Introductions 0167
Intelligence with instinct should unite,
Nor compromise, nor seek presumptious reign,
To speed-link poet to true fancy's flight.
Reject this rede, all industry is vain.
Outlaw all superficial sketches trite,
Draw joy if joy, if sad, etch inner pain.
Uncertainty can't humour or delight.
Create an atmosphere whose inky skein
Tight winds round reader, s[h]ifting wrong from right.
Ideas conveyed suggest in language plain
Outline he or she completes as write
New insights offers, no need to explain.
To this love's labour, harmony ensure,
Sonnet writes itself, and may endure.
If healthy symbiosis we sustain,
No effort should be spared, by day, by night.
Try to improve, not prove, harsh words soon wane.
Revise, resize, help reader see the light
Offer hints, instruct and entertain,
Draft and redraft, with care craft, brain finds flight,
Unleashed imagination, hidden lain,
Can rise from hibernation, latent quite
To share, prepare layer after layer, thus train
Inner evolution. Do not indict
Or censure pass, or censor soul's refrain,
Nor unduly influence outright.
Through form may free verse learn to grow true, show
Flow whose rich rhyming interplay may glow.
(18 January 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Anthology Prepared
His wish was wit with wisdom well to wed
within an epigram, - he found instead
some thought slight wit was there and that was slight,
he witless seemed to others, lacked insight.
He kept in sight their criticism there,
and kept from sight verse, parodies hors pair,
for some insipid seemed, rose-water, trite, -
but then began to fly another kite.
He pruned, he tuned, communed, was often led
to pulp the offspring fond that Time had bled,
until the flow could sew in framwork tight
both harmony and sense, in fancy’s flight.
For the first time he’s spurred to offer fare, -
incisive works beyond the critics’ care,
will cast no anxious glance to who’d indict
with bark or bite the verses seen tonight.
Dust swept by one who sought to look ahead,
through Internet a reputation spread, -
but what is fame, a lighthouse in the night,
a passing beam before eternal night...
May this collection transcend Time the slayer,
to challenge finite ends is poet’s prayer.
May this selection stimulate, invite
reflection, humour, pleasure bright.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Nada Mas (only the poem)
Reader, your voice is the poem
you are the words; and
nothing more.
Reader, there is no poetry
unless you speak it.
Reader, there is no sound
you must find what it has to say.
Reader, seek the thought
rising from your soul.
Reader, look all about you, up and down
no one else has come this way.
Reader, there is no other poem
only you among the words of the word; and
nothing more.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Our Swiftest Speed
OUR SWIFTEST SPEED
Our swiftest speed shall seed rebirth rich which
Untangles present woes, flows, grows and glows
Responding to united aims grand, sows
Shared understanding, sings of wings which hitch
WInds' destiny beyond lock, gate, or ditch.
Far stars draw near, what seemed dream now we know
That harmony grey clouds dissolves, may show
Each reach extends, heartwrending trends mends. Rich
STream forward surges, wards off cares, hands stitch
Seamless serendipity, shall show
Place, time, need, feed no meaning, Cupid's bow
Empathy bestows that spurns sales' pitch.
Enchantment links [s]he thinks to ink delight,
Desire's twinned fires unite for future flight
30 April 2009 Acrostic Sonnet Our Swiftest Speed robi03_1888_robi03_0000 ASX_LKX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
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Seeing a Clearer Me
layer by layer
i peel so that
like a glass
you can view me
crystal clear as a virgin river
a polished diamond
decades of
practice for those
seasoned fingers
to strike at her core
to bring out those few
beethoven scores
he tuned up the world for
a great watch maker
filing his cog to tighten time
the precision of mind
to keep a universal lie at bay
verse by verse
layer by layer
i peel to get to
the sheen the almighty
laid hidden in me
layer by layer
i peel off the world
to see a clearer me
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Mined Visions
MINED VISIONS
Mind’s eye perceptive pierces through
An environment mundane,
Untrammelled rebounds, chromatic cue
Draws from echo source refrain.
Enhanced dimensions jump cold queue
Create sensations soul sought, knew
One harmony spins win/win gain.
Resplendent whole all parts retain.
Mind’s majestic vista view
Ad infinitum, goal attained,
Untethers timeless spirit to
Defy horizons, frontiers vain.
Exciting multicoloured hue
Combines to recombine anew
Old obstacles disdained,
Reviving hopes, soothes pain.
Multi-modal vision blue
Allies with orange, turquoise stain,
Ultra violet read green grew
Deep vibrating wave-bands, brain
Enchantment rediscovered, true
Correction for hoar stress and strain,
Overcoming acts askew,
Revealing fractal revels’ reign.
More visions fantastic curlicue
Amplify and entertain
Unbound osmosis overdue,
Delight which, rich, won’t ever wane
Each entity entire, eased pain,
Charm calms fears, hears voice tender, true
One all IS all, with nothing vain
Rued naught, love nurtures ‘we in you’.
