Global Idol Idyll - 0973 - Current Version
What were priorities of yesterday?
Subsistence fraught with much fragility,
man's coil unshuffled soon, as end of play
stem cut from rose bloom, life-expectancy
short, caught in superstition cowled in grey,
or shaman stripping Easter Island's tree.
Fee none avoid when piper waits on pay.
Mistakes men made are coming home to roost.
A la recherche du temps perdu most flee
too little energy remains to boost.
Vision absent, in new century,
this global village veers off script: see Proust.
Pollution, pillage, menace land and sea,
as 'havoc and the gods of war' are loosed.
We flee towards an end both known, unknown,
here straight, there stony, seldom seem in key,
follow a path which our own past has sown,
what city_zen's in tune with Destiny?
Faith's sculptured cyphered symbols should be shown
to hold lost truth ruthless modernity
has cast away, wind willy-nilly blown.
Volcanic, Mother Nature Iceland fires,
Frost's 'Fire and Ice' combine to offer clouds
no silver lining, scorches most desires,
unemployment offers idle crowds
whose idol 'I'm_material' requires
waste for the sake of waste till ash-cloth shrouds
bury dopes' hopes as role control backfires.
Some look for truth, if truth there be, yet wait
on chance, advance, just motives undermined,
seek miracle that must emancipate
the will to change, new open outlook find.
Too many fool themselves, prevaricate,
toil, trouble, hubble-bubble trail behind
berate self-blindness few eliminate.
But fear of fear too often dissipates
both sense and inner sensitivity,
impressions outlined by the hand that Fate's
swift moving finger writes for clarity,
then senseless seem priorities, debates,
when blind eye's turned by grovel vanity,
and vested interest pride of place vacates.
No writing on the wall anticipates
decline and fall, can versatility
sidestep, swim from, storm maelstrom tumbling dates
from palm oasis in whate'er degree,
to save man's game Time's tide can terminate.
Mistakes are made as visibility
is lacking, insight dawning far too late.
There's none so blind as those who will not see,
for actions much delayed must compromise
success where false excuse is found to be
but ruse refusing acts where fact supplies
evidence of misuse, humanity
manipulates heedless to blue planet's cries,
extracts from Nature's generosity.
Hope for true scope, with insights wise obeyed,
is countered by misMANagement, strife sore,
shadowy lack of confidence displayed
behind bluff mask, aggression, rifled store,
MAN_'tis game regardless idols preyed
proves riddle rarely idyll, unjust law
spurns common weal, would Fate's spun ignore.
Veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid
both silver spoon and slum lie dumb, stilled tune
divorced from light by self-inflicted shade,
with passing sigh to signify too soon
in contradiction to lip-service paid
no generation's proved its acts as boon
throughout Earth's girth through time, man's vain parade.
What's left, sewn through waft-weft of life's rapports,
suffers from fear of Death's amoral spade,
learns no lessons, prudence spurns, tooth, claw,
enjoys its self-destruction, hand out-played,
serves not, rots vision clear, fears what's in store,
yet errors unmended leave man's world afraid
as progress is divorced from natural law.
Today's priorities tomorrow fade,
dissolve distorted by Time's tug of war.
turn sour before their zest to rest is laid.
What all important seemed one day before,
incorporated into causal braid,
is dropped for gain immediate, more! more!
is trumped with basic instincts disobeyed.
When karmic candle hour's done, rich and poor,
pomp, power, cower, race, pace, trace forgotten,
darkness enshrouds all, Nature's shutters draw
a blind, close up close down man ill-begotten.
(11 April 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mistaken Priorities - 0973 - Current Version
Mistakes we made are coming home to roost.
too little energy remains to boost.
A la recherche du temps perdu we flee
another act's attacked, the will to see
is often absent from the script, see Proust,
as 'havoc and the guns of war' are loosed.
We flee towards an end both known, unknown,
follow a path which our own past has sown,
here straight, there stony, everywhere its key
to city_zen in tune with Destiny
inscribed in cyphered symbols should be shown
not cast away, wind willy-nilly blown.
But fear of fear too often dissipates
impressions outlined by the hand that Fate's
swift moving finger writes for clarity,
when blind eye's turned, and spurned self charity,
then senseless seem priorities, debates
are blurred where truth all pride of place vacates.
When writing on the wall anticipates
the fall to come, the storm which tumbles dates
from palm oasis in whate'er degree.
mistakes are made as visibility
is lacking, insight dawning far too late
to save the game that Time's tides terminate.
the current lack.
Some look for truth, if truth there be, yet wait
on miracle that must emancipate
the will to change uncertain outlook find,
toil, trouble, hubble-bubble left behind.
But many fool themselves, prevaricate,
berating blindness they'd eliminate.
There's none so blind as those who will not see,
refuse to act where fact is found to be
in contradiction to lip-service paid
to hope for scope and insights wise obeyed
for actions much delayed must compromise
success where false excuse opt out supplies.
Today's priorities tomorrow fade,
turn sour before their zest to rest is laid,
dissolve distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed one day before,
incorporated into causal braid,
is trumped with basic instincts disobeyed.
Veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid
divorced from light by self-inflicted shade,
with passing sigh to signify too soon
both silver spoon and slum lie dumb, stilled tune.
Mistakes unmended leave man's world afraid
of shadows lack of confidence displayed.
What's left, sewn through waft-weft of life's rapports,
serves not, rots vision clear, fears what's in store
for others, for oneself - life's game is played
with Life ignoring Death's amoral spade.
Timed candle splutters, fame, flame rise no more,
darkness enshrouds those who hope's shutters draw.
(8 April 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mistakes - 0973 - Initial Version
Mistakes we made are coming home to roost.
Too little energy remains to boost
another act as now the will to see
is absent from the script, and, quoting Proust,
'à la recherche du temps perdu' we flee.
We flee towards an end both known, unknown,
follow a path which our own past has sown,
here straight, there stony, everywhere its key
inscribed in cyphered symbols should be shown
to city_zen in tune with Destiny.
But fear of fear too often dissipates
impressions outlined by the hand that Fate's
swift moving finger writes, for clarity
is blurred by those rejecting truth's debates,
who blind eye turn to visibility
when writing on the wall anticipates
the fall to come, the storm which tumbles dates
from palm oasis in whate'er degree.
