Related quotes: Jest plays with rubaiyat and,...

Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

Jest plays with rubaiyat and, four by four,
unseals for your amusement more and more
verses together thread in rosary
unreeled to bloom till tomb will curtains draw.

Repealed are value judgement and perspective
revealed through standpoint purely introspective,
darkside concealed of moon’s yin-yang shines clear
when we’re in orbit, - option more effective.

Rolled form performs rôle midwife to perception,
sprung tongue in cheek, tweaks sense of imperfection
or willingness to leach between the lines,
impeach entrenched ideas of self-[s]election.

This prose arose as stream deprived of section,
where ‘dip at will’ will still sustain inspection,
the current’s sense, at odds with current views
ignores round holes, square pegs, top-down direction.

Here there’s no fear of critics’ peer rejection,
contention treated with due circumspection
intention is to mention for retention
an overview or clue to extrospection.

Life’s curtains are a veil through which few see,
as many haste taste-waste eternity,
mixed up, ignore life fixes finite sum
to/through infinite opportunity.

Can “Truth” exist? all ask, who seek its core,
we, modest, etch our words to sketch the score,
diverse the verses which converge to link
reflections mirrored many times before.

Vast content, style, a while, united are,
aim at soul stimulation, nothing bar,
to pleasure, treasure, or discard at will
as minds outreach to other minds on par.

Meditating, we shed light on what
tomorrow’s tot may factor into ‘bot’ -
the poet’s lot, forgot, to help all think
ahead of time, enhance life for a lot

Some seek Nirvana, Faith speaks more than “how”.
Others reject Salvation’s wraith, - w[h]ine “now”.
Verifying facts? Inventing dreams?
Each furrow-burrows with a different plough.

In these short stanzas we shall seek a way
to weed out false philosophies that prey
upon fair truth - if ‘Truth’ be not abstract -
to plant fresh garden, chant beside the ‘Way’.

./.

Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep,
the East’s ablaze, there rising rays do steep
the far horizon, phasing stars away
phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow’s cheep.

A bird soft sings - one robin is enough -
to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff
is scored by millions more - cheep’s cheek astounds.
rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.

Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease
tunes into echo surfing prime rhyme's breeze,
life’s warmth wells from flat fields, rills, rocky tors,
gold bees abound, buzz round some kitten's sneeze.

Eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits
on spider spinning, dawn anticipates,
while we may ask what sense is made of sound
by church and steeple, aisle and green stile gates.

What feelings hound retains for hare he’d chase
and what the hunter for the hound? What pace
finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound?
What’s real to roundabout when rests its case?

How feels the Tao for circling day and night?
what for the centre feels surround, dark, light?
what of the bounce when words once more rebound
describing robin breasting air in flight?

What feels for fractal any given point?
What feels the oil for King who rites anoint?
What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned?
Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint.

What reads the clearing into red deer’s [t]race?
May star count light years till return to base?
How may red blood react to heart’s flesh pound
when foreign smokescreen floats round beauty’s face?

Stars seek love’s meaning, spinning hot and cold
on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold
around their half-life cycles and around
on ‘always’ as they fight the black hole’s hold.

Bird song still seeks its Way upon Time’s wave,
stars spin off Mankind’s blind, ambitious crave, -
cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound,
crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave.

Dawn filters fragile memories from the mind,
few surface, most, unconscious, stay confined
behind the film that shadows dreams from day -
which to internal eye is almost blind.

And yet those precious seconds which divide
warm bed from breakfast should not be denied,
once trained, the train of conscious thought turns fey,
rei[g]ns in the lines that let the brain decide.

Though chance the dice of daily choice does load,
no sleep no judgement voices, faulty mode,
a dream or two recalled can during play
let Man rejoice as answers he is showed.

The magic lantern’s locked nocturnal sweep
shows picture flow performance, light or deep,
stays in abeyance waiting till the fray
of daily combat’s waged, unwound in sleep.

For wave on wave of subtle interchange
that nightly entertains, by day seems strange
dissolves beneath a cataract of fact -
packed practicalities and pay, exchange.

Yet pay and practicalities do reap
a barren harvest, bitter tears to weep.
when in the final act ‘les jeux sont faits’, -
then who is mocked upon what moldy heap?

For some dreams stand out crystal clear and stay,
some nightmares ride through fear that fades away
when ‘self’ is drowned in tensions which exact
the working week’s attention, fears allay.

Observe commuters in the early dawn
eyes bleary, weary gait and stifled yawn,
day’s duty done in turn each does return
at night to comfort slight they left that morn.

Most for a pittance serve and thus sustain
a system biased which none may maintain
intact – attacked by innovations that
unchecked track ransack what they entertain.