Most vital, passions whirlwind through
Affection’s open avenue
Unite as one souls which seemed two,
Despise vain race most men pursue.
Enthusiastic avenue
Contradictions answers to
Offer flesh bloom, groom flesh debut.
Repudiate space/time traps too.
Magnetic mental rendezvous
Affords an opportunity
Unmet before, again none knew.
Desire whose flash fire Fate’s winds blew,
Emotion’s notions motions to
Crush any egotistic vein.
Outright refuses as taboo
Rules rigid, claw laws sovereign.
Mundanity of parvenue,
All those who needlessly complain,
Unlightly are to cue into
Delight that, dawn to counterpane,
Enlightens understanding true,
Creates shared energy none train
Or curb, divert from aim, subdue,
Retract or alter fusion.
Mid life’s harsh strife equation new
Adds two makes one. None need explain
Unique attachment none may feign.
Desert blossoms as love’s reign
Engenders Eden fruitful few
Could ever imagine, ever obtain.
Oasis instincts karmic knew
Replaces desert’s tempest train.
Mountains into molehills grew
As love’s call prospered, all seemed plain,
Unclouded and transparent, drew
Divinity that must remain
Essential as Earth’s daily dew,
Converting mortal cobweb chain
Of grey strands past, transforms dull hue.
Renascent incremental gain.
Most magic music, mirrored view
Amalgamates notes’ pitch pure strain
Unequalled in Earth’s reeled tatoo.
Doubts dispelled, fears quelled amain.
Enigmatic magma spew
Coagulates as diamond rain
Outside experience hitherto:
Real bliss kiss nothing can constrain.
10 February 2009
robi03_1855_robi03_0000 AXX_LXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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From Ink to Inklings
FROM INK TO INKLINGS
From ink to inklings visions flow
to stitch life's tapestry and sow
seeds which obscurity reject
as search for light owes slight respect
to monochromes which seldom show
more than man thinks he needs to know
or throw as viewpoint to reject
the inklings others' inks project.
So when one writes on rags to glow
upon a screen ensure thoughts throw
no jealous shadow yet protect
true principles few should forget.
Concluding couplet signs a smile
to mystic storm's intense sense style.
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 27 December 2006
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See also:
Ink Links Inklings robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX 20081228
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Ink Links Inklings
Ink from inklings flows
weaving tapestry,
understanding grows,
rejecting falsity.
Monochromatic glow’s
innate harmony
kaleidoscopic shows
serendipity.
Image imago
instantaneously
enlightenment bestows,
imagination free.
Impressions’ unity
scorns ambiguity.
See also:
From Ink to Inklings 20061227
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 28 December 2008
robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
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poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ink Links Inklings
INK LINKS INKLINGS
Ink from inklings flows
weaving tapestry,
understanding grows,
rejecting falsity.
Monochromatic glow’s
innate harmony
kaleidoscopic shows
serendipity.
Image imago
instantaneously
enlightenment bestows,
imagination free.
Impressions’ unity
scorns ambiguity.
See also:
From Ink to Inklings 20061227
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 28 December 2008
robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
FROM INK TO INKLINGS
From ink to inklings visions flow
to stitch life's tapestry and sow
seeds which obscurity reject
as search for light owes slight respect
to monochromes which seldom show
more than man thinks he needs to know
or throw as viewpoint to reject
the inklings others' inks project.
So when one writes on rags to glow
upon a screen ensure thoughts throw
no jealous shadow yet protect
true principles few should forget.
Concluding couplet signs a smile
to mystic storm's intense sense style.
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 27 December 2006
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
See also:
Ink Links Inklings robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX 20081228
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Providential Piece
Song of my soul, soul of song,
long to belong to true beau,
strong where most, weak, string along,
short to wrong conquer and, oh!
Hope for new scope, scope for hope,
never a bye line to toe,
rope with no strings, wings which cope
with winds of change strange, far range, so
dawn of my dawn she became,
fame of shared flame through time's flow,
drawn thorn as newborn glows game's aim,
name of my name who'll rhymes sow.
Bride to abide through the years,
tears clears, cheers as fearful fears go,
far and wide side by side soon appears
for hope nears when heart steers Cupid's bow.
Light of my light shines fair muse
whose views offer cues to bestow
bright blessings no wight could confuse,
clues choose to ignore or loose, glow
fires faith which aspires through tuned lyre
to translate runes ballooning to show
desires which inspire more desire,
enthuse, offer boon zephyr blow.
Waft of my weave I believe
receiving achieves to and fro
unsparing free sharing, two cleave
to each other, discover plateau
untouched and unsmutched for none grieve,
minds leave much behind more to know,
much more as two cores interleave
than first found as obbligato.
Flight through insight to delight
metamorphosis few undergo,
bright star once afar turning night
into day which all pray apropos.