We look to truth, if truth there be, too late
to ride Time's tide towards eternity.
What visibility emancipates
the will to change where change anticipates
uncertain outlook, where transparency
drives home fears blindness would eliminate?
There's none so blind as those who will not see.
(3 December 2001)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Priorities
PRIORITIES
Today’s priorities tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed one day before
turns sour before its zest to rest is laid,
incorporated into causal braid,
what’s left sewn through waft-weft of life’s rapports.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
Timed candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh thrilled head’s held high, yet soon
both silver spoon and slum lie dumb, stilled tune.
f[l]ame = flame fame lame l'âme aim am me
3 December 2001 revised 10 December 2008
robi03_0974_robi03_0000 SXX_CDJ
for previous version see below
Priorities
Priorities today, tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed the day before
turns sour before appointed hour, is laid
aside by patterns Cause, Effect may braid
into the waft and weft of their rapport.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself, - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
The candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh-space head’s held high, yet soon
all is dissolved for slum or silver spoon...
3 December 2001
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Chequer Board
Tomorrow [b]rings tomorrow, s[tr]ings today
Across the chequer board of day and night
Karmic - some say graven black on white -
Each on his Way must thread, to piper pay.
Time is a trick oasis, sent to play
Its cards to chaos compensate or right.
Master dream wave patterns with insight.
Enjoy life’s game untamed, don’t, blind, obey,
Out of kilter twisting Fate, whose sway
Filters much which to vain future bright
Fain would advance. Fight struggles senseless quite.
Nature teaches: overreach past spray.
Only open searching springs release,
Will Cause, Effect, combine, fine tune, [b]ring peace...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Choice Channels Choice Channels Choice Current Version
Is Man Free Will or karmic puppet strung
upon Fate's juggling whim with sting or stung
dependant on some déjà vu song sung
by Time's wind blown?
Thus, 'What is Truth? ' if logic's made to fit
some preconceived ideas, Cartesian kit:
'The moving finger writes, and having writ
moves on' to clone
another pawn whose dawn is followed soon
by blight or boon, pride's sunny afternoon
is swift supplanted by black night. Buffoon
who would gold own!
Who seeks control, spurns writing on the wall
is often role-reversed, flight's final fall,
who takes theme 'dream supreme', who 'hears the call'
may be just drone.
What Tao to follow, what gleans win, means lose,
what grief's choice try, buy, what joy's track refuse?
Hindsight finds, binds vice voice to confuse
what's light, what's stone.
Hindsight tricks weal's wicks, drum double-bind,
dream mirage offers hesitating mind,
as what before remains, what's left behind,
hopes overthrown,
depends on more than superficial weave wound
on waft and weft success or failure found,
on pride or fall. Peak's call, cave underground,
mirth, dearth, atone.
Insight holds good when goal's perceived, race run
with trust, integrity, deception shunned,
with Fate's thread spun what seems done's just begun,
take stock alone.
Seconds spin, dissolve, fresh mesh weaves lace,
flesh minutes in strange sequence, interlace
the hours which daily years refresh to race
Ganesh unknown.
Each thought wave ripples out, conceives trump's ace
as cause/effect relationship few trace
and fewer find the time to interface
fate's seeds unsown.
All makes sense when channelled, radar's trace
decodes what static seems to those who'd lace
the edges of their cells of time and place
together thrown
Time deceives, re-edits joy, disgrace
here tosses coin, replaces tail with face,
there spin repeats, initial choice erase
with cards unshown.
What some believe as Gospel state of grace,
others hold heresy, biased debunk, debase.
Black, white, day, night, lack insight to replace
with hid what's shown.
On ignorance creeds feed, doubts cleave to base
on certanties' tease, insecure, they chase
from fount to font minds blind or lower case,
can't call their own
trust, tolerance leave or misplace
understanding, for neighbours living space
to foster common interest with good grace,
not pick a bone.
Thread pattern, fractal facettes reeve, erase
retinal after-image to encase
the here and now in setting far from base,
hear 'how's' tune-tone.
Thought waves pushmi-pully, surge, merge,
heave sigh of relief, burst bottlenecks embrace
Change interlink to ink invent, deplace
accent ‘chance' blown.
Surf foams with make-believe, fears future's face
leaves fall, leave echo [c]old, untold, embrace
the stirrings of another zeitgeist's pace
as challenge prone.
Second thoughts conjur hell or saving grace,
momentum gathered rushes on a-pace,
continuous, relentless, rolling race
to the unknown.
[19 June 2012]
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Tomorrow's Another Day
Tomorrow [b]rings tomorrow, s[tr]ings today
Across life's pillow-billow board, day, night,
Karmic sable, ivory insight.
Each must life's lyrics swing his/her own way.
Time's menace - trick oasis sent to play
Its cards to chaos compensate or right.
Master dream wave patterns, second sight.
Enjoy life’s game untamed, don’t, blind, obey,
Or rate Fate's twists disturbing serpent's sway.
Filter 'impossibility' - hope's light shines bright
Fight boredom and monototny as trite.
Nature teaches: overreach past spray.
Only open searching springs release,
Will Cause, Effect, combine, fine tune, find peace...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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They Time Together - 0209 - 1991 Version
Life's tidal streams so quickly flow
that few can fairly contemplate
the currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards their destined Fate.
Few feel for Truth or care to know
what dreams may teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting nothing averts. Although
the 'moving finger's' never late,
most try to thwart the sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].
Lost, alone, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
‘Reflection' seems to blind echo
confined where men encapsulate
their hopes and fears within, where no
enlightenment can penetrate.
Thick skins which feelings seldom show,
minds which will not negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, in their own muck stagnate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds and concentrate
upon strong inner dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Let Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate;
at last Man will his state outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(20 June 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Nel Mezzo Del Cammin - 1909 - after Dante Inferno
With glass half-full, half-empty questions put
outweigh the answers touching mind or heart,
whether silver spoon boon born, on foot,
each must make peace before release may start.
