Riddle my Riddle Dear Watson
My first of four now hard, now soft appears,
sometimes it slakes, sometimes pours lakes of tears,
unmoved before, thaws, mists, then disappears,
descent rise follows, reign change engineers.
My second spins around as satellite
and from land's end scans out to see the light,
used dust to dust through dust returns to write
detailed tale of Man's mistaken might.
My third flaws all resisting flaming cause,
assures few doors contain engulfing maws,
sucks air it draws, earth scorched ignoring pause,
consuming trees, birds, bees, rooms, tombs, stores, floors.
My fourth blows forth to North, South, East and West,
arrested never, almost always blessed
unless its zest unrest spreads, topples nest,
destiny's quest jest crests at its behest.
My four withdrawn no earthly life could thrive,
when two are absent few remain alive.
Here ends this riddle's ride, henceforward strive
to decode band, drive four in hand, contrive
to draw conclusions for life's daily page
where poise and equipoise no war need wage
against a world where balance rules each age
from first bawl to last curtain call's ghast stage.
[c] Jonathan Robin robi3_1767_robi3_0000 XXX_ENZ 17 June 2008 revised 22 August 2009
Riddle my Riddle Dear Watson
My first of four now hard, now soft appears,
A part of whole which then may move to tears,
Unmoved before, in mist it disappears,
DEscent rise follows, changes engineers.
My second spins around as satellite
And from land's end scans out to see the light,
Used dust to dust through dust returns to write
DEtailed tale of Man's mistaken might.
My third flaws all that fights its flowing cause,
Assures no pause resists engulfing maws,
Unstintingly draws air without a pause
DEvouring trees, sweet honey bees, and floors.
My fourth blows forth to North, South, East and West,
Arrested never, almost always blessed.
Unless its zest unrest spreads, topples nest,
DEstiny is blessed at its behest.
My all spells one whose parts all four include,
And from those parts four further draws fair brood.
Up past, fast forwards by fell Time pursued.
DEpend on it: soon ends rhymed interlude.
My four withdrawn no further four could thrive,
And if one's absent few'd remain alive,
Understanding double riddle, strive
DEcode both four in hand, at hand, band drive.
... et l'aimant erre cher... What's on?
[c] Jonathan Robin robi3_1767_robi3_0000 AXX_LNX 17 June 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Litotes II
Mighty fall, all dust returns to dust
As pride's joy-ride proves vain, life's flame departed.
Uncertain is our sojourn, iron's rust
Describes swift cycle's spin before it's started.
Effervescence, foaming at the mouth,
Makeshift bubbles evanescent blows
Away where no-one knows, East, West, North, South.
Unworthiness pares pomp, hour's power lids close.
Despair in turn prepares for disappointment,
Efforts vain, pain plain, refrain cut short,
Most fail to meet their goals, keep youth's appointment,
AUguries by contradictions caught.
Despite profanum vulgus' anguished cries
Each rule finds one exception rules defies!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Wrong Turning
“Progress” - probing life’s eternal laws –
itself betrays, strays from initial quest,
squanders time pursuing senseless cause.
For Reason, discontent, can seldom rest,
bias’d its search to widen learning’s shores
with mercenary motives which, at best,
lead to conclusions hasty which it draws
by compromising ethics to suggest
objectives predefined while masking flaws.
Although, at last, it may the stars’ conquest
assure for some, most lock their outer doors
instead of turning to the treasure chest
within to learn to share and sow! So, pause, ! -
the stars to aim at, East and West,
exist within Love’s sacred stores.
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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As Life is Mirage - Acrostic Sonnet
As dusk to dawn succeeds, so death to birth,
Swift arcs the arrow, with the ark of man,
Lost on Time’s sea, while his allotted span
Is soon forgotten, dry-docked, - narrow berth.
For dust to dust returns, earth turns to earth;
Each sickled moon a sickly herald, wan,
Is witness to impermanence. The plan
Spins to Fate’s farce fast ending. Light and mirth
Must fade or jade before they prove their worth.
In earnest, blazing brightly, nothing can
Remain eternal, beacon Hope can’t scan,
And flame as ‘fixèd mark’ – and so its dearth,
Ghost mirage, mocks love’s life and locks life’s love -
End is in sight, flight spent, expressed above.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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In Your Mind There Remains Unrest
If you can't see it in the East.
And it can't be seen in the North.
So you look about in the West,
To declare that the South is best.
But,
Yet in your mind there remains unrest.
If you can't see it in the East.
And it can't be seen in the North.
So you look about in the West,
To declare that the South is best.
You seek a model,
In the East.
One you can bottle,
From the North.
To establish a nest,
One picked from the West.
And,
In the South you'll have that house...
