Keyless
High hopes are mocked by Time as, day by day,
efforts are hamstrung, - phantom puppet show
reflects our vain illusions’ ebb and flow.
Effects’ and causes’ ripple interplay
scoffs at control. Coincidence at play
enacts a dance whose patterns none may know.
Why seek for key? Self-righteous afterglow
can’t channel flow to stem the current grey?
Chance - Time’s harmony – Man won’t obey,
cares not a tinker’s curse for those who bow
would string, - self validating vertigo
soon bursts to leave brief, troubled, bubble bray
deflated, echo muted, song unheard.
Who’ll witness stand that strings were ever stirred?
19 September 2005 revised 30 October 2006
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Some Find - 0846 - Initial Version
High hopes are mocked by Time as, day by day,
Efforts, unrewarded, seem vain show.
Life is an incessant ebb and flow.
Effects' and causes' subtle interplay
None can control, - coincidence at play
Enacts a dance whose patterns few do know.
Some find a key, avoiding stop and go,
Channel energy to colour grey.
Harmony and Chance Time's tides obey,
Music invent, according string and bow,
Instinctively enjoy a vertigo
That is unknown by most, whose bubble bray
Turns to empty echo, sinks unheard.
Has she a heart whose strings can still be stirred?
(28 June 1997)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bubble Bray - 0822 - Current Version
Time's muzzle mocks ambitions. Day by day,
through life's incessant dream theme ebb and flow,
efforts, unrewarded, seem vain show.
Effects' and causes' subtle interplay
none may control, - coincidence at play
enacts a chance dance time mime stop and go
whose pattern frame spins into vertigo
flaking dates and energy away.
Harmony and Chance Time's tides obey,
cannot be reined, restrained, nor string nor bow
fires through some causal bull's eye to echo
sense sustained. Profane, with bubble bray,
most blow hot, cold on stage, then sink unheard
before they even feel flow's ripples stirred.
(9 April 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Efforts Unrewarded - 0846 - Current Version
Time mocks priorities as, day by day,
efforts, unrewarded, dream vain show.
Existence: an incessant ebb and flow.
effects link subtle causal interplay
none may control. Coincidence at play
enacts a dance whose pattern steps few know.
Some keys, decoded, avoid stop and go,
channel energy to colour grey.
Harmony and Chance Time's tides obey,
music invent, according string to bow,
instinctively enjoying vertigo
unknown to most, who coast with bubble bray
turned to empty echo drowned unheard.
Late offers elegy for early bird.
(7 March 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harmonious Triolet
Who’d flow through harmony no rage
should know, nor need safe haven seek,
no anger [l]inking daily page.
Who’d flow through harmony no rage
should breed, enroll, fear soul in cage,
should heedless channel tension’s [s]peak.
Who’d flow through harmony no rage
should know, nor need safe haven seek.
(20 June 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hot Air - Parody Witter Bynner Spectra
Just deserted after make-up refuselled,
I, who would have snoozled, hereafter
lose laughter, appear a foozle cahoozled,
as daft as a woozle or even dafter.
The hamstrung string is bamboozled,
snaking like a hung verdict noose loose from the rafters, -
when will the West wind flow less confuselled
blowing our just desserts as afters?
© Jonathan Robin – Parody author unknown possibly Witter Bynner written 3 January 1992 revised 8 October 2006 previous title Winds
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Days to Come
IN DAYS TO COME
In days to come when, dumb, I’ll strum no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest unblessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.
My memory, wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
may shadow search vain answers to Life’s game.
20 May 2005 revised 16 November 2006 and 25 March 2009
robi03_1257_robi03_0000 SXX_DIZ
for previous versions see below variant of Unjaded Sparkle 6 July 1991
In Days to Come
In days to come when, dumb, I’ll bear no more
to Time rhymed witness, world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest twice blessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections one would pour
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ score
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Within oneself is found the fatal flaw.
My memory - wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
while others, vain, search answers to Life’s game.
