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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The Bear and the Hare
The bear is always bare. I have never seen a bear who was not bare. Or does he or she wear a coat of hair? Where does he or she go to buy a coat of hair so that he or she won't be a bare bear? Coats cost money. Bare bears have no money.
But bears eat honey. Even bare bears eat honey. And this bear had a honey who wanted a coat of hair. So when she said to her honey, 'Honey, I want a coat of hair, but I have no money.', her honey replied, 'Honey, I have no money to buy a coat of hair. But I do have honey. Maybe I can sell my honey for money.' So he sold his honey for money so that his honey could have some money to buy a coat of hair and not be a bare bear.
This bear had a friend who was a hare. This hare has hair. Is he bare? He is not a bare bear but a hare and hares have hair. But he is a funny bunny and likes a sunny spot even when it is hot because he like to have fun in the sun. But this funny bunny could not find a sunny spot to go to have fun in the sun until one day a fair came to town.
The bear and hare of course went to the fair. What a pair! The fair was quite far so the bare bear and the hare with the hair decided to ride the street car. To ride the street car, they had to pay a fare. I say that was quite an affair - to see the bare bear and the hair paying for their fare. The bare bear had no pockets in which to carry any fare. The funny bunny had no honey to sell to get some money to pay the fare so that he could go to the fair. The fare cost ten cents. But that makes no sense. It isn't fair to make a bear who is bare and has no pockets to hold a fare or a funny bunny who has no honey to get money to pay a fare to go to the fair.
Subsequently, the bare bear barely got on the street car after the funny bunny hopped on, the bare bear and the hair were there sitting in chairs riding in the street car to the fair without paying any fare. Along the way they saw a mare. They did not care about the mare. They wanted to get to the fair. Have you every seen a bare bear sitting in a chair? I once saw a bare bear sitting in a chair at a fair but he wasn't bare.
To get into the fair the bare bear and the hair had to pay another fare. And still the bare bear had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. And the funny bunny had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. So what did they do? How did they get into the fair? As I said, I saw the bare bear sitting in a chair at the fair but he wasn't bare.
Tell me if this is a poem. Thanks.
poem by Ben Gieske
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Paris Parley
Stockarket today
may trend either way,
will inflation stay
or from us fly away?
To keep it at bay
all our ministers pray,
but the People wants pay
without further delay.
Their opinions to sway
is not easy, for they
are accustomed alway
to improvement each day.
With the worker francais
overall social paix
can't occur by decree
nor planned austerity.
The answer I say,
where investment we play
is export subsidy
to oil-rich Araby!
(7 June 1974 revised 12 February 2012 robi3_0007_robi3_0000)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Eulogy on a London Jobber
Now profit seems a dirty word,
or so some fine folk say!
but as I feel that is absurd,
at stocks and shares I play.
Bold timing’s ever right - you ‘eard, -
it never fails to pay!
Old Boy, my judgement’s never erred,
there’s no one can gainsay!
I deal in scraps, true size or block,
game in my box I sit,
I feel perhaps too wise, poor cock, -
tame brokers ‘elp a bit!
Should button seek to shop ‘is stock,
I’m ‘ere to ‘elp ‘im do it,
for every joker I would mock,
rehocking at a profit.
I always buy at bottom rock,
at the top, I ‘op it,
if you consider that I shock,
fortune’s fair - you’re forfeit.
I pit my wits, job round the clock,
each day the market’s ope,
there is no-one I’d rob or knock,
I won’t push paper, mope!
Its all a question of control,
of bluff and double bluff!
As market maker I’ve my role,
the smooth comes with the rough!
I trade, and though scare bears may raid,
‘tis seldom that I’m caught;
and if, as said, I am well paid,
I’m just as seldom short!
Whenever challenged or waylayed,
I’m never overwrought,
I’m cool, collected, calm and staid, -
For jobbing’s such a sport!
It’s all great fun, though true ‘tis said
its full of danger fraught,
but if I never am afraid,
‘tis ‘cause I am self-taught.
Democracy despises wealth,
aught but ‘ard labour spurns!
Jobbing’s just great, it ‘elps me ‘ealth,
I like to take those turns!
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0029_robi3_0000 XXX_JXX 12 January 1975
Elegy on a London Jobber
Around the pristine walls of neon glass
the London jobber posts by pillared cell, -
to take a turn, Old Boy, to buy or sell.
He shares his pitch with others of his class,
and pitches shares while brokers pell-mell pass, -
marks red to buttons blue as green as grass.
Bell rings. He takes the call which spells shell’s knell,
then calls the take, fulfilling function well, -
tied to the Old School system, - silly farce!
