came and went, bee ascent
flora flee, few know why.
Rise, descent: Magician fly -
sad or funny - Time flies by.
Excellent, straight or bent,
proud or puny - passing sigh.
Life is lent: Humanity
tied to money, low and high.
Summer spent, mortality:
you be[e] I, born to die.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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What is meant? What sent?
WHAT IS MEANT? WHAT SENT?
Impediments lament
not in themselves, content
within to document
the signs which represent
Fate’s patterns which serpent
beyond what impatient
minds see evidence patent.
For what is meant? what sent?
What is lent intent
upon safe tent, soft scent,
when statements can't be bent
to complement hopes' vent?
No compliments prevent
time spent, ascent, descent, -
can circumvent Chance pent
preparing element
to catalyze, cement,
success when two consent
to celebrate event -
of all most excellent -
when selfless sentiment
expels self-evident
expediency meant
to supplement the rent.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Accounting of Hardship - Parody Robert Frost
Ask still less of money spent where the spender thinks it went,
for, despite reminders sent, its too easy to invent
excuses not to find the rent.
Therefore before you consent to part with pound, or penny, cent,
helping friend to supplement his small yearly increment, -
before you lament, repent!
Management most competent needs some legal instrument
to avert an accident, subsequent predicament, -
argument, embarassment
If your friendships you’d cement by behaviour sapient,
avoid disillusionment by tactful expedient, -
‘tis best the question to prevent!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Incompetence our best defence! !
I dreamt a dream wherein I dreamt,
I dreamt a dream of deep content.
But all the while I knew I dreamt.
I tried to wake but my attempt.
My mind just treated with contempt.
Am I the dreamer or the dream
I can’t be wholly confident.
That it is not some experiment.
Conducted without my consent.
To monitor the dreams I’ve dreamt
to analyse my dreams content.
By some arm of the government
Whose only purpose and intent
Is sadly all too evident.
Establishing a precedent.
By which they hope they can prevent
expression of our discontent.
They should not be too complacent.
Because they are incompetent
and grossly overconfident.
We’ll find a way to circumvent
their wish to be omnipotent.
We have to win this argument
and then provide due punishment.
For those found guilty of intent
to use this foul experiment.
Which demonstrates the full extent
of methods used by government.
The things they do clandestinely
Because they dare not openly.
admit to seeking thought control.
Because they know that heads would roll.
We have the right to privacy.
There is no way that they should be.
poking and prying in our mind
just to see if they can find.
another way they can repress
the freedoms that we should possess.
The dream I dreamt may yet come true
I can’t be sure no more can you.
Sunday,02 May 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Path Of Time
Whether of present or past
Or future if you please
The time that you portray
Moves only for yourself
Some choose to live in the past
Lost hopes and dreams they share
But time only last
Until they release the burden they bear
Some choose to live in the present
And behold the sights of each day
A balance of decisions for 10 second frames
And everything always seems fair
Some people look towards the future
To see long term effects unfold
However long it takes to get there
They keep persisting towards their goal
I chose to live in the present
Ignore the past and future presence
And live life like I will not see the next day
And still not have to care
But if I provide an example
For past, present, or future
My path is still my own
And moves only for myself
poem by Logan Fulk
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Across the Bourse - 0116
To gall, then gloom, did bear incline
Through Gaul when doom bid share decline.
Wall Street at last turns dust, seeds crash
fall meet, fat past earns rust, greed's cash.
Bear Stearns and Lehmann's fall from grace,
their churns banned be, plans stall, dumb race.
Intent on gain, reign clover paid,
In tent on rain, pain overweighed.
Once free, see sighing traders sore
dunce be key spying raiders raw.
Glance shows descent meant warning clear,
chance flows, resentment dawning here.
Where skill may still preserve or flaw,
there ill they will deserve a floor.
Sots, they're no hedge, nor ever sure,
whats their knowledge? poor, never more.
They'd steer, ears bent, cold rumour's roar,
strayed, veer, fears lent, old humours bore.
For where they read stock set to soar,
your share may red [b]lock net blue score.
They've Will to spend on margin small
Save till [t]rue end gone Charge in call!
(1 October 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Incite Insight
INCITE INSIGHT
Can candlelight melt icy start,
incandescence stem descent,
incite renaissance, shared assent
discovering dream's counterpart?
May heart to heart though far apart
heartache soothe to circumvent
walls beyond walls which represent
apparent obstacles - impart
ardour surpassing Richter chart,
gift elan confident, lament
layers in lairs where hermit spent
temptation torment playing part?