Who clearly sees through dark glass, darker wood,
would doubtless doubt's dark [t]errors deep repeat,
though hindsight mutters 'should things change, I could! '
Time turns to mock those causal locks would cheat.
More than life's ending, status symbol clash,
despite cards held is how the game is played,
what boots haste win through bluff unthinking, brash,
it loss waste follows, squandered luck displayed.
Can compromise for ethics compensate
when all is said and done upon due date?
With only faith to guide one through d[r]ead door
all outlooks hang uncertainly, life's trip
need not require that there be 'something more'
for all important's life before unzip.
Dawn rose, rose bloomed, before fate's date of birth,
lie still returns to berth will still remains,
while through life's dream theme round horizon's girth
all is in all, pride, fall, ride high, sigh, wanes.
All doors perception senses should be tried,
fears swept aside, have fun along the Way,
faith seems pale wraith when logic is applied
to sojourn's play, what need remains to pray?
From past to future there's a quantum leap,
why care? Joys share, and then prepare to sleep.
'There is a tide in the affairs of men
which taken at the flood' to fortune leads,
omitted all the voyage that they pen
is bound in shallows, fresh misfortunes feeds.
Yet right and wrong, long, short, like yang and yin,
stay sides of one soul's coin, life's fingerprint
expressed, impressed upon life's press, begin
and end bend through one straight and narrow sprint.
Track lost no cost incurs when path is found
through loss of self which self soon rediscovers
through new tack where attack proves fruitless ground,
is grounded till bright insight Way recovers.
'Nel mezzo del cammin' each trip appears
however short the day or long the years.
Dante Inferno
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi retrovai per una selva oscura,
che la diritta via era smarrita.
In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself in a dark wood,
for the straight way was lost.
(7 September 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Between Dark Past and Future Flight
Between dark past and future flight
Effect and Cause we question quite,
rhyme time between midnight and noon
to read, mark, learn, digest this tune.
Soul travels far, ka’s second sight
scouts out from dune to blue lagoon -
with moral codes plays fey buffoon.
Between dark past and future flight
the butterfly finds wings for flight
although, in silk spin knit cocoon,
it knows not dawn from afternoon.
Mind mirage magic may excite
confusing notions – far and soon
merge premonition’s present boon.
Between dark past and future flight
trace space, expand and pace delight ~
from morn till midnight one should learn
to seed born insight, harvest earn,
bend to contentment very soon
ends, means, all harmonies attune
heart, soul, which whole from parts return.
Between dark past and future flight
now ‘stalac_might’ checks stalag tight
mankind evolved from the baboon
to trace his race pace picayune.
between the darkness and the light
most squander chances opportune
dreams rose themed spurned, they haste to tomb.
Vague contexts blurred, restrictions fight
unshadowed vision full, shy moon
casts spell whose pull’s forgot by noon.
Between dark past and future flight
The wheel spins on, ignores ‘wrong’, ‘right’
As light, dark, rainbow’s ark all churn
fear not fall near, nor rise call spurn.
Sandman plays game outside luck, blight,
for more than intellect's harpoon.
Hope blooms, may anguish, heartache, prune.
Between dark past and future flight
oft ‘Justice’ seems a notion quite
outside God’s scheme - ‘on joue le clown’
play insecurity immune
while mocking empty social rite
inventing, changing Scheme and gods
to bury fears inspired by sods.
Between dark past and future flight,
through silver starred aragonite,
December’s frost melts into June.
Some worries shrink while some balloon.
Concealed may be revealed despite
the veil few tear – invite, festoon
lass lonesome on her honeymoon.
Between dark past and future flight
Cupid, Apollo, Aphrodite,
injustice remedy, dragoon
Fate’s darts, spite filled, to build pontoon,
surprise to catalyse, excite,
scene set for future hid from sight
till pattern pieces knit in tune.
Between dark past and future flight
some role reversals reunite
checks, balances, inopportune
risks which too haughty silver spoon
takes, greedy, - tides turn, pride indict.
Who, rich, Today would play and croon,
Tomorrow buries very soon.
Between dark past and future flight
sleep paints saint, social parasite,
in wavelengths rainbow may lampoon
for wage-slave, sage, or loon tycoon.
Blind bodies curled, bind whirl-swirled quite,
from youth uncouth, ungainly goon,
“to lean and slippered pantaloon.”
Between dark past and future flight
enchanting maid, heroic knight,
play out day’s doubt, - though beer saloon
may spur the bleary eyed to swoon.
Einstein’s ignored for much which might
influence an inner tune
or new create, decoding rune.
Between dark past and future flight
is vision sent meant to incite
destiny's spermatazoon
egged on by p[h]antomime cartoon?
Is insight drawn through second-sight -
though chance seems blind behind sin’s call
true dance dreams find combined in all.
(c) Jonathan Robin - Rhyme scheme after R.W. Answell
written 23 March 2005 and 29 November 2006 revised and expanded 14 April 2008.
For initial version and Answell see below
___________
Between dark past and future flight
Between dark past and future flight
the butterfly finds wings for flight
although within the spun cocoon
it knows not dawn from afternoon.
From morn till midnight we can learn
to seed born insight, harvest earn.
Thus to contentment very soon
sweet thoughts will bend, send sweeter tune.
Between dark past and future flight
trace space, expand and pace delight ~
although Fate now plays the buffoon
mocks efforts with uncoded rune.
As light, dark, rainbow’s ark do churn
fear nothing near yet nothing spurn,
for more than meets March eye in June
may blossom ~ anguish, heartache, prune, ~
for fears grow dim, soon tears do dry,
and Sandman grim can only sigh
when confidence and trust balloon,
scout out from dune to blue lagoon.
23 March 2005
Between the Sunset and the Sea
Between the gate post and the gate
I lingered with my love till late;
And what cared I for time of night
Till wakened by the watch dog’s bite.
And thud of leathering boxtoed fate
Between the gatepost and the gate.
Between the seaside and the sea
I kissed my love and she kissed me;
But rapturous day was gruesome night,
And what is love but bloom and blight?
And what is kiss of mine to thee
Between the seaside and the sea?
Between the sunshine and the sun
I saw a face that hinted fun;
But what is fun, and what is face,
When driven at life’s killing pace?
I simply say that I have none
Between the sunshine and the sun.
