Cycles
When Dave Priest died grave sexton told
to toll bell well for corpse stone cold -
from epiderm to earthworm’s feast
star studded sports sporadic yeast.
The moral reads: reeds brave, deeds bold,
berth bends to end which breaks birth's mould.
Mould broken, mould returned, at least
is he released from life once leased.
Though pitter-pat or thud, thud, thud,
warm blood turns into tainted mud,
must musty dust depart, heart ceased,
Time’s gavel knocks down man and beast.
As cycles spin, out's in's template,
who sees the light before dark fate?
© Jonathan Robin – Sonnet robi3_0968 written 1 November 2005 revised 17 October 2008 - for previous version see below
When Dave died grave sexton was told
to toll the bell for one grown old, -
now he is young again, released
from epiderm to earthworm’s feast.
The moral is, however bold,
all bend to end which breaks the mould.
Mould broken, mould returned, as least
is he who highest life once leased.
So whether bid or oversold
warm blood soon rudderless and cold
must musty dust turn heart beat ceased,
Time’s gavel sells off man and beast.
Though cycles swift accelerate,
who sees the light before dark fate?
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Broken mould.
What mould was used to create
the species of earth?
The mould changes automatically,
to create the better species.
Who has programed the mould,
to be mold, omitting the U?
The mould that is kept in every species,
in the form of DNA and RNA.
What an Creator is that person,
who has such knowledge.
It took thousands years,
to decode the secrets of procreation.
It took millions of lives,
to find out remedy for infections.
It has taken a life span of human,
to realize the truth in final breathe.
If The same mould is used,
there is no kick in it.
The variation is a pleasure,
Various kinds of people,
with variant characters,
distinctive features, color and hair,
but Color of the liquids,
rhythm of the heart beat,
months of full term pregnancy,
are all same for every species.
A simple change
may mutate the functions.
Let us be proud of the moulds,
that we have in us.
Let us make use of the mould,
that we have inherited.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Dance! (Don't Think)
You got to break the back of the mould
You were made in it
Crack the shell, that's how it's got to be
Nothing for certain
Ain't no way of knowing
Only believe in things that you see
Flow with the river
Run with the tide
Mix with your brother
Because he's right by your side
Crack that mould
Little bitty chicken
You can't stay in there forever
Now there ain't such a thing as only
One kind of weather
You got to bend learn
Take the rough with the smooth
Understand everything
Crack that mould
And only then you'll be free
Pick up them shoes, go running down that road
You know that preconception is such a heavy load
You got to live love
Put down that written word
Crack that mould
And only then you'll be free
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Summers Gone
Cue to your face so forsaken
Crushed by the way that you cry
Cue to your face so forsaken
What a surprise
You try to break the mould
Before you get too old
You try to break the mould
Before you die
Cue to your heart that is racing
Stung by the look in your eye
Cue to your heart that is racing
What a surprise
You try to break the mould
Before you get too old
You try to break the mould
Before you die
Cue your face so forsaken
Crushed by the way that you cry
Cue your face so forsaken
Say goodbye
Sing for your lover
Like blood from a stone
Sing for your lover
Whos waiting at home
If you sing when youre high
And youre dry as a bone
Then you must realise
That youre never alone
And youll sing with the dead instead
You try and break the mould,
Before you get too old
You try and break the mould,
Before you die
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Days
My days are but the tombs of buried hours ;
Which tombs are hidden in the piled years ;
But from the mounds there spring up many flowers,
Whose beauty well repays their cost of tears.
Time, like a sexton, pileth mould on mould,
Minutes on minutes till the tombs are high ;
But from the dust there fall some grains of gold,
And the dead corpse leaves what will never die-
It may be but a thought, the nursling seed
Of many thoughts, of many a high desire ;
Some little act that stirs a noble deed,
Like breath rekindling a smouldering fire :
They only live who have not lived in vain,
For in their works their life returns again.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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A Heart to Cherish
A heart to cherish and warm hand to hold
High raise all mortal clay from common mould,
Elevates base elements to gold
As magic fusion cuts confusion's hold.
Rest not on sidelines, ceremony trace,
Thrust through Fate’s weight, cue to true interface
That, ma chérie, may see heart heart enfold
On lease from life itself, which won’t grow old.
Could mirrors speak they’d blush, no silver scold
Harsh time reflect, so joyfully behold
Enchanting offspring duplicate glow's grace,
Resounding echo both of soul, surface.
Incarceration end, lets celebrate
SHared emotions' oceans liberate.