Tenderness twins thoughts to teach
touch formal frontiers may outreach.
10 June 1996 revised 20 November 2008
robi03_0812_robi03_0000 SXX_LXX
for previous version see below
Incite Insight
Can candlelight melt icy start,
incandescence stem descent,
incite renaissance’s assent
discovering true counterpart?
Can heart to heart though far apart
heartache soothe to circumvent
walls beyond walls which present
apparent obstacles, - impart
ardour above the Richter chart,
an elan confident, lament
layers in lairs where hermit spent
temptation torn, tormented heart?
Tenderness thoughts twins to teach
touch through emotions which outreach.
10 June 1996
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Earth Mother Wolf
The wolf she keens on hilltop high,
Howling her song to the moon.
The secret that she carries is nigh,
And she needs to share it soon.
But who will listen with good intent,
To the truth that she only knows
Will you or me, with our busy lives spent
Complaining of our woes?
The secret is carried down the years
And is ours to have and hold.
Could we truly hear with our inner ears,
And stride with spirit bold.
Putting ego to one side,
Feeling love so true and gold
Will we lift our faces to the wolf outside
Or leave her in the cold?
The choice is ours; twill ever be nigh
Will we waste the precious hours?
Will we hear the wolf on the hilltop high?
And let her secret be ours.
Or will we turn away and spurn
The knowledge that she brings?
Or will our steps to sunshine turn
And aspire to higher things?
The wolf she keens on the hilltop still...
Forever her secret to share
Whether you turn nor bend your will
She will forever be there.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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I'm One Of You
Come
share with me your laughter
share with me your pain
share with me your strength
share with me your fear
share with me your despair
share with me your hopes and dreams
share with me your love
share with me your life...
Trust me...
I'm one of you.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Acceleration Generation Regeneration or Degeneration
Terse verse rehearses Nature’s cycle sent
as curse hearse food for thought life’s answers sought
for four millenia or more - predicament
narcissistic of man shaman time-trap caught.
Face lost in crowd, once cowed, may soar unbowed
outside staged stages, mournful shadow phase,
brief briefcase hard luck history, dread cloud
forever present pillow night dismays.
Man’s no stranger to hustle bustle streets,
unrailed and yet derailed by accident,
disease, or time which harvests heartless beats
as often as those tuned to tenderment.
Rent must be paid for earthly tenement
from birth to earth berth threescore ten years taught,
taut tightrope led from dark, fed, darkness bent,
with best laid plans of mice and men cut short.
Ignore swift time rift, second-thoughts aloud,
ticked of some callendar of nights and days,
of ages rushed and crushed far more than wowed,
till Lethe drowns strife's sorrows from life's gaze.
'Unkindest cut of all' seems self-deceit's
travesty of chance earth birth has meant
for opportunities before the winding-sheet's
last laugh and rictus ends bewilderment.
The sum of knowledge - man's empowerment -
now doubles each decade, and this has wrought
scope for both hope, destruction; store saved, spent,
itself prepares fresh options, cyclic sport.
Invention, innovation, have allowed,
acceleration which might seem haste haze
to most, who'd cruise coast, choose not, will kow-towed,
or caught in fad, trend, fashion, transient craze.
Unprecedented upgrade mankind meets,
greets multi-modal gene switch tripped, yet ought
take time out, flout race, rush outface; crush cheats
new world more slave than brave, wave’s bore grave fraught.
Moore’s Law's extrapolations represent
not only chips more powerful to sport
networked communications excellent,
they challenge base assumptions 'heaven sent'.
Concern to channel causal temperament
may seem as dream to stumblers on time bought,
but bumbling being bubble bursts, has wrent
tissues, rewiring brain sheath substance - sort
of myelin, white matter supplement
to speed synaptic links as swiflty caught,
relayed, as thought by neurones excellent
whose store depends on practice or to naught
is brought by lapse which traps experiment.
Bewilderment seems signature for most
who means can't steer to ends whose causal tick
beyond the click of mice and men mere ghost
appear to veer haphazardly, fall sick,
lose sight of goals, won't strive, prefer to coast
then perish caring scarce a fiddlestick
for those behind who raise sham, futile toast
to life vain strife perpetuates - lipstick
gloss to hide loss of unused gifts they lick
to mask frustration, stress, quick nervous tic.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Leo And Honey Bird
u like to be a leo man
but i like to be a honey bird
i am honey bird
iam honey bird
may u are strong
may u are tough
but the little bird
is too smart too
and u are alone
and u never care
but this happy bird
has many friends
the life is to share
the life is too short
let we share this short
to share within love
then we are proud
to share our home
with the little bird
not with u -leo no
although u in share
with us in the earth
i am not proud
how we are alone
but about honey bird
we are all
proud
aboutthe little bird.
poem by Sallam Yassin
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Light Fades Out
Light fades out...
