Parts Rejoin the Whole
Gardens grow through glowing summer days,
Exhuberantly flaunt their fairest flowers,
Refusing to accept Time’s t[r]apped the hours
And crosses out who welcome overstay.
Roots wither, seer, sap fails, life’s passing ph[r]ase
Dares test eternity before it sours,
Defies tomorrow before which it cowers
As cycles spin and Man Time’s piper pays.
Hope flourished for a while, then final blaze
Affords example of our finite powers.
Numb memory stumbles over tumbled towers -
Departing spirit’s half-life fast decays.
Ends are tied as ties are left behind,
PARTS rejoin the [w]hole, all senses blind.
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0815_robi3_0000 ASX_DJN 12 June 1996 G.D. In Memoriam
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Polyacrostic - A Final Act I Play... and Yet
A FINAL ACT I PLAY... AND YET
ALL FADES INTO NOTHINGNESS AT LAST,
FADES fast, flame flame attracts, itself devours.
INTO Time’s vacuum hours suction hour –
NOTHINGNESS: the frame for fame when Past
AT journey’s end the Future meets to cast
LAST dies with Fate – which late or early sours.
ASHES CHILLING TIME’S IMMORTAL POWERS:
CHILLING bigot, priest, iconoclast.
TIME’S melting pot’s a plumbless well, repast
IMMORTAL, tasteless still, which overpowers
POWERS of perception, leaves life’s flowers
LOST and blighted ‘neath the blast, soon passed.
AND yet Youth’s fountain springs, denies ‘too late’.
YET Hope fears’ dupes would prove, Love knows no date!
polyacrostic sonnet 21 November 1991
robi03_0486_robi03_0000 BSX_DKZ
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Paradox
Spectacles on nose, pouch under eye,
age is sucked remorselessly to night
all too aware there is no hope in_sight
for resurrection story books supply.
What does our time [s]t[r]apped sojourn signify?
What sense is gleaned once cased in coffin tight
or scattered to the winds? What wrong or right
remains to trace each in[t]ner face? And why
would most defer the final strangled sigh,
would most prolong the agony despite
the finite frontiers of Man’s falcon f[l]ight?
Who can ‘self’ free, mortality defy?
Who could decode life’s mysteries might find
a paradox with ‘self-destruct’ designed...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Responsum to All my days are trances
A las the dream askance is
N or is Life what it seems,
A s swift pass all Time’s chances -
N ow here, now gone, - Man’s schemes
S mile once! Ephemeral glances
WER e spent on empty dreams!
© Jonathan Robin acrostic parody written 26 June 1996 Parody Responsum to All my days are trances
All my days are trances
And all my days are trances
and all my nightly dreams
are where thy dark eye glances
and where they footstep gleams
by what ethereal dances
in what eternal streams...
Author Unknown
poem by Jonathan Robin
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BE AT! ABET- or BEAT A BET?
BE AT! ABET- or BEAT A BET?
Bilingual talent is a game
Enjoyed to stretch the mind, to test
A thought with humour - life’s a jest
To spend although the end the same
Remains - regardless tears or zest.
Intrinsic to the ludic frame
Creative rite writes ‘on[e] is best’ -
Eternity inters all fame.
26 June 1996
robi03_0816_robi03_0000 AXX_IJZ
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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Exemplary - after William Shakespeare Sonnet XVIII
Shall I compare her? In what galaxy,
And when or where? No mirror could reflect
Nature's epitome so talent decked,
Gainsaying self, Time holds all time in fee!
Telescopes in vain seek other sun
One half as bright, whose universal joy,
Might Big Bang justify, all it begun.
All would exchange their place for her employ.
Myths don truth’s dress, coeval, - past, to be,
Aeons root, shoot, fruit, tree, end and start,
Under, above, in, out, earth, sky and sea,
Do merge, name frame as “all in one” apart.
Exemplary, all praise she’ll gain through giving,
Cycles may spin, yet one, though lost stays living.