14 December 1995 revised as acrostic A HEART TO CHERISH 31 August 2007
robi03_0801_robi03_0000 ASX_LXX
see below for previous version
A Heart to Cherish
A heart to cherish and a hand to hold
lifts Man’s mortal clay from common mould,
transforms base elements to finest gold
through magic fusion, let the truth be told.
Stand not on sidelines, ceremony, trace
Fate’s lines through daring caring interface.
Charming features charmèd heart enfold,
on lease from life itself, which can’t grow old.
If mirrors spoke, they’d blush, could never scold,
prove mirage mirage, all else oversold.
Should children come they’d duplicate true grace -
enchanting echo both of soul, surface.
Transmit heart’s signals to communicate
emotion’s oceans, love anticipate.
14 December 1995
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Marvel of Marvels
MARVEL of marvels, if I myself shall behold
With mine own eyes my King in His city of gold;
Where the least of lambs is spotless white in the fold,
Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled,
Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled.
O saints, my beloved, now mouldering to mould in the mould,
Shall I see you lift your heads, see your cerements unroll'd,
See with these very eyes? who now in darkness and cold
Tremble for the midnight cry, the rapture, the tale untold,--
The Bridegroom cometh, cometh, His Bride to enfold!
Cold it is, my beloved, since your funeral bell was toll'd:
Cold it is, O my King, how cold alone on the wold!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Crack That Mould
You got to break the back of the mould you were made in
Crack the shell, thats how its got to be
Nothing for certain, aint no way of knowing
Only believe in things that you see
Flow with the river, run with the tide
Mix with your brother, cos hes right by your side
Crack that mould
Little pretty chicken you cant stay in there forever
Now there aint no such thing as only one kind of weather
You got to bend, learn, take the rough with the smooth
Understand everything
Crack that mould
Now there aint no such thing as only one kind of weather
Pick up them shoes, go running down that road
You know that precondition is such a heavy load
You got to live love, put down that written word
Crack that mould
Now there aint no such thing as only one kind of weather
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The day has come
Potter moulds clay;
A day would come
For the clay to mould man.
Man mould nature;
The day has come
For the nature to mould man.
26.03.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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behold I i adore beauty
beauty is warm and cold
beauty is black and bold
beauty is different for us all i am told
beauty I would love a chance to mould
poem by Crushanda Williams
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All are hypocrites
We mould our words in accord
With the readers in mind.
We mould our deeds in accord
With the respondents.
We write songs in accord
With the audience.
Who aren’t hypocrites
In their words and deeds?
09.12.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Warning and Reply
In the earth—the earth—thou shalt be laid,
A grey stone standing over thee;
Black mould beneath thee spread,
And black mould to cover thee.
'Well—there is rest there,
So fast come thy prophecy;
The time when my sunny hair
Shall with grass roots entwined be.'
But cold—cold is that resting-place,
Shut out from joy and liberty,
And all who loved thy living face
Will shrink from it shudderingly,
'Not so. Here the world is chill,
And sworn friends fall from me:
But there—they will own me still,
And prize my memory.'
Farewell, then, all that love,
All that deep sympathy:
Sleep on: Heaven laughs above,
Earth never misses thee.
Turf-sod and tombstone drear
Part human company;
One heart breaks only—here,
But that heart was worthy thee!
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Farewell, Life! My Senses Swim
Farewell, Life! My senses swim,
And the world is growing dim;
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night,—
Colder, colder, colder still,
Upward steals a vapor chill—
Strong the earthy odor grows—
I smell the mould above the rose!
Welcome, Life! the Spirit strives!
Strength returns, and hope revives;
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn
Fly like shadows at the morn,—
O'er the earth there comes a bloom—
Sunny light for sullen gloom,
Warm perfume for vapor cold—
I smell the rose above the mould!
poem by Thomas Hood
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One Only
One only, if the truth be told,
could breathe life into ingot gold,
one only rhyme with harmony
from here until eternity,
one only answer clear and saint
when called, fair features never faint.
One only can't be oversold,
whose warmth may melt the harshest cold,
one only, comely, melody,
inspires and fires to psalmody,
one only who no mortal paint
can imitate, no envy taint.
One only may within her fold
all talents show, gifts manifold,
one only challenges Time's see,
personnifies all good there be.
One only praise without restraint
deserves, all serve without complaint.
One only! Others, unconsoled,
admit unique is fairest mould.
One only holds the world in fee,
most bountiful from sea to sea.
One only nothing can attaint,
ignores both artifice, constraint.
One only in this valentine
shines brightly here in every line...