Too many heads swell, barter gold for brass.
Though sun still shines, most squander hay - their bell
will toll, and toll-free shall machines excel,
matchless in matching bargains to surpass
those who for short hours, for fat pay, alas,
play both sides of the coin, bulls, bears, harass,
between fear, greed, prey – arbitrage cartel.
Hammered – Fate prepares a fond farewell
for all who take for granted “vie est belle! ”
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0126_robi3_0000 XXX_JXX 28 November 1976
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Cleansed
CLEANSED
Love cleansed today dreams interplay
complete, spoon, fork and knife,
derides dismay, lined cares which prey
upon brief Beauty’s life.
From disarray love’s here to stay,
towards joy’s light may trace
convincing way, chase cares which weigh
down those who change fear face.
Keep open door, no bad blood pour,
tomorrows true touch base,
hope sets fair score where scope’s shared core
united future grace.
Concord and cheer won’t disappear
when feelings interface
with someone near, who clear will hear
heart, comfort, share embrace.
Thus, change of gear, dissolve false fear,
it seems in any case
enchantment here may re-appear,
admit acceptance, space.
Life’s new frontier in this New Year
lost voice shall now replace,
from drear nights’ wear to fresh light steer,
heartease naught may displace.
22 March 2005 significantly rewritten 30 December 2008
robi03_1102_robi03_0000 XXX_KLX
for previous version entitled Love’s Future Fare see below
Love’s Future Fare
Love yesterday seemed interplay
complete, spoon, fork and knife
that scorned dismay, false on fears does prey
to threaten Beauty’s life.
But try today to feel a way
towards the light don’t trace
heart’s disarray, the fears which weigh,
the weary tears, disgrace.
Don’t close white door let blood red poor
with future fair touch base!
if traitor’s core is known before
tomorrow you may face.
When drugs and beer both disappear
soon feelings interface
with someone near, who clear will hear
heart, comfort and embrace.
So, change of gear, dissolve false fear,
it seems in any case
resentment here needs disappear,
leave hope for scope and space.
Life new frontier will find, my Dear,
Death’s shadow shall replace,
all nights austere to fresh light steer
there’s other fish to chase!
22 March 2005
Cleansed Poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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London Fog - 0023
Fog hangs heavy in London air,
brokers rest but for a prayer;
eyes aghast, souls in despair,
seeking business everywhere.
Bargains booked throughout the day
decline in number, then don't pay.
All about them makes them say:
'No more at market will we play! '
(12 December 1974)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Rubaiyat of Ghosts
One can, who strangers scan, too few admire,
as most play ghosts deprived of phantom choir,
tripping, tripping up, upon life’s board,
stillborn refuting intimate desire.
In game of give and take what ranks the higher
self-interest or charity? Enquire
about ambitions intimate, bond word,
suspicion from the shadows whispers: 'Liar! '
Most men as puppets dance upon a wire
taut from birth to death, - as seller, buyer,
taught to act and not to BE - Fate’s sword
to dust must sooner, later, each retire.
So few dare seek far stars, less dare aspire
for freedom, seldom search above their mire,
for seventy or eighty years life’s cord
they eke out, seldom seeking something higher.
A burning bush survived the blazing fire,
and witness stands to Time the purifier -
yet oil on troubled waters oft is poured
by those who spurn each prophet as a liar.
Life is too short. Who’d play the poet’s lyre
must tame the vagrant strings, the versifier
tunes into harmony whose every chord
responds to inspiration all desire.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Sailor and the Market Man
'I ask you to see reason'
Says the sailor who is stern;
'You know full well that from the sea
A living I must earn;
I'll bother you to shake on it,
I haven't got all day;
Come on now make your mind up,
It ain't a lot to pay! '
'My friend, your price is far too high'
The market-man declares,
'Go find another buyer now
Who'll rid you of your wares.
I know the fish you bring to sell
Are fat and fresh and sound,
But I must make a living too
By watching every pound.'
The sailor and the market-man
They argue every day,
As if there's no tomorrow,
And each must have his say.
The sailor and the market-man
At odds they'll always be,
Until they've taken all
The little fishes from the sea.
Written Dec 1994
poem by John Carter Brown
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On Riding Tigers
When riding a tiger in the hunt
You learn to dismount
Very carefully so that
You don't become the tiger's lunch.
Such it is with Wall Street today
As they continue on their spendthrift way,
With the housing market going flat
The investors are discovering that
Other things are also inflated
And like a tire can be deflated.
Case in point (as tho one is needed)
Is the Blackstone founder; most greedy.
He stands to harvest quite a load of nuts
Regardless of the 'if, ands or buts.'