Between the bumble and the bee
Full many a soul has had to flee;
And what is love, may I enquire,
When asked to build the kitchen fire?
Or who would not leap in the sea
Between the bumble and the bee?
Between the tea store and the tea
There is a wide immensity;
A dollar twenty five a pound,
And not a nickel to be found.
Then what has fate in store for thee
Between the tea store and the tea?
R.W. ANSWELL
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Fears of a teenage mafioso
Fear of love,
Fear of pain,
Fear of the unforgiving cane,
Fear of lies,
Fear of sighs,
Fear of those distraught eyes,
Fear for the unknown,
Fear for the known,
Fear of everything combined,
Fear is what makes me blind,
Fear is what makes me think,
and act in blind accordance,
Hindering the world around me,
Hence, My Fear of myself
Fear is when you run away,
Fear is when you’re scared to love someone,
Fear is when the sky turns grey,
Fear of confusion,
Fear is like a dark blue ocean,
Fear won’t let me escape
Fear mocks me, watching
Fear taunts me, waiting
Fear of losing,
Fear you cannot see,
Fear dealt upon thee.
Fear of darkness and death,
Fear of a dead comrade,
Fear of a gun being cocked,
Fear of being endlessly stalked,
Fear of time,
Fear of all the crime,
Fear of the undesirable truth,
Fear for the good.
Fear for the sake of life,
Fear of the neighbors next door,
Fear of the secretive man in the subway,
Fear of the revolutionary uproar,
Fear is to not rejoice your living,
Fear for the sake of your life,
But to fear is to forsake it.
Fear is to have no hope in life,
Fear of the fear of fear,
We need no reason to fear,
For fear has no reason for itself.
I guess life is just like that,
To fear for no reason,
For to fear is not to reason,
But to reason is to fear.
To fear for the sake of fear,
Is fear for fear,
So let me think,
What else do I fear?
What else do I fear?
What else do I fear?
poem by David daveres
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you failed.....
When vision is blurred, you failed to see,
Movement restricted and world not free,
Whole world come to a grinding halt,
You seemed to think your actions are at fault,
There is straight principle which works silently,
Slight gain if you work and cheat conveniently,
Raise little to show you progress constantly,
Conscience not clear to show satisfaction instantly,
When success blinds and you see no further,
Take it as if you have lost vision together,
You may have vision but in fact blind,
Some force working from within and behind,
You may not like to see the reasons,
No change or alterations in seasons,
Only change if life style or thinking,
May push you forward in stage sinking,
Nothing will impress or deter,
No amount of persuasions alter,
You live in your own world,
Relations freeze as ice in cold,
You get beating at appropriate time,
You seemed to have everything as goal prime,
Suddenly it appears you are on decline,
Nothing goes well and out of line,
No one is obeying your command,
Unfair talks and unreasonable demand,
You are loosing grip and out of gear,
Unwanted things you are forced to hear,
This all leads to your imminent fall,
Powerful signals and immediate call,
Resist the temptation before it is too late,
Family may turn against and start to hate,
Nothing will go well at eleventh hour,
Flower may be there but without flavour,
All odds and nothing in favour,
No warmth in relation but completely sour
Success should not always blind,
Arrogance and pride should not bind,
Always compromise with nature mild,
Nature too mixing and approach kind
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Cui Bono
1.
Why should we care for storms that rave and rend,
Safe at our household hearth?
Unknowing whence we came, or where we wend,
Why should we ache and toil, and waste and spend,
Treading from no beginning to no end,
An uncrowned martyr's path?
2.
Is it worth while to suffer, when we might,
Like happier men, be blest
With that dull blindness that desires no light,
That peaceful soul that feels no need to fight,
Nor thirsts for liberty, and truth, and right,
But lives its life at rest?
3.
Is it worth while to work, and strive, and learn —
To sow where none may reap?
Is it worth while to rage, and fret, and yearn
For nameless treasure that we cannot earn?
Is it worth while in fever- fires to burn,
While wise men eat and sleep?
4.
Is it worth while to care for praise or blame,
This little time we live,
When purest deeds are oftenest put to shame?
To pant for noble strife and lofty fame,
When gold seems better than a stainless name,
Or all the world can give?
5.
Is it worth while for friendship's gift to sue,
For friendship's joys to crave?
When sordid tests, that bring us ruth and rue,
And sorrowful years, alone discern the clue
That tells us what is false and what is true,
And what we lose or save?
6.
To open wide our sanctuary door
Some welcome guest to greet,
To find, perchance, when we have shown our store,
The sacred places rudely trampled o'er,
Bereaved, profaned, and soiled for evermore
With tread of vulgar feet?
7.
Is it worth while to love — though love find grace
In our belovèd's sight?
To bear a restless heart from place to place,
Hungry for sight of one transcendent face,
That shines our central sun in azure space,
Or leaves our world in night:
8.
And, after all, to gain no more than this
At such a life- long cost —
A taste, a glimpse, the memory of a kiss,
A speechless sense of what diviner bliss,
That might have been, we have contrived to miss —
To know what love has lost?
9.
Is it worth while — O sadder fate! — to heed
The solemn chime that knells
The death hour of an immemorial creed —
A staff of strength become a broken reed —
And never friendlier help in time of need,
Nor surer guide, foretells?
10.
To heed the spirit- voice that bids us take
A strange new road alone;
From gentle slumber and sweet dreams to wake,
And hear the mighty billows boom and break —
The thunder of immortal seas that shake
The earth's foundation- stone?
11.
Is it worth while, so far away as we,
To long, in hope and dread,
For the great unborn Age that is to be —
To pine for light that we shall never see —
To care what course man's life and destiny
May take when we are dead?
12.
Is it worth while to toil in doubt and fear,
Through thorny ways like these,
When they who turn blind eye and heedless ear
To change and portent, and who see nor hear
The pregnant storm that gathers far and near,
Dwell all their days at ease?
13.
To leave the Good whereof we are possest,
To search, in gloom and grief,
Through pathless trouble, for some unknown Best,
And see no goal, and find no place of rest —
Is it worth while, on such a fruitless quest
To waste a life so brief?
14.
Is it worth while to wear out heart and brain?