20 May 2005 and 16 November 2006 revised 23 November 2008
- for previous versions see below
In Days to Come
In days to come when I may bear no more
to Time rhymed witness, world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest twice blessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel a cent more poor?
For most wor[l]d-wise, ignoring one demise,
Life bright or boring as before, - here lies
our irony, reflections one would pour
in [l]ink think on the pixel pages’ score
fade with ambitions, one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget their first surprise.
Within oneself is found the fatal flaw.
My memory - wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
while others, vain, search answers to Life’s game.
20 May 2005 and 16 November 2006
for previous version see below
In Days to Come
In days to come when I may bear no more
to Time fair witness, world where butterflies
aloft dance marbled patterns in the skies -
next May, when I’ll have sunk to rest before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel a cent more poor?
Life will appear to who these verses buys
as bright or boring as before, - here lies
the irony, reflections one would pour
in ink upon the pixel pages’ score.
Ambitions fade, and libido, too, sighs
when hopes unmet one cannot realize, -
within oneself is found the fatal flaw.
Life will for me be candle lost to flame,
for others, search for answers to its game.
20 May 2005
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After the Carnival
AFTER THE CARNIVAL
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way,
clowned senseless as an ass’s bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there’s no energy to pray.
.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.
.
That one’s posterity will stay
when life’s departed holds at bay
a sense of impotence and may
part justify the role to play.
The carnival is over, May
to Winter bows, Spring may not stay -
its darling buds in blossom, gay,
tomorrow must return to clay.
4 November 1992 revised 21 May 2005 and 29 December 2010
robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
see Après la Fête robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
Après la Fête
Life's Carnival swift sinks soon drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to life's ground rules lain,
clowns stride stage, pine, pain, soon lie slain.
.
Though some may for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures’ knives -
which often with ‘success’ connive.
.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain’s then proved vain
when gain proves dross, and loss insane.
.
Dunce bee, once drawn to wicket flame,
no curtain call can still sustain, -
another worker t[r]icked from hive
which will remain no less alive…
13 October 1988 revised 29 April 2005 and 29 December 2010
robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
For previous version see below and After the Carnival robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
AFTER THE CARNIVAL
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way
as senseless as an ass’s bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there’s no energy to pray.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.
That one’s posterity will stay
when life’s departed holds at bay
a sense of impotence and may
part justify the role to play.
The carnival is over. May
to Winter bows, Spring shall not stay, -
the darling buds in blossom, gay,
tomorrow must return to clay.
4 November 1992 revised 21 May 2005
robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
see Après la Fête robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
Après la Fête
The Carnival is over. Drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to life's ground rules lain.
Though some may for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures’ knives -
which often with ‘success’ connive.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain’s then proved vain.
Dunce bee, once drawn to wicket flame,
no curtain call can long sustain, -
another worker t[r]icked from hive
which will remain no less alive…
13 October 1988 revised 29 April 2005
robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
For previous version see below and After the Carnival robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
n.b. wicket, wicked wick et (and in French)
Après la Fête
The Carnival is over. Drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
what once was certain now seems vain.
Another worker leaves the hive,
which is, itself, no less alive.
13 October 1988
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New Tear's Candle
NEW TEAR'S CANDLE
Now here, now fled, bright light's soon snuffed, clock ticks,
E xistence fragile echoes with life’s play
W here visibility’s trimmed to today.
T ime up, ambitions down, as candle wicks
E xpire upon some midnight cold Fate picks.
A month or more, before horizons grey
R educe tired final flickers cinder gay, -
S pendthrift embers. Moving finger pricks
O ut bubble options, cares nor fiddlesticks
N or tinker’s curses for chance thrown away,
N or seeks reprieve for an extended stay. –
E phemeral our sojourn’s augenblicks.
T he loaf of bread, the flask of wine, boon mate,
S oon wane, recycled wax, evaporate.