Successfully built by an architect.
You seek a model,
In the East.
One you can bottle,
From the North.
To establish a nest,
One picked from the West.
And,
In the South you'll have that house...
Successfully built by an architect.
If you can't see it in the East.
And it can't be seen in the North.
So you look about in the West,
To declare that the South is best.
But,
Yet in your mind there remains unrest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Noise and Equipoise
NOISE AND EQUIPOISE
Noise:
A signal the individual is unaware [s]he could decipher
Static is said to be noise,
'interference’ which often annoys,
yet the noise is not static
but code automatic,
sent by atoms which seek equipoise.
Here is there, where perception employs
perspicacity spurning poor ploys,
though zen trip's tip erratic
seems, dreams reel to vatic
conclusion aback zen tortoise.
Noise: an echo where energy toys
with a world whose half-life it destroys,
this while reader, ecstatic,
ventures smile enigmatic,
sees the light, - contradictions enjoys.
For 'pro', 'con', twins identical, boys,
maintain nothing's vain, on 'porpoise'
spins life's jest, though dramatic
it appears, scarce pragmatic,
sense intense may discover, reach poise.
31 May 1995 revised 6 May 2009
robi03_0756_robi03_0000 GWX_EJZ
for previous version followed by Nothing see below
Noise and Equipoise
Noise:
A signal the individual is unaware [s]he could decipher
Static is said to be noise,
‘interference’ which often annoys,
yet the noise is not static
but code automatic,
sent by atoms which seek equipoise...
Noise: an echo where energy toys
with a world whose half-life it destroys,
this while reader, ecstatic,
with a smile enigmatic,
sees the light, - contradictions enjoys...
31 May 1995
© Jonathan Robin
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIII
Noting Nothing Not Knot, Ting, Gel, In Gelignite Ignite Night Nothing Noting
As nature hates a vacuum NOTHING can
be but a figment fragment second-guessed.
Reality and dreams combine, their quest
is thus to banish NOTHING then to span
creation’s vastness, scanning big bang's van,
from tao trip evolution's also-ran
to space displacement through one hundredth dan
to Time condensing on initial jest
when request and inquest converge in gest
and atoms spin their tails till come to rest
contest, contestants, distance, über plan,
surmounting surface difference with zest.
From mess congestive to suggestive test
of chaos, universal fractal fest
patterns pitter patter, matter must
invent itself from, to, through, into dust.
18 February 1995 revised 6 May 1995 previous title Not[h]ing retitled 28 August 2009
robi03_0748_robi03_0000 WXX_CEZ
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Wind Of Prediction
As the trees play in the breeze
Do you wonder what it may mean.
Does the wind coming from a certain direction
Mean something we should heed.
North wind blows cold and dry
Originating from the elements of earth
Read as the wind of death, colour black
Time to abondon issues no longer needed
Heed the news from the North.
West wind blows moist and fertile
Elements of water, coloured blue
Soothing, sensitive and healing.
Touch the cleansing power of the West.
South wind blows hot and dry
Of element fire, colour red
Usethe initiative and passion
To boost the ideals
Haste to feel the southern breeze.
East wind blows from the orient light
Assaulting with cold dry feel
Symbol of air, coloured white
Trust new starts from the East.
North South East and West
Thus the world changes
From whence it blows
That is what it will show
Predictions blown around.
poem by Alison Smith
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What Are We?
WHAT ARE WE?
What are we?
Dust of the earth
Dust of the stars
Thinking dust
Dreaming dust
Loving dust
Dust of Dust
God’s Dust
What are we?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Wind Blows Rustling Through The Bush
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and only it and God knows where it is going,
when it disappears and nothing move in the veldt
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
An ibises raises gleaming copper into the sky
while God finds some answers for His earth,
and it chatters while big wings slam against the wind,
as it flies high over a small wooded hillock.
Guinea fowl peck along in the red grass,
after the rain some small bulbs are growing,
some lovely flowers astonish the veldt
but still this world is wounded by man.
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Sun Burns East to West
The Sun Burns East to West
(Earth’s Creation to the end of an Ice Age)
© 2008 (Jim Sularz)
Sun’s first rise over life-less skies,
the Earth cools, and the waters pool -
the Sun burns East to West.
And the planet’s broken plates quake and move.
Lightning strikes, the waters stir,
and the bonds of life begin to churn -
the Sun burns East to West.
And the waters swirl in a living urn.
Strange aquatic things, they all evolve,
some spiny finned, start to crawl -
the Sun burns East to West.
And they slowly stretch erect and tall.
Eons past where the cunning reign, a savage place,
with small sized brains -
the Sun burns East to West.
And the dead surrender their twisted remains.