Ah me, what must be must!
The maddening Mystery cannot be made plain,
And they who seek to solve it seek in vain,
Yet can but seek, in sleepless hope and pain,
Till heart and brain are dust.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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They Time Together - 0209
Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].
Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargos
which sundry woes accumulate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.
‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.
Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid_pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Avoid peer pressure, biased state,
narrow schemes which strangulate,
prepare tomorrow's merry go
round life's deep secrets penetrate.
Avoid time-traps that domino,
impenitent advance! World's weight
grounds wings which long to overthrow
travesties life imitate.
Should Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate,
Man limitations may outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(20 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wainwright’s Wheel’s Weal Rights Wane
WAINWRIGHT'S WEAL RIGHTS WANE
Though tales turn legends over time,
and myths begin when legends fade,
what part of myth with truth may rhyme,
what soul against sole feather weighed
may find past actions well repaid ?
When all’s said, done, deeds scarce sublime.
Life desert seems till time to go
with post deserted on the job,
far from youth's spinning vertigo
age makes do with conditioned lob,
cobber clobbered ends as slob
beneath Time's sands, tune dune blown woe.
Strife's tragedy, life's glory's reign,
dust rust as fractious fractal sand,
at dusk Time's Wheel still turns, refrain
falls dumb, numbs mice and mens' vain plan
to cheat Fate which, impassive, gain
and loss ignores for also-ran.
Those who chased harvest grains of gold,
and those who flung them on wold, waste
alike forgotten lie, tale told,
rot, bolt shot, sot and sage misplaced.
Six feet by four where two feet raced
through space unlimited: all cold.
Time's spinning wheel steals, never still,
while mortal pawns from stem to stern
turn through warp, weft, whose pattern will
gainsay those praying for return,
for second innings while they spurn
hands begging alms, yet rob the till.
Some find fame’s flame, some, lame, are lost
some simply tack or take up slack,
few certain feel, far more count cost
of one-way track, no looking back,
prepare for probate and attack
all who dare care for coming frost.
Unkind is almanack which notes
ephemera most prize a while:
birth, spousal celebration, oats
sown wisely, rashly, reconcile
to soujourner such short shrift trial
as Chance doles out before Death votes.
What beauty spot, forget-me-not,
thrive to survive beyond the grave ?
What tiny tot by love begot
recalls love’s thrall, may keepsake save
when Charon tall and short cross wave
has ferried sad or happy lot?
Care wears down, frown knows no soft down,
once zenith’s passed upon the way,
ahead, head proud, from loud crowd crown
in vain seeks, weakness follows play -
where are the snows of yesterday
when season terminates countdown?
Who flutters by in merry mood
soon food for worms squirms – early, late,
mean little to Fate’s scales. Reviewed,
days sentient seldom senses sate
while those incontinent berate
extensions often hard pursued.
Life’s causal chain again, again,
wheels out reel’s fitful roundabout,
redemption justified by pain
non sequitur seems, soul without
a leg to stand on’s found where doubt
is sold on one-way wagon train.
Wainwright’s weal wanes as dawn turns dusk,
from lease released, renewal’s tease,
recycling readies empty husk -
to devil sent priorities -
nor beads, sect screeds, nor title deeds
prolong life’s hymn for further busk.
26 February 2010
robi03_1966_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
Wainwright’s Wheel’s Weal Rights Wane poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Alcuin - 0293
Awhile pray pause who, passing by the way,
Lines cue, are fed into sped changeling's clay.
Can you spring from my fate what your's may be?
Unwound my clock, soon your's locked history!
In spite of this world's gifts, Time's ticks won't stay.
Now here, then there sped, bed from care carefree.
About my fads, what gads on you today,
Leaves cause to trace if grace was sad or gay?
Care you a fig? How long in memory,
Unused, space race of what Life was to me
In yours may stay, int-urned? All slips away.
No mor[t]al s[l]ips defy Eternity.
Awhile Bede's rosary I beaded, lay
Learning as priority, salvé!
Charlemagne advised and poetry
Unfettered formulated in my see.
Ideal 'truths held self-evident' decay,
Now mocked by some as mere apostasy.
Although some style me saint, to dry bones pray,
Let well alone! To your redemption pay
Complete attention free from falsity.
Unwarranted are myths through whose haze see
Insight of 'truth' to stem their own dismay,
Near teamed tears stream for yesterdays deemed key.
Avoid crass mediocrity, display
Less pride than tolerance, life's roundelay
Clipped short can't be rebought, rethought may be,
Urge surge repeat from peat. Cacophony
Is static silenced soon, life's bubble bray
Night stifles, casket covered carelessly.
Approach existence as poetic play
Link, ink, and think, don't sink, although you may
Chaos encounter, surface foam, froth, flee.
Untie knots individuality
Insists upon through fear of castaway.
Nudge fast past selfish immaturity.
Apart from withered spoon I sleep. Make hay!
Live for today, rank tyrants disobey!
Come dusk what husk explodes with energy
Unbounded by Time's set inconstancy?
Importance lies where wor[l]dy interplay
Nets little save self echo's breviary.
Against Time's tide none ride, leaves green today
Lack lustre, sapless soon, roll over play.
Creation calls destruction, mystery
Unendingly recycled, constantly
Insipid aftertaste, lost flavour, grey.
No favour sways fickle sickle's fealty
Alas! Ball questions not life's 'Yea and Nay',
Lets bounce pronounce directions for role play,
Checked, Chance advance swift mated, Fate's decree.
Useless to appeal, squeal 'gainst spiel's fee,
In debt all ultimately must repay,
Nature's 'jeux sont faits', recoups fling's spree.
'Are there still Gods who souls with feathers weigh? '
Life's stings some cling to - just for one more day.
Chance led my dance, the rest is best set free,
Unsightly glance, dust in dust locked. Agree!
If reply lies decoding D.N.A.
Nature's template still shrouds secrecy.
(30 April 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have you Really ever understood yourself?