1 January 2006 revised 8 September 2007
robi03_1400_robi03_0000 ASX_DEZ
Previous title New Tear's Sonnets
New Tear's Candle poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Après la Fête
Après la Fête
Life's Carnival swift sinks soon drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to life's ground rules lain,
clowns stride stage, pine, pain, soon lie slain.
.
Though some may for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures’ knives -
which often with ‘success’ connive.
.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain’s then proved vain
when gain proves dross, and loss insane.
.
Dunce bee, once drawn to wicket flame,
no curtain call can still sustain, -
another worker t[r]icked from hive
which will remain no less alive…
13 October 1988 revised 29 April 2005 and 29 December 2010
robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
For previous version see below and After the Carnival robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllll
AFTER THE CARNIVAL
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way,
clowned senseless as an ass’s bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there’s no energy to pray.
.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.
.
That one’s posterity will stay
when life’s departed holds at bay
a sense of impotence and may
part justify the role to play.
The carnival is over, May
to Winter bows, Spring may not stay -
its darling buds in blossom, gay,
tomorrow must return to clay.
4 November 1992 revised 21 May 2005 and 29 December 2010
robi03_0638_robi03_0000 XXX_DZX
see Après la Fête robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllllllllllll
APRES LA FETE
The Carnival is over. Drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to the ground rules lain.
Although some for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures’ knives -
which often with ‘success’ connive.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain’s then proved vain.
Bee, moth, attracted to wick’d flame,
no curtain call will long retain, -
another worker ticked from hive
which still remains no less alive...
13 October 1988 revised 29 April 2005
robi03_0228_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Puppet On A String
A puppet on a string is all that you are,
And all that you ever will be
Your told what to hear and what to say
And you're even told what you can believe.
You are not free as you were once before
As you gave that and your dignity away
Now you are told where to go and what to wear
And you were even told to change your name.
Your watched and not trusted wherever you go
And you must ask permission to leave
And that is the life that you chose for yourself
Now for you there is only shame and pity.
You're a puppet on the string as that is you
Your puppeteer tells you how to act
He tells you what to cook and when to sleep
And when to bed him and how to react,
But what can you do, as you have nowhere to go
Everyone knows of your lying and your ways
Your own daughters are confused because of you
Now they will be like you in their own adult days.
You changed your hair and you changed your name
Because your master commanded you to
To make him happy is what you want to do best
But sadly this situation for you isn't new.
You're a puppet on the string that's all that I hear
Wherever you might go or what you might say
You walk in the footsteps your master placed for you
And you will walk them until your dying days.
Your strings are pulled and then you will walk
Your strings are pulled and then you will obey
Your strings are pulled and then you will answer
And that's how you will be from day unto day.
No truth or loyally does your master have for you
Not even a vow to GOD or a wedding ring
But you never expect or accepted them anyway
As all that you are, is but a puppet on a string.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Puppet Boy
Wake up puppet boy!
Get up puppet boy
You got a job to do
Even so youre free to go
Where your master tells you to
Listen puppet boy
Before you disobey
Consider that the strings attached
Could make a big change in your ways
Puppet boy
Its the little things that count
Little problems little minds
Little points of view
Puppet boy
Its the little things add up
Getting bigger pull the trigger
Little things like you
Stand up puppet boy
Time to start the show
Youd better do some brand new moves
They paid a lot to watch you go
No!
Whats that puppet boy
Dont tell me what to do
Whats that puppet boy
Im not a freak like you
Whats that puppet boy
Ill move when I want to
I cant hear you puppet boy
Now dance dance dance
Stay out of bed
Unless you wanna get wet
Im a boy not a toy
And Im not through yet
Stay out of bed
Unless you wanna get wet
Now wake up puppet boy
Listen puppet boy
Youre not a robot slave
Consider that no strings attached
Could ever make you misbehave
Puppet boy
Its the little things in life
Little problems little minds
Little points of view
Puppet boy
Its the little things that count
Getting bigger pull the trigger
Little things like you
Now wake up puppet boy!
