Hell
Hell
Hell is where
flower fair
is pictured
in pitcher
rather
than in the
arms of our
Earth mother.
Finer
free from fear
© Jonathan Robin 4 January 1970
Hell_19700104_Hell is where flower fair ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0002_robi3_0000 XXX_MXX
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0002_robi3_0000 XXX_MXX Hell_Hell is where flower fair
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Someone’s Daughter
Her mouth is coarse, her lipstick vulgar,
pearl glasses wide as any saucer,
her dress is dark as nakèd night,
her hair is in a sorry plight! -
Enough! - she too’s life’s brick and mortar,
and, flesh for flesh, is someone’s daughter.
© Jonathan Robin 15 January 1969
Someone's Daughter_19690115_Her mouth is coarse ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0001_robi3_0000 XXX_MXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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What Is, Was
WHAT IS, WAS
What is, was, what was, will be, -
The wheel turns while Time cheats
Those who'd cheat time.
5 September 1998
What is Was_19980911_What is, was, what was, will be ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi03_0886_robi03_0000 XXX_CJZ
Poem What Is, Was © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Retrospective of an Honest Man - after Clark Stillman
RETROSPECTIVE OF AN HONEST MAN
By night: fight, flight
quite out of sight.
By day: mayday
in way on site,
blight; bite, spite, slight.
Payday: heyday
way O.K. … right?
Tight, slight respite.
6 January 2010
Parody Clark STILLMAN 1905_1995 Autobiography of an honest man
6 January 2010
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi03_1945_stil01_0001 PWX_JLX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN HONEST MAN
During the night
I was out of sight;
During the day
I was in the way.
STILLMAN Clark 1905_1995
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllllllllllllllllll
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Suspendancy
Suspendancy
Pendant pictures often hang askew
as if, personnified, they knew
most artists’ channelled tunnel view
is t[a]inted travesty seen through
perspectives missing rendez-vous
currrent observers’ key into.
Art is becoming ambigu,
bears tenuous relation to
contemporary contexts – true
and false corkscrew as red, green, blue,
suffice no longer, out of cue
compared to wave-length capture new
afforded by enhanced retinal cones
to ultra-violet spectrum sensor zones
22 April 1978 revised 11 March 2009 robi3_0154_robi3_0000
previously entitled Painted Pictures for previous version see below
Suspendancy_19780422_Pendant pictures often hang askew ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0154_robi3_0000 SXX_MXX
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0154_robi3_0000 SXX_MXX Suspendancy_Pendant pictures often hang askew
Painted Pictures
Painted pictures, pendant, all-askew: -
as if their absent owners somehow knew
that every artist’s airy-fairy view
is but a t[a]inted travesty! - Untrue?
22 April 1978
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Threescore years and Ten
Threescore years and Ten
October’s moon is wane,
May’s sun may not be here:
how many Springs remain
my weary way to cheer?
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0020 4 November 1974
The Sage’s Response to the Septuagenarian
How many earthly empires
the circling sun must set?
Friend, hast felt of love fires?
Mere mortal smile, why fret?
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0021 4 November 1974
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Sage’s Response to the Septuagenarian
The Sage’s Response to the Septuagenarian
How many earthly empires
the circling sun must set?
Friend, hast felt of love fires?
Mere mortal smile, why fret?
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0021 4 November 1974
Threescore years and Ten
October’s moon is wane,
May’s sun may not be here:
how many Springs remain
my weary way to cheer?
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0020 4 November 1974
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Reasons
REASONS
If all the world were sparkling sun,
and all well finished once begun,
then I would wish upon a dream
with you as Queen, play perfect team.
If every bat could score home run,
if mice and men could plan their fun,
if every sparkle held a gleam
to light true thinklings till they teem,
If skies were blue, if banned were gun
if wonder, too, though shared eyes shone,
then hand in hand we would redeem
lost time and rhyme with flowing scheme.
But time and tide alas adds care
and age turns gravewards flower fair,
so show more reasons why I should
as squire dreams fire through ill and good?
Can brand new world new words prepare?
Will there be space to 'stop and stare'?
rare faith in flight where man, maid might
scare wraith, sin, blight, prayer scan, braid light?
January 19 2007
robi03_1578_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
Poem © Jonathan Robin Reasons
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Eleven
ELEVEN
Eleven, eleven, eleven years old,
intrepid, courageous, becomingly bold,
awaiting the whistle to aim at the goal,
youth victory snatches to go for the gold.
Eleven in yellow, eleven in blue,
first warm up, then face out, they know what to do,
team practice their axis extended, each soul
feels ready, steels steady, heart heady, on cue.
Eleven enthusiasts, courage extolled,
engage without rage on the field that has told
long tales of hopes met or defeats swallowed whole,
on one ball all focus as onwards its rolled.