Life is a journey of lessons
But we get lost in recess
on the way
Homework forgotten and neglected
far too much time
spent in play
We became followers and shirkers
Too lazy to put effort in
Where we could have made ourselves
brilliant
We just struggled with no depth within
Religion was made for the lazy
the ones who lost touch long ago
The Bible a book packed with lessons
that most of the world didn't know
A misunderstood work used in error
Wars caused through Man's ignorance
of the word
Left a world struggling in terror
long buried truth never heard
Religion was born out of fears
a lost time with nothing to hold
superstition was ripe and compelling
It caused man to become violent and bold
The truth is that man is but spirit
here on this earth as his school
a place where trial an error
have made religion the work of a fool
Spirit was given a place here
to have faith in a God it can trust
Believing in him is the answer
accepting this fact is a must
We need to get rid of religions
Cults that man now seeks for power
get back to the truth in our system
for this is the time and the hour
We have a mind so amazing
we can be anything that we think
without superstition and religion
our spirit fills with wisdom to the brink
Nothing holds back a true spirit
No religion or cult formed by man
Control by those people not Gods will
Certainly was not part of God's plan
Within us we hold all the power
That was given to us for our own
We just have to think it to receive it
The power of this not well known
Man may never learn his lessons
and have to return over again
but during the time of his schooling
he will have to start using his brain.
poem by Janice M Pickett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fragile Sum
Do we remember twice two hundred years
Ago the flow through which our genes descend?
None trace the way their ancestors would wend,
Spend time and rhyme before their vale of tears.
Life’s strife is trifle, rifled hopes and fears,
A fragile sum, soon dumb, blind to its end.
But ever Man will energy expend
In self-destruction, waste, hastes till Time clears
Memory’s slate – too late regret appears.
Empty our shell when race turns final bend: -
Dust through and into dust. We apprehend
Uncertain future. Here, today, Time wears.
TEMPus fugit, “why and wherefore” we
Shan’t find, behind bland smile we've lost hope's key.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Timely Rubaiyat
If outside in is spelled E.M.I.T.
and inside out spells T.I.M.E. fit
unto the day the evil thereof see
fit to a T however played one's wit.
But what to Time is 'inside' or is 'out'?
for Time's dimension both can do without,
vain signpost vane may spin now east now west,
crow heeds no fixed road stop sign roundabout.
Thus pride precedes greed's fall, Fate far and wide
Indicts Man's might, plight sets gleams' dreams aside.
Most confidence masks weakness, sorry schemes
Ensue, Time tables turns, spurns deals inside.
Vainglorious is immaturity,
gifts mirage mirror of futility
reflecting on societal concern
defining off and on in sanity.
Some comfort find vouchsafing certainty
though blind most minds before dark door they flee,
for insecurities behind bluff masks
still smack of shameless insincerity.
What hides behind Time's trap, no map may see,
few counter fate, discover guilt edged key
of "me and thee" when once behind its veil,
what will prevail, beneath what scrutiny?
Birth - berth, worth - earth, that sweet felicity
which flashed upon the page of Destiny
one little lifetime soon is swallowed up,
archive deleted from man's memory?
Time helter-skelter headlong spins, all's rush,
"I will survive! " slays others in the crush,
Merge, surge then splurge, urge on, and then strike-out,
Ephemeral applause drowned out by hush.
From alpha unto omega Time's hum
reels strange range wheels recycling all that come
first cry, last cry, lies die, then die's recast
as harmony seeks equilibrium.
Thrust's force attraction contradictions seeks
to overcome, Time's great equation's speaks
to recreate and recombine, stem cells
flux mustered, mastered, peaks, weak wanes, then reeks.
New cycles spin, unpin past wins, address
fresh challenges, evolve, adapt, contest
tired tenets, genes rewired, force fired set scene
for stranger change, to counter maladdresses.
No sense in dwelling on vast past success,
which in itself is source for future stress,
why break sound barriers that Time instills
teach reach, brake, sense retain? More may prove less!
Term prudence "safety"? Whore's short-term success.
Interests vested, spendthrift years contest,
Modus operandi, Time Time kills,
Each icon old fresh status quo divests.
Time's Tortoise, Man is fable's Hare, confined
in mortal contradictions which the mind
finds quite unhuman, taking what it gives
what lives soon undertaken, chaff to grind.
snide greed, pride, speed, soon overcome
Is it justice? Is it balance? Those ahead soon d[r]ead behind,
Making room through swift disposals for proposals less confined,
Express need for further testing, jesting, questing, inquest dumb.
Time, tempter and preemptor, auctions choice
as bubble-gum exploding, empty voice,
one generation fades away, one more
takes cue to strut as peacock and rejoice.
What cheers have penetrated great divide
between one era and the next? what guide
avoided asteroid explosion set
to make clean sweep of chatter and tongue-tied.
Time mutates, very speedily translates
as viral spiral gyral ices cake,
spliced monky to man key plan or grave mistake,
downsizing, soon induces second states
that pace race, trace select, until the past
fast buries past's repasts, idols outcast,
no ‘Ergo cogito' shows ‘sum' in store,
all dwindles in nothingness at last.
Time destroys its own foundations, rule of thumb
Leads ever onward, vicious spiral scrum,
where one way trip soon rips predispositions
without concession, tic-toc blocked, locked, dumb.
Intuition tunes to pattern ducts intelligence designed.
Mankind must forward press, and quickly, or its mainspring may unwind,
Ever onward, tripping, hasty, vicious forward spiral-scrum.
Time, true master of new master, swift may slave of slave become,
In a twinkling of an eyelid, with an inkling of the mind,
Most by wayside fall, and falling fail to rise, we seldom find
Each with grief reach silver lining welcome, wheel spins go and come.
Time, prestidigitator, spurns prestige,
sand grains drain, Time, replenished stands the seige,
when boom goes bust dust tomb entrusts low, great,
rebuilds from scratch big bang hatch, scorns vestiges.
Time's zenith ride descendant has prepared,
mutes bugle's rally cry round cause compared
to none as pendulum against itself is swung,
hung, drawn and quartered, preconceptions pared.
What footprints may be gleaned from sands of Time,
what idylls and what odysseys to rhyme
may be retained as in an amber bubble,
what climb, what fall, what forfeiture, what crime?
From timely opportunities some draw
conclusions which confusion turn when more
is known or shown of causal wheel or karmic churn
which burns or freezes, frieze all still ignore.