And like van Winkle rising from his nap
Congress is curious to what is going on about.
Pass a law is their answer to everything
In the absence of thought or reasoning.
Another surprise that is in store
Is the coming pressure on investment house's lore
Till now seemed to be immune from market woes
But alas, along comes Bear Stearns, just one of those.
When there is a money crunch
Not far behind is the lawyer bunch
Who will gather up the fallen nuts from the tree
(Haps, they'll share some of the bounty with you and me?)
So while the smart investor twist and turns
One has to ask if they'll ever learn.
And the tiger grows fat and lazy.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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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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Black Market White Baby Dealer
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
My black market white baby dealer
Is rooting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Kidnaps clean, fresh white babies for me
Clean, fresh white babies for me
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
So sit me down in the family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
He brings back
Oh charlie, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
I come post-production
I dont need natal care
Im already fully assembled
Down to the very last part, its all there
So take me to your family
So take me to your home
Buddy, take me in as your next generation
And Ill take you out of the lost one and into mine
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fear
I smell it here, I smell it near
In our hearts, body and soul we wear
Fear! Year in and year out in full gear
Fear of death
Fear of rejection
Fear of loneliness
Fear of poverty
I hear it near, it stinks of hell my dear
In our hearts, body and soul we wear
Fear! Year in and year out in full gear
At times overwhelming and impossible to bear
Fear of being ridiculed
Fear of being single
Fear of being truthful
Fear of life always holding on to survive
Fear of change and what surprises it sprinkles
Fear of old age painted with priceless wrinkles
Let me tell it like Shakespeare
And make it plain and clear
Listen why be afraid of fear?
When fear itself can’t talk, walk, see nor hear!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Life 101, Lovelines, and Vampire Satire
LIFE 101, LOVELINES, and VAMPIRE SATIRE
LIFE 101
SUBMERGE EMERGE URGE SURGE SPLURGE CONVERGE VERGE MERGE PURGE DIRGE SUBMERGE! …
AFTERLIFE 101
? DIVERGE: SCOURGE … REEMERGE?
Coining a Ph[r]ase
Love Lair’s Layers
Inside
Outside
CoincideConfide
Allied
Guide
Glide
Astride
Abide
but the other side of the coin might be:
Drier Dire Diary
Hide
Slide
Bromide
DerideLied
Snide
Override
Divide
Dire Diary Vampire Satire - cast in order of appearance
Admire shyer
Fire desire
Surefire squire
Sapphire buyer
Higher lyre
Require Choir
Friar, prior,
Aquire attire
Empire entire
Sigher suspire
Transpire perspire
Defyer briar
Spy highflyer eyer
Hire sweetbriar *
Conspire crossfire
Dire liar
Wryer denyer
Inspire ire
Wire umpire,
Misfire miss, fire
Bye-bye err, slyer
Retire, mire
Quagmire, expire
Pyre bonfire …
*Definition of sweetbriar
Eurasian rose with prickly stems and fragrant leaves and bright pink flowers followed by scarlet hips
17 January 2007
robi03_1576_robi03_0000 WXX_LXX
Poem © Jonathan Robin Life 101, Lovelines, and Vampire Satire
poem by Jonathan Robin
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End of the Road
The end of the road appears so near.
The will to win is dim, ‘tis clear,
as is the understanding things
may not improve – although the swings
and roundabouts life brings may cheer
a mirage moment when thoughts drear
are veiled, seem worst past, when dream sings
away the fears, hears fair Chance rings
the changes one would see.
Beware dream days Chance seems to cheer, -
the nights that follow double fear.
Though welcome inklings flex fresh wings
these fail as token, - broken springs.
Though mind would find an end sincere
the mirror here no change of gear
discerns as date dire direr brings.
Fate, judge and jury, sharpens stings
while Time, deceitful, pulls Life’s strings
then buries memory.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Adrift
Tomorrow is a fleeting dream
that love came sometimes float with there.
Especially for two people
who want to care for someone.
Two strangers adrift on the sea of life,
neither having someone to call
either their husband or wife.
They drift into the future
that is bleak and bare,
never finding that someone special,
that someone for whom
they can love and care.
They only know loneliness
that for some become too hard to bear.
However, on every horizon
each day brings a new dawn.
We can only hope they will find
the other heart where they belong.