© Jonathan Robin & Maude Corrieras Acrostic Sonnet Sang to ma Maude C 17 June 2008
Author notes
Sonnet XVIII
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often in his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare Sonnet XVIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Leftovers
LEFTOVERS
We know that we were meant to be -
we know we feel we feel we know.
Once free, at sea now, few find key
decoding life’s vibrating flow
‘until no more of me and thee’
is sought within united glow
of what forgotten history
omitted from Man’s archives - so
little left to memory.
Today here, see tomorrow flee,
earth's limbo, over, only crow
enjoys leftover pickings – tree
of life’s vain strife. No merry-go-
round but mirror fragility.
For fleeting hour before we go
who tunes into the mystery
of life’s timed rondo fast and s[l]ow
with some degree of certainty?
The past: lost in primaeval sea,
whose glory stony strata show
has hardened like an artery
fossilized when vertigo
toppled pride's ride which paid fee
for crass complacency. Below,
find species seeking primacy
that suffered an extinctive blow,
untuned to evolution's key.
Grim future looms. Eternity:
climactic challenges' gloom grow
daily greater globally,
imbalance plain to friend and foe.
Origins enigma, we
beyond time spectrum seek although
no proof forthcoming teaches free
will span from slime of long ago
to rhyme sublime humanity.
25 June 2005 revised 16 January 2008
robi03_1289_robi03_0000 XXX_ENZ
for previous version see below
LEFTOVERS
We know that we were meant to be -
we know we feel we feel we know.
Once free, at sea now, few find key
decoding life’s vibrations’ flow
‘until no more of me and thee’
is sought within united glow
of what forgotten history
omitted from Man’s archives - so
little left to memory.
Life’s limbo, over, only crow
enjoys leftover pickings – tree
of life’s vain strife. No merry-go-
round but mirror fragility.
For fleeting hour before we go
who tunes into the mystery
of life’s timed rondo fast and s[l]ow
with some degree of certainty?
communicates, shows how to grow
from slime to rhyme humanity...
© Jonathan Robin - 25 June 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Homerun
HOMERUN
From dark to light – one cry.
cot, tot, fine whine, youth tries
to rise, outshine, – strength vies
to test itself far, nigh,
will ever improvise,
wings spread ahead would fly
beyond the common sty.
Ends, means, some justify
as tools to fool, win prize
refusing to downsize
goals which new goals supply,
to grow, while enterprise
won’t sit, knit idly by
would flow to know, apply.
See sun at zenith high
where fair sweep cloudless skies,
fragility belies.
Self on self will rely
And thus we compromise
ourselves – each hour thereby
prepares grief leaf’s demise.
Men, weak “how, what, when, why”
seek to deny, despise
as limits while each eyes
ambitions run awry.
Most fail to realize
fame’s flame soon sinks, falls shy
of promise time can’t buy.
Stagnation by and by
sets in, transforms to ties
what once soared free, - denies
rights others seek would lie,
Inventing alibis
inverting truth stain, dye,
strain, pain, until sparks die.
Still time will onward fly!
Few care to recognize
sunset whet hopes defies, -
dare not, with rules comply, -
scope set cut down to size.
With humour grim and wry
Fate on each whim may spy.
Life’s voyage does imply
page after page time tries
to crop or circumsize -
each stage a wager sly
as cause, effect, in guise
of free choice voice deny
to unborn options! ... Why?
Tide turns, Time’s spring runs dry.
The candle burns. The wise,
the fool, fourscore, fade, - rise
no more, till final cry
whose sense none can disguise.
No echo, no reply...
from light to dark, sole sigh.
9 February 2005
robi03_1060_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
Homerun Poem © Jonathan Robin
see also Homespun
robi03_1057_robi03_0000 SXX_DZX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
HOMESPUNBirth Mirth Worth Girth Dearth Earth Berth
From dark to light – one cry, homespun.
Cot, tot, fine whine, youth vies at last
to rise, to shine, – strength tries so fast
to test itself far, nigh, to run
above the common sty or scrum,
tries stratagems devised to cast,
with sun at zenith high, shade vast, ...
ignores Time fleeting by. The sum?