Eleven, eleven, well matched, tackle through,
a game which enflames passions partisan, true,
team work all important as each knows the role
to play so the day stays as record all view
Rupert Kensho Robin Le Saux written Chateaugiron 23 October 2006
robi03_1457_robi03_0000 XXX_MXX
Eleven poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Conception of Contraception
Had I been taught the facts of life
before I met my charming wife,
it seems unlikely most to me
we’d see in two years babies three.
© Jonathan Robin 23 July 1974 robi3_0010_robi3_0000 19740723
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Missionary
MISSIONARY
Day dawning,
fresh morning,
see the bright sun sending rays of light!
Stop yawning,
cease mourning,
be the bright son, mending ways of life!
13 April 1975
robi03_0079_robi03_0000 XXX_MXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Foreclosure
Fleeting complicity
meeting adversity
depleting prosperity
deleting electricity.
Defeating rime
completing rhyme:
anthropocentricity.
© Jonathan Robin 21 September 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Pevolution
Pathways towards parthenogenesis
though today’s Science Fiction may seem,
tomorrow shall channel - no pen*s is
indispen[i]sable, that’s a pipe dream!
© Jonathan Robin 23 August 1991 revised 12 October 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Surf..fing
Should quantum froth be found to correspond
to energy renewable released
my man-maid magma sloughing off despond,
survival of the fittest's moving feast
would surge out from its sub primeval pond
through urge to merge on higher planes till, ceased,
time's tide: round robin's ride beyond beyond...
[c] Jonathan Robin written 16 June 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Standing Out for the Outstanding
An hour, pretty flower, I’m agreed for,
a night, what delight beyond dreams!
a week would be bliss I would bleed for,
a month might be magic, it seems.
But a year, Dear, is more than I’d plead for,
though the hope for osmosis still gleams:
for longer, - as yet I’m not keyed for
although Love bright and bravely now beams.
to capture each rapture and encore,
if encore there be - how Time streams! -
and if I be THE one you would breed for
why not tarry a tide, b[r]ide as teams?
(Initial poem previous title A_Greed 5 June 1992 © Jonathan ROBIN
Parody revised 4 May 2005 as collaborative ring 43 contributions)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Investment Apology
Investment Apology
In this air I do aspire
to appeal and make aware, -
Allah answer all anger -
else ague appear and attract ire
Bait can but bate the buyer!
Brokers must the market bear,
bidding board while bulls be bear,
blare is bare and boars betire.
Why cry the creator’s choir?
Calm your coma, clear your care!
Come, seek and call the cover.
Can still the chartists’ charts inquire!
Dost dearly dollar desire?
Dabbler dare, don’t disappear, -
dealer’s drear or in despair,
His strait’s dire, his coffer drier.
Fear a further fall to fire?
That your future fare be fair
find a fella full of flair,
full of feel for a fine flier.
Th’institutional investor,
out of gear, he tears his hair.
Interest rates round here I hear
High, hint heavily hunt higher.
The alphabet is far too long
to continue this careless song,
so here’s to hope, and let us pray
tomorrow brings a brighter day.
19 June 1974
Paris Parley Parle_19740607_The Market today could go either way ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0007_robi3_0000 XXX_JXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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One May Write With Forked Tongue
ON written ciphers you depend
EMit and then amend your speech,
AYe, there's the rub for when I teach
WRit long till generations' end
IT will run true, no falsehood rend.
Echoes base pale face - white leach -
WIll suck to meanings change to beach
THe sense when times upon fresh bend
FOrwards embark or backwards trend
Refuting fair traditions. Each
Knows Time revenge exacts to reach
EDitions new that few defend.
TONe tribal sends reviving stream
GUEst welcomes with true story's gleam.
(c) Jonathan Robin - acrostic sonnet One May Write With Forked Tongue written 14 January 2007
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Stringing A long and short of it
Skelton
dealt on
terse taut
verse taught
strung list
tongue twist
fast rhyme
last time
[th]ink sends
wink ends
[c] Jonathan Robin 8 skeltonics written 8 June 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Monkeying
Where women of worth, true, have ever been rare,
men rarer than rubies are, so it would seem,
mankind might to monkey return - fair is fair -
to try once again to accomplish God's dream
of a race whose trace shines as ace team.
(18 April 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Even in Sleep
Even in sleep she seeks his finger
as if, nursing its tumescence within the palm of her hand,
she could extend the intimacy of intimacy...
© Jonathan Robin – written 10 April 2001
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Answer Lies... or... The Answer Lies?
Frustration's shadow fades not as moon rises,
but open heart prepares for fair surprises,
dream scenes encounter reconciliation
between hopes, - for self-fear's no consolation
as coffee cups can all too soon turn cold,
and golden hues nerves spurn turn silver old.
The answer, lies discarding, finds what wise is
seems metamorphosis, winged nymph arises
to shed protection's superficial station,
to touch NOT think superlative sensation,
Energies, rechannelled, warmth enfold
but bubble thoughts true sentiments withhold...
(c) Jonathan Robin - written 9 April 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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