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From the Banks of Ganga: IV
I sit by your banks
In awe of your flow
A parallel flow within
Watches every ripple:
Indefinable happiness
Peace is absence of
Even a ripple of thought
What follows peace is bliss
I suppose…
Loitering and searching
The best place to meet
The loved one is by
One's own banks of the heart
Where flows Gangs of love
The flow overwhelms me
Doesn't allow me stretch my hand
For the other…
I'm unto myself!
So you flow
So do I
Not against your tide
But with your flow
Flow Flow Flow!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosts
Last passing leaves leave, life's page sage admires,
most boasts are ghost hosts, post haste phantom choirs,
now tripping, hesitant, upon life’s board,
stillborn, denying deepest heart’s desire.
As puppets men, leaves, dance upon branch wire
taut from birth to death, - staged play's proved liar,
taught to act but not to BE! - the sword
of Fate each early, late, must all retire.
For few dare seek the stars, or yet aspire
for freedom, seldom glance above their mire,
fear chloroforming chlorophyll cuts cord
that holds life's journey from horizons higher.
The burning bush survived the blazing fire,
and witness stands to God the purifier, -
yet oil on troubled waters oft is poured
as Fall to Winter wanes, frost snaps high-flyer.
Lifes leaves soon grieve, deceived by Summer, ire
replacing lush greens flush, Time sees misfire
intimations of immortality
when verdant vibrance turns red, brown, then mire.
Life is too short, who strums soul poet’s lyre
must tame frame's vagrant strings. Sole versifier
intensely seeks sense off the fence, each chord
in tune with Autumn moon runes' mortal quire!
Leaves drop, hearts stop, in season all retire
from green-scene bud to has been dud quagmire,
so little space to race then silent doom,
strum still tombed, dumb will catacombed entire.
Revised 19 October 2011
see also Rubaiyat of Ghosts
GHOSTS
Few passing strangers may the sage admire,
as most are ghosts without a phantom choir,
now tripping, hesitant, upon life’s board,
stillborn, denying e’en their heart’s desire.
Most men as puppets dance upon a wire
taut from birth to death, - to play as liar,
taught to act but not to BE! - the sword
of Fate each early, late, must all retire.
For few dare seek the stars, or yet aspire
for freedom, seldom glance above their mire,
for eighty, maybe ninety years life’s cord
they tread and never aim at something higher.
The burning bush survived the blazing fire,
and witness stands to God the purifier, -
yet oil on troubled waters oft is poured
by those who shun each prophet as a liar.
Life is too short, who strums the poet’s lyre
must tame the vagrant strings. The versifier
must seek deep harmony where every chord
in tune responds to feelings all inspire!
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pendulum Rubaiyat
The pendulum of history shall swing
now to, now fro, pride break or profits bring:
thus one ‘should take the current when it serves’
for Change is in the air and on the wing.
The century snails onwards in its slime,
or so it seems to those who actions mime
as if they were the puppet masters, still
strings stay attached to the design of Time.
Soon we will witness Nature’s thunder hurled.
Pandora’s box has menaces unfurled
which angry retribution will afford
Mankind for the abuses of our world.
Convenience converts much truth to fiction
outside pure science for what's held conviction
acts as a shield protecting ignorance
from fears life's one-way ticket, then eviction.
Song, sweet today tomorrow wrong, may bring
misfortune, tune some other pipers sing,
perchance won't sound as sweet as it deserves,
shun bells that ring, leave only hands to wring.
When doomsday burns in fire or icy rime,
who'll care a tinker's curse for prose or rhyme,
attention spans grow shorter by the day
while dreams forgotten lie in Styx quicklime.
Perceptions rarely are sustained, we're whirled
willy-nilly, helter-skelter, curled
as foetus round our pre-conceptions, bet
hedge against deception's underworld.