Who fools are, who are wise, succumb.
Who true, who in disguise, outlast
the dreaded drum’s surprise, stand fast
can further innings try? Soon dumb!
Come night, tomb stark, done, lie forgot, – time spun
From light doom dark one sigh, poor lot, – rhyme done!
20 January 2005
robi03_1057_robi03_0000 SXX_DZX
see also Homerun
robi03_1060_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Homes pun Poem © Jonathan Robin
:)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Doubts
Is it already time to part? So soon
Summer ending just as it begun.
April fools July those glad in June
Brief joysous moments when two felt one.
Essential osmosis, hearts in tune,
Linked life to life-line, seemed strong as sun,
Linked lighthouse beams beneath the moon,
Eternity squandered, its span done.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Toy Soldiers Leaden Eyed - Acrostic Mata Hari
TOY SOLDIERS LEADEN EYED
My life foams fast, spurts sudden surge,
Appraise past fancy, sullen urge,
Then see toy soldiers leaden eyed
Attest failed flight, time, grace denied.
Here at my post I’m posted, tied,
And no-one dares to act as guide.
Right, tight, where Hell’s four streams converge:
I stand and wait... serve on lead’s purge!
5 December 1990 revised 10 January 2009
robi03_0360_robi03_0000 AXX_DJZ
For previous version see below
Toy Soldiers Leaden Eyed
My life foamed fast, in sudden surge,
All passing fancies, sullen urge, -
The child’s toy soldiers, leaden eyed,
Attest failed flight which Time defied.
Here at my post I’m posted, tied,
And none now dares to be my guide.
Right, tight, where Hell’s four streams converge:
I wait awhile, .............. how lead does purge!
5 December 1990
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Multi-Modal 'I Love because I Must! ' in response to Beth St. Clair Discovery
'Must! ' musty turns, 'might' fails if over time
Infatuation's blocked, love locked awry,
Nor can our best intentions answer why
Dust dust returns, why swifly ends life's rhyme.
One heart alone beats seizure unforeclosed,
Responds with sharing, caring, therefore needs
Hope's reinforcement, feeds affection's seeds
Extending rainbow bridge metamorphosed
As interpenetration stimulates
Reel danced by two beyond the end of days
To underscore whole more than parts may phrase.
Here multi-modal harmony creates
Enchantment which may stitch effect and cause,
Asks and receives, ignoring mortal laws.
(11 May 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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When feelings fail to flabbergast
WHEN FEELINGS FAIL TO FLABBERGAST
Future today, tomorrow: past,
love's piper must be paid at last,
where two's no longer company
one's crowded out, one too many
fights pseudo superfluity
self-confidence at sea, aghast.
Too late is hell. Seek, rather, fast
to try new track, exile, outcast
unworthy partner, fake. Break free
from falsehood lacking harmony's
far better far than fragility
stretched out by thin elastoplast.
Life's boat cannot advance half-mast,
an appetite scorns cold repast,
‘alone’ keeps credibility
preparing for fresh melody
by banishing futility
when feelings fail to flabbergast.
Causal love-links multicast
play games, dream’s downfall seemed forecast
to herald heartbreak threnody
yet somehow primes rhyme’s melody,
prime-time until eternity
mocks mortal bombast vain as vast.
3 March 2010
robi03_1968_robi03_0000 XXX_ELZ
When feelings fail to flabbergast poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Doubts 2012 Version
Storm swept, bereft blows flow's adieu. So soon
summer, spent, adrift, ends as it begun.
April fools July, scorns those glad in June,
derelict dupe dreams when two timed one.
Evanescent osmosis, hearts in tune,
cued life to life line seeming strong as sun,
linked lighthouse beams, false gleams, beneath blue moon.
Time table turned hand squandered, canned span done.
(8 June 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Glory Hole for Friend Thad
.
When all else fails the glory hole remains.
The final resting place for odds and ends
Unwanted trifles passed to us by friends,
we do not really want but we retain
They might come in handy, our refrain.