An asteroid streaks from the sky, blocks out the Sun,
cause most to die -
the Sun burns East to West.
And all in a blink of Time’s eye.
Footprints in stone, some on mountainsides,
make it clear that rocks don’t lie -
the Sun burns East to West.
And the Fossils always tell the Time.
Eons past and Eons more, the fittest evolves,
and Man is born -
the Sun burns East to West.
And the early brain, once fast asleep,
begins to dream and mourn.
The first million years, Man lives in fear, learns to hunt,
invents the spear -
the Sun burns East to West.
And migrates to claim the vast frontiers.
Tools from stone and controlled fire, creates language,
that shake Man’s empire -
the Sun burns East to West.
And splash Cave paintings with Human inspire.
Life-times of hunter-gathering,
and story-telling in the dark -
the Sun burns East to West.
And a World spins with a Million hearts.
The Earth starts to warm, the oceans rise,
and the waters shape the lands -
the Sun burns East to West.
And when an Ice Age ends, then comes, the Age of Man.
poem by Jim Sularz
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Walk The Dust
I find youre on my back again
Cause your husbands weighing you down
And you say you find it hard to cope
Feel like leaving and not going home
Sister I thought you were stronger than me
But I guess youve lost the way
And I see your confusion oh so clear
Yet you love him more each day
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
Nothing has changed
Youre still the same
Are you willing to walk the dust
I guess that its too soon to tell
But I wish that youd wake up
Cause somehow you still believe in him
And you give him all your love
Seven months already gone
Do you feel youve let yourself down
And all I can do is sit and watch
Watch him change your mind
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
I want you to find a reason
To walk the dust
Nothing has changed
Youre still the same
Are you willing to walk the dust
Take my hand theres still time
Take my hand theres still time
My head is filled with words to say
But I only find them slip away
I know its hard to let it go
Take my hand
Take my hand theres still time
Sister take my hand theres still time
I know its hard to let it go
I know its hard to let it go
Take my hand
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hemispheres 1658
When northern winters shivers drive,
south seas see plankton thrive:
identical turquoise images
mirrored hemispheres contrive,
both as much alive.
(31 July 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Gunbarrel Highway
Ill give you something to write home about
And Ill take you somewhere, show you around
We burnt all the cars that laid down and died
We burnt all the trees to keep us alive
Sat round the fire, sang like a choir
With the ashes of civilisation in our eyes
I come alive, I read the signs on the gunbarrel highway
Far off a dull radio beats for the young uninvolved
The meanings a football
A stick and a can and a kakadu man
Will the speaker speak up or the talker talk down
The world is no oyster and here in this town
Shit falls like rain on a world that is brown
I come alive, I read the signs on the gunbarrel highway
I come alive, and the children will sing as the
Satellite swings down that highway
Nothing could be longer than that corrugated road
No ever follows where the road trains go
And no where in the country do the dust storms blow so hard
So hard
I come alive, I read the signs on the gunbarrel highway
I hear the sound, its the wheels as they drive
And the cultures collide on that highway
Ah, its a hard day, the children will sing as the
Satellite swings down that highway
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All in a Hot and Copper Sky
Grilled golden grains glance through his restless hands,
strong suntanned fingers straining sandy rain.
Stranded on a strip of ocean land,
he lonely lingers. Glances once again
from his castaway kingdom’s salty strand,
where he remains in solitary reign
over seagulls banking on the sand
and mosquito clouds which whine, complain,
from morn till night amid the palm tree bands
which food and drink provide to ease his pain.
The cloudless compass round, on every hand,
north, south, east, west, his anxious eye has panned.
He scans the coral sea from sky to land,
stands screening, once again, the sun steeped main.
While distant sea lanes still he spans in vain,
the visions echo through his aching brain.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Life Discarded
Life like withered leaves
can so easily fall
when discarded from use.
It loses its momentum
the force to drive it along.
Then its sad fate is ignored
as is its faltering flaws
until the time it returns to dust
to be swept across the land
and is scattered by the four winds
to land here, there and everywhere.
A life when it is discarded
holds the biggest hurt of all.
30 January 2011
poem by David Harris
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The Ultimate
When dreams have turned to dust and dust to slime;
When all you ever were or hoped to be
Appears as no more than a jest of time,
A foolish jest, a tasteless parody
On some unlikely fiction; when not just
Your dear pretensions but your best ideals
Have been ground down into an acrid dust
That you are forced to eat for all your meals;
When—oh, but what can metaphor provide
Sufficient in its scope to comprehend
The fury never to be satisfied
Of one betrayed by a once-trusted friend?
poem by David Berman
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The Beautiful Land Of Nod
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,
Your head like the golden-rod,
And we will go sailing away from here
To the beautiful land of Nod.