Time, excellent musician, drummer, drum,
is clay, pot, playful potter, part and sum,
fobs off mocked mortals puny pleas and adds
where it subtracts, leaves fiction, facts, both numb.
Evanescent, effervescent matrix grid,
vibrates through tuning fork in road well hid
from sight and insight, secret intertwined
with second-thoughts which time distorts unbid.
Time, both predator and dater, turns the bread
of life to crumbs, life's water ices, - sped
past hope for scope in halter's halted, while,
Time onward flies, belying time well fed.
Magician fly, man's pyramids remind
our power, pomp pain hour stomp, romp turns to rind,
blossom blows, Time, heedless flows, drip, drip,
pips toast at post, tips, slips, - grain grist to grind.
Time knows no evil, coeval is with all,
withal is none, as naught, both call, recall,
pride, fall, low, tall, slow, fast, at last remains
as silent witness, stage, play, box and stall.
Tempus fugit, Time is flying, soon we're dust,
is it dying? is it buying time? Earth's crust
plays little part forcasting lava flow
when time is up, it still observes, non-plussed.
'Festina lente', 'hasten slowly', Fate
may be amused when we'd anticipate
the way the dice is rolled a turn or two,
soon ticks off guilty temptor from gilt gate.
Trust intuition, method leads astray
where narrow will or shallow leads the way,
but channelled energy may help create,
not barter aim in mind for fame today.
Contract a link between 'pretend' 'extend',
where end to means is never means to end,
where current flow is revolts and study churn
though true solutions may seem round the bend.
Invention is extension catalyzed,
or role reversal, vistas reapprized,
what complicated seemed is later seen
as simple step towards a goal disguised.
Time's tide abides while mortal meets fate which
puts final touch to an unfinished stitch,
however phrased dust back to dust returns
spites ‘lame' excuses, game of toss and pitch.
Up tick, down toc, clock witnesses spring shoots
of causal arborescence, 'right', 'wrong' roots,
with hindsight show man unpreprepared
for Past and Future playing in cahoots.
Though rhyme and reason often are withheld
till time and season pass, their winter knelled,
true timing is essential where the mind
would tap the forces from tomorrow welled.
Who would evolve must choose from many doors,
each offers either fame or blame, doom draws,
each offers health or wealth, advance or pause,
must think the link between effect and cause.
What fame is, what is doom, though, who foresees?
What choice reject, what opportunities
take for, or take as, granted, who can tell?
Time twists or undertows the flows men seize.
What matters and to whom? What gravities
apply when anti-mater equals tease?
conundrums which a life-long paradox
entertains until all memories
are atomised upon a karmic breeze,
blown willy-nilly till, like honeyed bees,
they bumble on towards a homely hive,
they stumble on till patterns by degrees
from angles wide frame focus, offer keys.
For who between the lines can read, chalk, cheese,
discerns, the waft and weft of substance, learns
to draw the line dividing wood from trees.
Life's littleness "ist alles in die Welt",
mocks Man's ambitions, motivations melt
to watershed necrologies. Black crepe
with no escape whate'er regrets are felt.
Time's muzzle muffles boast, toast, day by day,
effects' and causes' subtle interplay
through life's incessant dream theme ebb and flow
efforts prove vain, love, pain, all's bubble bray.
None may control coincidence at play
flaking dates and energy away
while winter of our discontent's stop/go
spins into vertigo, then fades away.
Self-righteous say religion shows the way,
agnostics best of both worlds want, display
their reticence as sense, pretence as plus,
few atheists would haste to piper pay.
Most blow hot, cold, quit stage to sink unheard
before they even feel life's ripples stirred,
Time can't be reined, restrained, no string and bow,
sends arrow through entanglement preferred.
Why worry what tomorrow, if at all,
may offer, laughter share, spurning wailing wall,
each wakes one day, hopes hollow, probate proved,
few follow winding sheet, trump final call.
Time's telomeres may stretch, but sands of hope,
free ride from heyday ended, broken rope
recount lost time expended, ghost mirage,
no soft soap ever smoothes, naught soothes blind grope.
Bright spark, life's candle gutters, movements cease,
one cry, heart flutters, shutters, 'Rest in Peace! '
with no surcease, one sigh then curtains drawn
while legatees bread butter, fleece, apiece.
Youth's hopes are caught in Time's relentless vice,
what opportunity's repeated twice?
Life's joke's is on Creation's head, vibes jibed,
one innings leaves all after-thoughts to lice.
So grasp the moving finger as it writes,
wait not on Time, tune tide to timing, flights
of fancy twin with opportunity
which may not seed again. Feed dream delights!
These rhymes hold no bonanza, moral plum,
Time's trick wick tireless flickers, static hum
moves forwards egg and chicken parsec plot
as we, time-stricken, quicken final strum.
(24 October 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In_Finite Terms - 0987
Eternity in sand grain signed
spans time in rhyme that, here, needs bind
through more than thirty lines assigned
to blossom fair [h]our prose aligned.
Perceptions springing from the mind
leave toils and troubles far behind,
discover karmic scope designed
to open vistas well inclined.
Societal design supposes
though Earth is not a bed of roses
adaptation interposes
evolving fixed-line blind proposes,
to steer change, range beyond laws Moses
exposed. Insight metamorphoses
closed-mind comfort zone life shows is
mirage mirror. All transposes.
Wide world, or vision narrow held
as crutch confronting harsh fate knelled,
too often interface is held
to preconceptions neatly spelled.
Perception cannot be compelled
to toe the line, fine print upheld,
must seek holistic outlines, meld
both seen, unseen, from naught withheld.
Yet few dare challenge paradox,
or view life from outside cant box,
and many fear, when door unlocks,
free choice, will shiver in their socks,
when faced with options seen as blocks,
complain about their starting-blocks,
call into question how life's clocks
seem overtime to run hard knocks.
Without self-knowledge who can judge
events, relationships, and budge
responding not reacting, sludge
discard, draw trumps, yet not begrudge
chance dance elsewhere, who need a nudge
to measure, pleasure, not prejudge
each unexpected, sundry smudge.
Self-confidence prerequisite
remains permitting cap to fit
while blinker free and insight lit
must motives meld both sense and wit.