HEART which HE ARTfully writes,
SHE ALl HEALS to unseal joy's chateau,
rite rightfully cited incites
an urge to merge, surge, long ago
foreseen to be queen, reconcile
surface smile with sacred undertow,
rile, bile, soothing to guileless beguile
while sentiments soft overflow.
Find mind behind features sublime
refusing narrow status quo
refusing to mime p[h]antomime,
all acknowledge respect none forego.
Links my pen inks trace their source,
course, and force, as above and below
in story on[e] glory discourse,
never coarse, no remorse ever know.
Dawn of my dawn she'll remain,
never wane, prove joys vain - sun and snow
come and go, she alone, once again
it is plain, easing pain, wards off woe.
Providential piece could reel out
more praise to the envy of time,
but you, reader, must out and about,
go in peace, we'll release you from rhyme.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Song Of A Rhyming Man
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
This modern verse too much for me it's way above my head
Though modern poets are now the rage and Rhyme is with the dead.
I love the sound of rhyming words, I love the verse that rhyme
To blank or free or non rhyme verse prefer it every time
And there's many who will disagree and most will say I'm wrong
But give me ballad or rhyme verse or good old rhyming song.
You may say I am limited and with you most will agree
That I'm not into modern verse of twenty first century
But I've been an old style rhyming man since nineteen seventy three
And I am in my sixties now and there's no changing me.
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
And I am guilty of no sin and I can't see no crime
In liking sound of rhyming verse and loving words that rhyme
poem by Francis Duggan
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Being A Poet
I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.
Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.
At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.
If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.
There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.
I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.
Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.
In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.
With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.
Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Inscription from Free Verse Free - 1548
Read rare response in script alliteration
Ease of flow's quintessence with insight
Sharing sows, - no picayune tune blight,
Or spilt ink despite modernization,
Nor undecided prose pose-pour oration.
As mannequins, lines anorexic quite
Try vers libre leaf on verse tree's bright delight
Each unaware in French 'vers' true translation
Shows 'stripped' 'line' 'worms' 'to', 'at', 'round' 'verse' narration.
Concentrate as resonate wor[l]ds light
Resplendent in their story's glory's flight,
Ideas spin through this contest dedication.
Pictures metaphorical employ
Threads, word bank rich, in stitches this enjoy.
(2 January 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Vision
Vision perceptive pierces through
Environment mundane,
Reaches out - chromatic cue,
Opens [re]sourced refrain.
New dimensions jump the queue
In harmony again,
Create sensations soul once knew
Amazed intact again.
Vistas gigantic offer view
Endless, each goal attain,
Revive a spirit timeless to
Old obstacles disdain.
No mono – multicoloured hue
In all IS all, - naught vain,
Combines and recombines anew
And music turns each strain.
Visions fantastic curlicue
Enchantment entertain, -
Response within long overdue,
Osmosis rich won’t wane
Nor suffocate the we in you
In egoistic vein.
Calm karmatic, tender, true
Allows equation new.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Integration 1020
Much latent warmth may finally appear,
Affording understanding, shedding care.
Remove despair, share sunshine everywhere,
Ice melts although sharp winter seems so near.
As dreams evolve within, horizons clear,
Heart opens out, no doubt on Earth is there.
Others often stumble on life's stair
Refuse self-trust, show superficial cheer,
Avoiding wings to sing, to bypass fear.
Knife double-edged, intelligence, friend fair,
Offers perspective open-ended, rare,
Values questions, questions values here
Awareness stimulates mind which would grow
May integrate emotional flow.
(4 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Praise of a Sonnet
(this is not a true sonnet)
A sonnet, in classical form a charm
soft as sun dawn, it wakens spirit love
calling you, wanting you, it takes your arm
and whisks you away on wings of a dove.
There it holds you with its perfect meter
lullabying with it’s iambic tone.
Nothing does compare or could be sweeter
than the dance of love as poets have shown.
So take my hand and let us dance today
with these magic words penned so long ago.
We shall taste them, taste them without delay,
so succulent it makes our souls to glow.
A sonnet, lovingly given… hold tight
As dawn’s first light makes your spirit take flight.
Faces and layers of faces
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thirteen
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eye to Eye
A poet with an artist’s eye
can conjure words to set the scene.
Then with the words that he’ll supply
his reader feels as though he’s seen.
The same scene which the poet saw
Draws on his own experience
of things that he has seen before
though it makes little difference.
The message that the poet sent
is perhaps not the one received
The reader senses the intent
and finds the poem well conceived.
The picture which the reader gets
is the scene his own mind sets
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Freedom. Ivorian sonnet
Because some people disagree
about the rules of poetry.
There’ll always be some argument.
Nobody can define the rules
which leads to widespread discontent.
Some cannot understand it seems,
that every poet has the right.
To choose the way they share their dreams
in any form they choose to write.
I say each poet should be free
to write the way they want to write.
In metered verse with rhyming schemes
or try some new experiment.
No one can dictate how you write.
Wednesday,16 June 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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