The day is over.
My ancestors saw this,
Rolling of day and night,
To get into the black hole
Of past, not to return ever.
Time eats time and pushes
Time into tunnel...
You may tell of hope,
The desire to live,
For the next day..
But, when time melts,
The cells of this
Decaying flesh
Deny to survive..
An irresistible
Longing to live, to
Breathe the air of this
Wonderful earth doesn't
Work, the last day comes
To throw us in history,
Of a common man....
He was like this, or
That...with the passing
Of time those words too,
Fade out, the present, past
And future all become
One, same for us all...
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Tropical Loveland
Come to my loveland, wander along
Beautiful gardens full of flowers and songs
Come to the sunshine, beaches and sand
Listen to bluebirds, wont you come to my land
The grass is mellow and the sky is blue
My paradise is waiting here for you
Oooh, its a tropical loveland
Oooh, I wanna share it with you
Life can be funny
Happy and sunny
Oooh, in my tropical loveland
Come to my loveland, wander with me
Lie with me darling in the shade of a tree
Over the rainbow, under the moon
Thats where my land is, wont you come to me soon?
Just take my hand, Ill show you everything
The secrets that my paradise can bring
Oooh, its a tropical loveland
Oooh, I wanna share it with you
Life can be funny
Happy and sunny
Oooh, in my tropical loveland
Oooh, its a tropical loveland
Oooh, I wanna share it with you
(I wanna share it with you)
Oooh, its a tropical loveland
(its a tropical loveland)
Oooh, I wanna share it with you
Oooh, its a tropical loveland
Oooh, I wanna share it with you
(fade)
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crime of Life
Life seems but a memory of years
Gone by too fast.
Before we can live the present,
The future is the past.
Tomorrow is yesterday;
An instant is today.
The present is just a pause
Along past's fleeting way.
Seconds tick, days go by
And years bow out of sight.
Time speeds on as days are born;
Then devoured by each night.
Mankind's curse is overlooked
By Old Father Time, who steals
Our precious gift
With life's most hideous crime.
This crime of life is in its passing;
The days, the years that fleet by.
Almost before a chance to live,
It seems we're given a chance to die.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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Over split milk
I may be taken away
As there is no other way
Destiny is all that we can say
Yet I feel not fine with present day
What to look back and what to remember?
When I have failed to think and render
The sun had shined all over the life again
But alas! Nothing stuck to mind and all went in drain
I am unable to visualize as to what went wrong
Why I was not prepared to take it as simple song?
What was hitch in spending little time for my brethren?
What did bother me all the way engulfed with the concern?
I have no answer for all at this crucial hour
Life meant just joke and merely a pleasure tour
I was so arrogant in behavior and did not care
The life was meant to enjoy and only to share
Well, good cycle never remain at once place
It changes fast so as to remind it's real face
The pleasure, happiness and sadness with gloom
No one can find permanent shelter with any room
It is not the same now as enough time has gone by
It can never be improved upon at last minute even if I try
The precious life was meant to be spent with care
It was all wasted with no ideas as to go where
It is not a just feeling or piece of advice
Life is all that we can say full of surprises
It does not set with sun or next day with rise
We have full control over it with enough of choice
I shed tears in isolation with grief over split milk
I had enough of time with everything at disposal to think
I failed to seize the opportunity and cashed it on
Life was about to be over in just split of second and gone
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What is Lent?
Lent’s a special soul-time, God-lent!
Fervent prayers should rent the air to heaven;
Meant is Lent to mend and make amends in spiritual life;
Repent, empty your sins pent up;
Spent life should make way for an improved one.
Ask God’s forgiveness for all sins to the very last;
Control your mind and body through more fast;
Charity must become your life-ship’s main mast!
Bury the iniquities and life’s short-falls of the past;
Enrich your soul with grace of God vast!
Gain victory in your spiritual war;
Heal the soul’s sinful scar;
Prepare for heaven that’s not afar.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-27-2009
poem by John Celes
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From The House Of Life The Sonnet
A Sonnet is a moment's monument,
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearl'd and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Sonnet
A sonnet is a moment's monument, --
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul, -- its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
It serve, or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll of Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of Life: The Sonnet
A Sonnet is a moment's monument,
Memorial from the Soul's eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearl'd and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,--its converse, to what Power 'tis due: --
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue,
It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath,
In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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