Care not for sects too tightly knit,
which come with some predestined kit
to offer strictures roast on spit
which turns around redemption's writ.
When life's soft tick flicks swiftly by
when fête holds sway old Time must fly
'and not a cloud obscures the sky'
why worry, pleasure now deny?
For joys tomorrow soul soars high.
True, some are smitten, springs run dry,
yet few heed inner warning cry.
to mist dimiss, wave Time goodbye.
Fate may be written, it may lie,
behind the veil is passing sigh,
more is assumed in store so why
seek answers which no gold can buy.
For, if there's more, hope cannot die,
if nothing, then why worry, high
and low in turn their fate defy,
then wave forgot sink twixt sea, sky.
Life's transience, quite underrated,
too rarely seems appreciated
as if the spirits, once elated,
could keep their thrust unmitigated.
What lies beyond the tombstone dated
has never been elucidated, -
though many have prevaricated
redemption offer unabated.
Yet dances led, with lead unweighted,
quickstep through life, Death unawaited.
Why worry if the dice are weighted
with finite term anticipated?
Perception closely seems related
to actions oft anticipated
by intuition which, unsated,
seeks 'more' before true core is stated.
When Time speeds up and hell-for-leather
is pressured onwards, storm tossed feather.
how drear each day to wonder whether
tomorrow's game we'll play together!
Ignored too often altogether
are ice-burst pipes in balmy weather,
or sacrificial goat on tether,
when life's free run on hill, vale, heather.
Dim is victim's prescience
despite disaster's imminence,
secure perception complements
self-satisfaction's arguments.
Men draw their sense of permanence
from self-supporting evidence
behind life's surface comforts whence
much is drawn, save diffidence.
Life's patterns in advance may churn
a warning aura we discern
through experience, concern,
here cause, effect, respect must earn
before anxieties return
to haunt, to taunt, or bridges burn.
Life's patterns in advance who turn
to true advantage, all peace yearn.
Unwise who'll sapless, saphead, spurn
the hints that candles one can't burn
at both ends long. Yet each must learn
alone wheels turn. Urn soon we earn.
How much of man's self-confidence
is self-sustaining self-defence,
a mechanism fear prevents
although at prudence's expense.
The coin cards of coincidence
that noise to others represents,
turn to advantage, making sense
of elements which signs dispense
which seed the sentiment events
may be controlled as 'whither' 'whence'
seem linked by dream intelligence
that lasts although we're hurried hence.
When cloud free shines the morning star
dawn's rose grows gold, presumes too far,
as if no shadow near or far
could compromise success, could jar,
could ever dowse life's vital fire,
as if, once launched, the poet's lyre
could chant forever and inspire,
nor bore nor jaw resentful ire.
Man's pride still heeds the siren call
till morn when free flight turns free fall.
that day one lesson learns, - that small
sweet seems to gleam when night threats all.
Perceptive insight should withal
ignore snobs, mob's pedestrian brawl,
innately find the wherewithal
to scribble, scrawl transcend, soothe squall.
Then narrow the circumference
of independence seems, intense
the pressure, the predicaments,
when arguments can't influence,
invalidate or overturn,
decisions others would confirm,
when former freedoms won't return
to light horizons dim and tern.
Those who rely on providence
too soon may find at their expense
that everlasting affluence
rhymes rarely with experience.
There is no 'Ave' no 'Marie',
no Eden for eternity.
Perjured who would guarantee
eternity's hours in houri spree.
There is no golden throne and grand
when falls life's last coarse grain of sand
[the spectre of reign's written hand
of course reins in things out of hand].
There's no white rabbit, magic hat,
no second innings where the bat
defies Time's ball. When that is that!
dreams of karmic streams fall flat.
When Fate's hand, tricked and trumped, turns black
dark Present weighs, no turning back
to glories past. When cares attack
fair opportunities all lack.
Reflect! Each given day completed
is stay of execution greeted
before fell final judgement meted
when hope for fair appeal's defeated.
Reflect! What future radiance shines
For anyone beyond life's lines?
Enjoy today! The Present signs
itself, as Cause Effect aligns.
Perception balance interjects
between life's toil and trouble wrecks,
and wishful thinking, thus respects
both fear and fancy, trust elects,
reality and dreams connects,
defensive phalanx e'er rejects,
creating vision true, inspects
both fact and fiction circumspect.
How the above our verse affects
to stay on course, spurn side-effects
distracting which the truth neglects
stems from internal balance, checks,
soul-song which laziness deflects
to order thought that naught infects.
Creative wells leave most perplex,
write which 'mots justes' with ease selects.
One could expound till time and tide
see mankind taken for a ride,
let this short essay thus abide
as introduction to provide
an insight into vision tied
to sentiments that coincide
with heart's intelligence allied
unto vocabulary wide.
(2 April 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stitch in Time Out - 209
Strange seems the search of maids for mates
when common cause from friends forms foe
replacing with estrangement, hates,
what once seemed blessed above, below.
Familiarity dissipates
romance, contempt breeds, lines won't toe.
Distance links lonely souls who so
imagine they anticipate
complicity which bliss could sow
once twinned together. Yet the wait
itself can contribute to grow
that rancid turns when when what seemed glow
afar fools' gold's found far too late.
Where ignorance seems bliss, minds sow
en empathy that knows no date.
Fête alters after altar's fait
accompli bares the rotten row
of base betrayal where two skate
on thin ice, gleaning harvest fallow,
can't compromise or clear the slate.
Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Is distance space defined as though
smiles miles may somehow compensate
when common cause, innate laws glow,
when minds find matter dissipates,
until 'reality's' undertow
waves goodbye when two create
a fantasy of belle and beau
that swiftly may evaporate
when faced with fact as fiction's dough
can't rise to ope occasion's gate.
Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]ow.
Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargoes
which sundry woes accumulate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.
‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.
Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Avoid peer pressure, biased state,
narrow schemes which strangulate,
prepare tomorrow's merry go
round life's deep secrets penetrate.
Avoid time-traps that domino,
impenitent advance! World's weight
grounds wings which long to overthrow
travesties life imitate.
Should Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate,
Man limitations may outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(6 March 2011)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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