Minds, blind, swap narrow scope for hopes' prediction,
erase discomfort phase by phrase whose diction
draws less from facts and more from praising Chance
which scoffs at both, ironic valediction.
What will remain thereafter of Man's skin
shell history, of struggles' loss or win,
a potsherd shard? polluted plastic trash?
rash who believes he'll outlive cycles' spin.
Vae victis! history's a partial tale
writ by the victors while beyond the pale
are exiled vanquished, shadows pale must roam,
as all leads to New Rome, avoids dust stale.
Who terrorist, who freedom fighter fell
forgotten down time's plumbless pit, well, well
depends upon the way the cookie crumbles
enshrined in marble or confined to hell.
Remembered is Forgotten's favoured twin
Virtue today becomes tomorrow's sin,
while modesty as imprudent or rash
is redefined by timeline's litter bin.
Who heads once called by day by night bawls tail
while bubble reputations burst and fail,
mirage politicians' honeycomb
turn 'fact' to 'fancy' languishing in jail.
Value judgements' superficial swell
subside, belied by subsequent retell,
hidden agenda, vested interest tumbles
from pillar falls as ends this verse, farewell!
7 June 1991 revised 7 September 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The puppet
I am not your puppet
You can’t pull my strings
I will only dance
To the tunes that I play
Arms and legs sometimes freeze
I can’t pull my own strings
Paralysed by fear
I am the puppet
And the puppeteer
So I take a knife
And I cut those strings
They were holding me back
But now my spirit soars free
I lose myself in the rhythm
Of the up tempo beat
As I clap my hands
And stamp my feet
Anne Deborah Morgan
October 2009
poem by Anne Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After the Carnival - Apres la Fete
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way,
clowned senseless as an ass's bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there's no energy to pray.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.
That one's posterity will stay
when life's departed holds at bay
a sense of impotence and may
part justify the role to play.
The carnival is over, May
to Winter bows, Spring may not stay -
its darling buds in blossom, gay,
tomorrow must return to clay.
For previous version revised 21 May 2005 see below
Life's Carnival swift sinks soon drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to life's ground rules lain,
clowns stride stage, pine, pain, soon lie slain.
Though some may for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures' knives -
which often with ‘success' connive.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain's then proved vain
when gain proves dross, and loss insane.
Dunce bee, once drawn to wicket flame,
no curtain call can still sustain, -
another worker t[r]icked from hive
which will remain no less alive.
For previous version revised 29 April 2005 see below
The Carnival is over. Drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to the ground rules lain.
Although some for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures' knives -
which often with ‘success' connive.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain's then proved vain.
Bee, moth, attracted to wick'd flame,
no curtain call will long retain,
another worker ticked from hive
which still remains no less alive.
(29 December 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Go Too Fast
Verse 1:
Destination nowhere land
Let us find a place where heartaches end
It's good to hold you tight
Just make me surrender
Come on in and find out baby
We got time and hope and dreams enough
So don't you hurry love
Chorus:
Oh baby babe don't go too fast
Feel the rhythm of my heart
Don't you go for everything
I'm not a puppet on a string
Baby babe don't go too fast
Play it cool and make it last
Baby let your feelings flow
Just take it easy - get it slow
Love can be so beautiful
Feel the rhythm of my heart
Verse 2:
It's a "now or never-night"
Baby don't you try to break my pride
I've got magic words:
Together forever
Take away the spell of darkness
Baby come into my world of fears
To kiss away my tears
Chorus:
Oh baby babe don't go too fast
Feel the rhythm of my heart
Don't you go for everything
I'm not a puppet on a string
Baby babe don't go too fast
Play it cool and make it last
Baby let your feelings flow
Just take it easy - get it slow
Love can be so beautiful
Feel the rhythm of my heart
Bridge:
Take a chance on me tonight
Baby look inside of me - you'll see
The flames of destiny
Chorus:
Oh baby babe don't go too fast
Feel the rhythm of my heart
Don't you go for everything
I'm not a puppet on a string
Baby babe don't go too fast
Play it cool and make it last
Baby let your feelings flow
Just take it easy - get it slow
Love can be so beautiful
Feel the rhythm of my heart
Baby babe don't go too fast
Feel the rhythm of my heart
yeah yeah oh oh
Love can be so beautiful
Feel the rhythm of my heart
song performed by by Vanilla Ninja
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Puppet
Puppet
By: Adam M. Snow
I am a puppet to those who use me;
for they know not what my curse may be.