This odd collection builds up and extends
a welcome. To the oddments we will need
When we can find the time we need again.
The glory hole is indispensible
every house has one: A necessity
the last resort where we can hope to find
Just what we need so we are capable
of repairing damaged gadgetry
with salvaged parts from another kind.
13-Sep-08
http: // blog.My space.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Homerun - 1060
From dark to light one cry.
cot, tot, fine whine, youth tries
to rise, outshine, strength vies
to test itself far, nigh,
will ever improvise,
wings spread ahead would fly
beyond the common sty.
Ends, means, some justify
as tools to fool, win prize
refusing to downsize
goals which new goals supply,
to grow, while enterprise
won't sit, knit idly by
would flow to know, apply.
See sun at zenith high
where fair sweep cloudless skies,
fragility belies.
Self on self will rely
And thus we compromise
ourselves, each hour thereby
prepares grief leaf's demise.
Men, weak 'how, what, when, why'
seek to deny, despise
as limits while each eyes
ambitions run awry.
Most fail to realize
fame's flame soon sinks, falls shy
of promise time can't buy.
Stagnation by and by
sets in, transforms to ties
what once soared free, - denies
rights others seek would lie,
Inventing alibis
inverting truth stain, dye,
strain, pain, until sparks die.
Still time will onward fly!
Few care to recognize
sunset whet hopes defies,
dare not, with rules comply,
scope set cut down to size.
With humour grim and wry
Fate on each whim may spy.
Life's voyage does imply
page after page time tries
to crop or circumsize,
each stage a wager sly
as cause, effect, in guise
of free choice voice deny
to unborn options! Why?
Tide turns, Time's spring runs dry.
The candle burns. The wise,
the fool, fourscore, fade, rise
no more, till final cry
whose sense none can disguise.
No echo, no reply.
from light to dark, sole sigh.
(9 February 2005)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thread Tomorrow's Ties Acrostic
Mutation through maturity implies
Adolescent crisis dissipated,
Requiring focus to stay motivated –
Inner challenge which cocoon defies
As Fortune’s “slings and arrows” needs denies –
Harsh seems today. Not over-compensated
Or, self-deluded, self-commiserated,
Refusing with contempt both compromise
And self-respect to plan tomorrow’s ties.
Know Cause, Effect, combine when integrated
One’s weakness, strengths, are; strong will dedicated
Victory, self-confidence, supplies.
Another birthday comes with virgin page -
Make most of opportunities... shed cage!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Page and Pageant
Page, pageant, dreams veil daily quail trail tale.
Advancing age culls w[r]inkled p[r]awns, the Gods
Gain one by one life's pieces till dank sods
Enwrap what, carefree once, aped beauty hale.
Another well earned ‘bust’! Who strong were, [f[r]]ail
Now lie forgotten for Time's ruthless odds
D[r]own [fl]out all memory. Man's born, his nods
Prevail threescore before [str]etched powers fail
As one more stem beneath the thresher's flail,
Gathered in, is merged with claymate clods.
Each eager starts the day, home weary plods
As night light swallows, chaff before the gale.
NIRVANA's spell is scuttled in VAIN RAN
Thief Time’s [d]ice reef brief grief leaf life of Man.
(10 June 1992 revised 18 October 2006/Poem © Jonathan ROBIN Acrostic sonnet – Page and Pageant)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Skin Deep
Skin spurns trite superficiality,
Kinship finds as surfaces disperse.
Intuitive, two rhyme and role reverse
Nature's comfort zones, free verse heart's plea.
Seasons and Time shed, sensitivity
Knowledge hard discards, hope can converse
In touch with touch for such much growth may nurse,
New light affords, cuts cords, as tendrils key
Subtly into each other - 'you' IS 'me'.
Karmic chance retracts roadblocks transverse,
Intact tact, tactile joys may reimburse
Numb days awaiting electricity.
SKIp through formal constraints to contact base,
INsights unite, may man-maid rings replace...