(c) Jonathan Robin written 27 January 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Warning and Reply
In the earth—the earth—thou shalt be laid,
A grey stone standing over thee;
Black mould beneath thee spread,
And black mould to cover thee.
'Well—there is rest there,
So fast come thy prophecy;
The time when my sunny hair
Shall with grass roots entwined be.'
But cold—cold is that resting-place,
Shut out from joy and liberty,
And all who loved thy living face
Will shrink from it shudderingly,
'Not so. Here the world is chill,
And sworn friends fall from me:
But there—they will own me still,
And prize my memory.'
Farewell, then, all that love,
All that deep sympathy:
Sleep on: Heaven laughs above,
Earth never misses thee.
Turf-sod and tombstone drear
Part human company;
One heart breaks only—here,
But that heart was worthy thee!
poem by Emily Brontë from Selections from the literary remains of Emily and Anne Brontë (1850)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There is much to support the view that it is clothes that wear us, and not we, them; we may make them take the mould of arm or breast, but they mould our hearts, our brains, our tongues to their liking.
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream's Houri Land Seems Hour Island
Goals, when perspective's sought by souls, then scanned,
drum rolls show dumb roles, no red carpet rolled.
Story - youth to hoary - soon is told,
breath bold, brash, old, rash, Death strikes out of hand,
just blows away. Just blow falls none withstand.
Some seek redemption, reasons why warm cold
returns as candle burns to t[r]ick wick'd fold.
Dream's houri land seems [h]our island, time's sand
tips scales no wails redeem nor understand.
Alike for sage, saint, sot, faint-hearted, scold,
for true want, truant wanting more than mould,
life's cycle turns, returning not, hope banned.
Speed shadow shapes we hither, thither, cast
reflections that, scarce heeded, never last.
Author notes
Words in brackets convey two or more meanings
Hour island: [h]our our or hour or our hour is eye I land
t[r]ick wick'd: tick or trick wick, tricky wicket, wicked etc.
for previous version entitled In Hour I land see written 4 December 2007 see below
In Hour I land
Ambitions, true perspective found, are canned.
Drum rol, role dumb, with no red carpet rolled.
Story - youth to hoary - soon is told,
bold, brash, old, rash, breath Death can't out of hand,
just blow away. Just blow falls none withstand.
Some seek redemption, reasons why warm cold
returns as candle burns to t[r]ick wick fold.
in houri land, in hour I land, drip sand
tips scales no wails redeem nor understand.
Alike for sage, and saint, faint-hearted, scold,
for true want, truant wanting more than mould,
the cycle turns, returning not, hope fanned.
As shadow shapes we hither, thither, cast
reflections that, unheeded, never last.
written 4 December 2007 see below
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Dead Man Walking
They hail me as one living,
But don't they know
That I have died of late years,
Untombed although?
I am but a shape that stands here,
A pulseless mould,
A pale past picture, screening
Ashes gone cold.
Not at a minute's warning,
Not in a loud hour,
For me ceased Time's enchantments
In hall and bower.
There was no tragic transit,
No catch of breath,
When silent seasons inched me
On to this death ...
-- A Troubadour-youth I rambled
With Life for lyre,
The beats of being raging
In me like fire.
But when I practised eyeing
The goal of men,
It iced me, and I perished
A little then.
When passed my friend, my kinsfolk,
Through the Last Door,
And left me standing bleakly,
I died yet more;
And when my Love's heart kindled
In hate of me,
Wherefore I knew not, died I
One more degree.
And if when I died fully
I cannot say,
And changed into the corpse-thing
I am to-day,
Yet is it that, though whiling
The time somehow
In walking, talking, smiling,
I live not now.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Too Good To Be True
(robert palmer)
She knows what to say, she knows what to do
Every move she makes, she makes just for you
She knows just how to change your mind
You think youve pinned her down
Shes got you undersigned
Shes too good to be true
They broke the mould, when they made you
She knows when to leave, she knows when to stay
When she takes her turn, she knows how to play
Theres more, you havent seen it all
Youre going to have to learn to keep up with her
Shes too good to be true
They broke the mould, when they made you
Shes too good to be true
They broke the mould, when they made you
She knows just how to change your mind
You think youve pinned her down
Shes got you undersigned
Shes too good to be true
They broke the mould, when they made you
Too good to be true
They broke the mould, when they made you
Shes too good to be true
Give credit where its due
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mould
Break out of your
Mould -
To come to me.
I'll break into
Pieces…
To mould
Into thee…
(Theme: Oneness)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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