All I want is for my strings to be cut;
but instead my eyes are sealed shut.
I'm hanging by strings for their entertainment;
for I am evermore bound in containment.
Who am I to be called their puppet;
though my essence cannot forget.
Day by day these strings grow tight;
day by day I try not to fight.
Although I'm stuck and cannot move;
now there's nothing else for me to prove.
I am a puppet;
yet I can't deny it.
Although I have become one with these strings;
all I wish is to spread my wings.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ars Poetica
Some from within, some from without,
without a doubt set to,
as soul-song spins tale which begins
to flow, grow, glow. Thereto
through weaving in and weeding out
touch base with Nature, cue
time, place, as twins defeat and wins
ignored are through and through.
No need to shout, run roundabout,
use artificial glue,
scribe’s violin tunes, underpins,
technique as heart rings true.
Sensations scout, don’t beat about
the bush, tout false virtue,
The poet’s string must second skin
become, ne’er dumb, askew.
Words work their way by night and day
from phases past, to light
through threads at play that more threads lay,
reeled phrases feed fresh flight.
(30 March 2005 revised 9 June 2007 and 1 February 2012)
robi03_1128_robi03_0000 XXX_IXX
see below for previous version entitled Poetics
Poetics
Some from within some from without
without a doubt flow true
as soul-song spins tale which begins
to grow, and then glows too
through weaving in and weeding out -
touch intuitions know
from phases past so phrases last
through threads which more threads sow...
(30 March 2005)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prisma
Rainbows shine pure through spray
of drops, prismatic view
of multi-coloured hue
emerges from the grey.
What seem impressions true
tomorrow melt away.
Dawn's daily spider play
displays silk nets anew,
through diamond stranded dew
lights scintillate, breeze sway –
all things sing echo, clue
interpreting the Way.
Dew's sparkling interplay
between earth, water too,
empowers life; curfew
of night lifts, gifts relay
world’s waking wonder woo,
air slakes thirst, scorns delay.
Nature must convey
respect to dew as due,
for where its overdue
photosynthesis may
not from primaeval stew
evolve - for mammals too
no haemoglobulu.
Life offers [th]us each day
diversity where you
can rediscover new
its beauty on your way
to Paradise, - display
of nuances, each true.
So as we travel through
time’s complex interplay
perhaps impressions stay,
perhaps disperse into
new background bright and blue,
perhaps... but who can say?
How can links one mind drew
then be restated? Clay
may be remodelled, hay
cut neatly so a few
twin stems splice true, but who
may reproduce mind ray
unique of each soul’s s[t]ay?
12 September 1996 revised 5 October 2009
robi03_0825_robi03_0000 XXX_NZX
for previous version see below
Prisma
As clouds contain a spray
of drops, prismatic view
of multi coloured hue
emerges from the grey.
What seem impressions true
tomorrow melt away.
As daily spiders play
their silken nets anew
through diamond stranded dew
light shines in every way –
so all is echo, clue
interpreting the Way.
Life offers [th]us each day
diversity where you
can rediscover new
its beauty on your way
to Paradise, - display
of nuances, each true.
So as we travel through
time’s complex interplay
perhaps impressions stay,
perhaps they melt into
a background bright and blue,
perhaps... but who can say?
How can links one mind drew
then be restated? Clay
can be remodelled, hay
cut neatly so a few
stems twins appear, but who
may reproduce mind ray
unique of each man’s s[t]ay?
12 September 1996
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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