Away from life’s hurry, and flurry, and worry,
Away from earth’s shadows and gloom,
To a world of fair weather we’ll float off together
Where the roses are always in bloom.
Just shut up your eyes, and fold your hands,
Your hands like the leaves of a rose,
And we will go sailing to those fair lands
That an atlas never shows.
On the North and the West they are bounded by rest,
On the South and the East by dreams;
‘Tis the country ideal, where nothing is real,
But everything only seems.
Just dropp down the curtains of your dear eyes,
Those eyes like a bright blue-bell,
And we will sail out under starlit skies
To the land where the fairies dwell.
Down the river of sleep our barque shall sweep,
Till it reaches the mystical isle
Which no man has seen, but where all have been,
And there we will pause for awhile.
I will croon you a song as we float along,
To that shore that is blessed of God,
Then ho! for that fair land, we’re off for that rare land,
That beautiful Land of Nod.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Angel Dust
Ooh la la la la la
Ooh la la la la la
She's like a drug, she makes me crazy
makes me go quite haywire
I'm not an acrobat but here I am
I'm on the haywire
My intuition tells me
this has gone quite far enough
If my vertigo kicks in then down I go onto
the hard stuff
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
dooba dooba dooba dooba dooba dooba ...
She's like a holiday
she has a way to cheering me up
I need my daily dose
my hit my high my loving cup
Sense the urgency
it's shaking this dependency
I'm going down while shooting up
I can't explain this misdemeanour
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
dooba dooba dooba dooba dooba dooba ...
She's like a duel at dawn
she has a way of taking me on
I'm not averse to this
I like the way she shakes her fist
The kicks the blows this Alamo
Keeps me on tippy toes and if my hetero
kicks and then down I go
Onto the hard stuff
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la la la - she's my little bit of angel dust
Ooh la la la la la - that's what she does to me
Ooh la la la
song performed by by Right Said Fred
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pictures
I.
Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all
Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down
Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town,
The freshening meadows, and the hillsides brown;
Voice of the west-wind from the hills of pine,
And the brimmed river from its distant fall,
Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude
Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting wood,--
Heralds and prophecies of sound and sight,
Blessed forerunners of the warmth and light,
Attendant angels to the house of prayer,
With reverent footsteps keeping pace with mine,--
Once more, through God's great love, with you I share
A morn of resurrection sweet and fair
As that which saw, of old, in Palestine,
Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom
From the dark night and winter of the tomb!
II.
White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds
Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass,
And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass;
Frail screen against the Hunter of the sky,
Who, glaring on me with his lidless eye,
While mounting with his dog-star high and higher
Ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds
The burnished quiver of his shafts of fire.
Between me and the hot fields of his South
A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth,
Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight,
As if the burning arrows of his ire
Broke as they fell, and shattered into light;
Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind,
And hear it telling to the orchard trees,
And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees,
Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams,
And mountains rising blue and cool behind,
Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams,
And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined.
So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares
Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned,
Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs
Of a serener and a holier land,
Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland.
Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray,
Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Riddle
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
Monday morning was the first time
That I noticed something strange
Now I know with your kiss was not the same
Was it all just in my mind
Or was it something I should pay attention to
Then on tuesday having lunch with friends
I thought I saw your car
Leaving from our favorite restaurant but too far
For my eyes to see what I feel
Would be heartbreaking if I saw was true whoo
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
(while the chorus is singing)
History
Its history
cause now I see, you lie
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
(while the chorus is singing)
You gave me clues
I saw through
Now you lose,
You fool
Wednesday evening
Every time the phone would rang
Youd say hello
When Id come around youd say I got to go
Youre friends never called line two before
And I dont know nobody named tyrone
Oh now its thursday
You left the house to go to work an hour early
You said you had some papers for your boss to sign
But you left your briefcase home
And when I called you job
They said you were not there oh yeah
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
(while the chorus is singing)
History
Its history
cause now I see, you lie
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
(while the chorus is singing)
You gave me clues
I saw through
Now you lose,
You fool
Friday night
Is the night weve always had our weekend date
But you showed up at the house extremely late
Without any conversation you just went to bed
And said that youre head ached
Now its the weekend
And you know that its the day I do my cleaning
And when I washed your shirts I just could not believe
Im picking hair weave off your seam
Found a letter in your pocket from the week please
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
(while the chorus is singing)
History
Its history
cause now I see, you lie
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
(while the chorus is singing)
You gave me clues
I saw through
Now you lose,
You fool
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
One little riddle
Two little three little
Four little riddle
Five little six little
Seven little riddle
Eight little riddle
Now you know
You gotta go
song performed by by En Vogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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