28 October 2007
poem by David Harris
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Grizzly Bear
Yeah they call me Grizzly Bear got long black grizzly hair
Walk down the street and everybody stop and stare
Ohohoh well I'm wild and wooly and free
And so you'd better not mess with me
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl growl like a grizzly bear
They say there go Grizzly Bear got no clothes to wear
They say I'm all hung up bein' nowhere
Yeah but the girls they love my clows and my great big chompin' jaws
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl and growl like a grizzly bear
Well now I can't be chained and I can't be tamed and they can't kill my desire
So baby gimme a hug I'll be your bearskin rug
And I'll lie in front of your fire on winter
Baby if you dare why don't you come on down to my lair
And if you got some money to share I'll be waitin' for you there
Hey you know I'm gonna on strong and we can hug'n mate the whole week long
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl a growl like a grizzly bear
[ piano ]
(Yeah watch out baby here I come again)
They call me Grizzly Bear they say I'm kooky and square
They can say anything they want about me I don't care I don't care
Because I'm takin' it day by day and I'm livin' my own sweet way
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl a growl like a grizzly bear
Like grizzly bear yeah I really rip and tear I really get my share
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Meaning Of It All
Are we born to die someday?
Or go about hankering after friends, fortune and fame everyday?
I know not what to do today,
I know what I am today is because of yesterday.
I know what I will be tomorrow is because of today.
Life is a like a fire which keeps on burning and burning
Life is full of desires and despair,
Raise your desire as high as the fire.
Never let yourself to be burnt in the fire of despair.
Death need not to be feared,
For when it nears, you are not there.
Tomorrow I’ll Be Stronger
Today I stand and ideate
Of the tomorrow I intend to create
With hopes and dreams, a joyful state
Cos today, I have been asked to wait
Today I work toward a tomorrow
Devoid of sadness and sorrow
Where joy can be found flourishing
And life completely enriching
Today I fight my phobias
My sadness and despair
And look toward a bright future
That tomorrow’s going to share
Today I stand in guilt,
For the mistakes I have committed
But work with all my heart to fix
The priorities I just omitted
Today is still a reality,
That’s staring in my face
Telling me of all the things I miss
Of all the things I chase
Today works on my feelings
My weakest points, exposed
But they’ll still exist tomorrow
Just taken care of and closed
Today might get the better of me,
But that’s a small price pay
Cos tomorrow I’ll be stronger still
And make that better way, stay
So bear with me for today,
In case I stumble or fall
To seem me rise again much stronger,
Wait till tomorrow before you call.
poem by Vijay Jacob
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White Babies
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
Sit me down in your family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
(I changed this verse for you)
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bee with Honey Combs her Hair
The Bee with honey combs her hair
with yellow pollen pads,
in honour of the sun’s gold glare,
the golden pollen adds.
This she applies with special care –
‘tis one of her few fads –
to head and thorax, everywhere,
which her detractors mads.
Nectarine nectar necklace fair,
demanded by ‘light winged dryads’,
and furred abdomen cincture rare
masks caudad sting with which she’s clad.
Antennae waving in the air
send signals by the chiliad,
she has ‘no time to sit and stare’
copes, mopes not in jeremiads
Ant’s industry, with more to spare,
hive spirit strives without gonads
for common weal, she’ll, feeling, share -
an asset all admirers glads.
Sweetness for the shaggy bear,
hyrdromel for fair maenads,
without this worker who would bear?
who gold dust to hamadryads?
That she’s so fair and debonair
as on her jaunts she gads,
while they forbear their wings to tear, -
this each among them sads.
Thus idle drones to deep despair
she, heartless, drives, - poor lads -
in swarm-storm buzz, [s]trum_pet the air
in concert, tuned like strads.
How’er they fare, their one nightmare –
benighted Galahads -
is their reget so few can share
the joys of being dads!
The royal jelly she’ll prepare
with care so myriads
of future generations fare
as well as she by gad s!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A worth to live
Life is worth living if there is adventure
It is lovely and nice if you see future
There has to be some means and ways
The days can be passed with some hope trays
If not today, tomorrow will be bright
After dark shadow there may emrge light
Nothing remains permanent and may disappear
Life should be spent without any fear
No one has permanaent stake
You need to apply some brake
It may turn soar and not prove as sweet cake
It must be made simple and not presented as fake
It may not cut much ice
It has to be very nice
Make it live with full of promises
You got to act sensible and wise
Nothing may change at the end
Friend may not remain as friend
It is same as we see today
You may be lost on the way
Leave behind memorable feet prints
This not advice or any hint
It may be blown over in due course
The is still wroth living wihout any remorse
There is mission with definite message
You will have to clear the passage
Nothing should hinder your progress
Try to be friendly with full access
Life still remains full of charm
There is absolutely no harm
It is to be lived with full of enthusiasm
There is no scope for any type of passism
Love to live and enjoy the moments
It hardly needs explanation or comments
One has to make it simply beautiful
Only joy and enjoyment should be full
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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