(c) Jonathan Robin acrostic sonnet written 3 April 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Lines On the Death of Two Children
WRITTEN WHEN BUT FIFTEEN YEARS OF AGE.
They sleep! but not theirs is the slumber that breaketh,
When night with its gloom and its darkness hath flown;
The morn in the light of its beauty awaketh,
But in silence and darkness they still slumber on:
They sleep, but no visions of sleep are around them,
That silence, that darkness, can never confound them;
For death, icy death, in his fetters hath bound them,
And round the young spirit his cold spell hath thrown.
Together in youth's brightest bloom they have wither'd,
Ere grief their young spirits had clouded with gloom,
And like flowers, in the light of their loveliness gather'd,
Whose fragrance is sweetest when faded their bloom;
So still shall their memory fondly be nourish'd,
In the hearts of their friends shall their virtues be cherish'd,
And though in the prime of their life they have perish'd,
Their remembrance shall be as a grateful perfume.
It is sad to see youth in its loveliness dying,
Ere the freshness of spirit hath wasted away,
While the earth seems around like a paradise lying,
And the hopes of the bosom too bright for decay—
Before life's cup of care hath imparted its fever—
Ere hope, smiling hope hath been proved a deceiver—
This world seems too lovely to part with forever,
To mingle again with inanimate clay.
And thus have they died while their hopes were the fairest,
While life only seem'd like a beautiful dream,
Adorn'd with whatever is richest or rarest,
Whatever most bright to the senses may seem—
They died, and the cold turf is resting above them—
They heed not the grief of the bosoms that love them,
The tears of affection no longer can move them,
Or wake them again to the day's joyous beam.
Consumption! 't is thou that their life-springs hast wasted!
'T is thou that hast wither'd the bud in its bloom!
“T is thou the young tree in its greenness hast blasted,
And o'er them hast thrown the dark veil of the tomb!
Thou foe to the lovely, the gay, and the blooming!
How soon the bright spirit, the features illuming,
Will fade from the cheek and the eye at thy coming,
Save when the bright hectic disperses their gloom.
O Death! it is strange how thy cold touch will alter
The forms that so lately were healthy and gay—
On the lips once so bright, life a moment will falter,
The next, they are pallid and motionless clay.
The lips and the eyes with bright happiness glowing,
The bosom proud beating of sorrow unknowing,
The gush of emotion around the heart glowing,
How soon will they perish and wither away!
And yet, it were better to die in life's morning,
Before we have seen its illusions depart,
Than to live when the flowers that our life were adorning,
Have wither'd, and hope hath deserted the heart—
'T were better, when mandate of death has been spoken,
That slowly and singly life's chords should be broken,
Than in health's brightest bloom without warning or token
At once to be stricken by death's fatal dart.
Had they lived, other ties to the earth would have bound them,
Withholding the spirit from rising on high,
And dearer and warmer affections twined round them,
Embittering doubly the life-parting sigh—
When parents for stay on the young are reclining
When husband or wife round the bosom are twining,
Or orphans are left in the cold world repining,
Oh! then it indeed must be anguish to die.
It is painful to stand by the couch of the dying,
And watch the pale form speeding fast to decay,
In anguish to list to the half-broken sighing,
That tells from the heart life is stealing away,
Yet then—while its flight the loved spirit is winging
While in agony round the pale form we are clinging,
Even then—brighter hopes in the bosom are springing,
As we feel that our parting is but for to-day.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Alcuin - 0293 Acrostic Sonnet Initial Version
All pause and rest, who, passing by the way,
Lines read. Reflect how frail is human clay.
Can you learn from my fate what yours shall be?
Unwound my watch, run down soon yours - you'll see.
In spite of this world's gifts, old Time won't stay.
Now here, tomorrow wed to history.
And can you for my fortune care today,
Leaves turn to trace if I was sad or gay?
Care you a fig? How long in memory,
Unused, the trace of what was Life to me
Is likely to remain? All slips away,
Naught human can defy Eternity!
The Day of Judgement none can e'er delay,
And yet some ask: 'are there still Gods to weigh? '
(8 March 1990)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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