“The moving finger writes, and having writ”
moves on, along, to make The pattern fit,
links dark to light, ignites Time’s spotlight fast,
all once foreseen sets scene for future k[n]it.

This moving finger which directs the write
must fight for flight to rise, not fall through flight,
take not temptation to mistake wood, trees, -
the dotted line should witness not indict.

With this in mind above the daily static
the poet’s pen to writing automatic
steers often on another plane than most –
the host whose ear at times appears erratic.

True poet seldom rhymes with attic, crust,
needs not to cross the tease emphatic, must
as an observer taking vatic pulse
see, seed, foresee, and kneed ecstatic dust.

Poet peeps seeped truth, digs deep within
the reader’s wonderland to underpin
belief in ‘drink me’ magic potion stored
by mind behind [sp]each superficial grin.

Sojourn is our stay where sot and sage,
active, passive, those calm, those who rage,
justice, crime, combine to trace each track,
to ink “I think I act” on passing page.

Leave ‘news’ behind which often disappoints,
progression seldom needs be pushed on points,
though archived meta data may prepare
another world which its own way appoints.

Joy follows through where intuition points,
for its zen flesh and bones, provides the joints, -
masters the world’s attention, iceberg tip
invents to crown our surface race appoints.

True erudition: - intuition’s wink
responding to the cues that help mind think
beyond tryst rendez-vous of time and place
can trace-scan span which Past and Future link.

So be it wide, or hide-out's tiny chink
through which soul spies the skies without a blink,
there is no chaser, chaste, or chase but pace
as Poet's dream streams past Man’s teeming brink

Yet answers in themselves must be allied
with intuitions acting as a guide
interpreting the runes that won’t betray
effects and causes, each identified.

The fourth dimension’s secret passageway
has hidden exits, entrances, thus may
be breached by forces magic which attract
fey instincts, set foreknowledge on its way.

Fate's ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes
but here or there as strikes the fancy flows
and [s]He that toss'd it down into the field,
[s]He knows about it all ~ [s]He knows ~ [s]He knows! '

Pill can’t fulfill the will to understand,
nor spirit chart heart’s flair fantastic fanned, -
no drips let slip but sip the rapture rich
through sharing in a manner under...hand.

Though taking can attract the underhand,
and leave soul wrack, the lack can then expand
as time feeds need to flood Hurt’s tear filled ditch, -
the sods or stone there thrown let Promised Land

at last appear as vision clear can tear
away the veils of this world’s wails and wear
a halo bright to fight off night begun, -
web spun which one MUST cut not run, aware!

Awake, aware, no vision e’er should be
one-sided, - clear should steer, with energy
to focus on holistic insight wide,
perception prizing authenticity.

Perception ends must bend to mend what then
may be free reinvented to extend
to new dimensions things that first appear
too distant, incompatible, to blend

conceptions potent. These procede to lend
stability to an equation which must send
beyond our ken when a message formula
has integrated Time in hidden trend.

Invention is extension catalysed
or role reversal, vistas reapprized,
what complicated seemed is later seen
as simple step towards a goal disguised.

Dream-innovation themes explores, sends shoots
to test fond dreams beyond both insight, roots,
the route seems open, ready, preprepared
by past and future playing, in cahoots.

Where both left brain and right can intertwine -
invention, innovation, - from design
mind tunes to innate patterns which possess
no walls “to grasp this scheme of things” divine.

All quests for knowledge spur adventures we
must turn to profit, - opportunity
magically evolves to solve at last
inherent challenge s from sea to sea.

In evolution’s bark much mystery
exists few mark, and fewer seem to see,
for timing innovation oft contains
an element of synchronicity

that crucial changes duplicates to tune
mere mortals’ fortunes who beneath the moon
might otherwise miss portals pointing through
reef shoal to [b][r]each soul’s goal of blue lagoon.

Therein stands both circumference and points
or one point cardinal which priest appoints?
is there a bible code convergency
or waiting cusp which promise disappoints?

Each generation in its turn believes
Earth’s mysteries may surface ere it leaves,
that synchronicities will watershed -
or shed true light, - yet each the next deceives.

For rhyme and reason often are withheld
till time and season pass, their winter knelled,
true timing is essential where the mind
must channel forces from the future welled.

Who would evolve must choose from many doors, -
each offers either fame, or blame, doom draws,
each offers health or wealth, advance or pause, -
must think the link between effect and cause.

What fame is, what is doom, though, who forsees?
what choice reject, what opportunities
take for, or take as, granted, who can tell?
Time twists or tows each current man would seize.

What matters, and to whom? What gravities
apply when anti-matter equals tease
conundrums which a life-long paradox
entertains until all memories

are atomised upon a karmic breeze,
blown willy nilly till, like honeyed bees,
they bumble on towards a homely hive,
they stumble on till patterns by degrees

from angles wide frame, focus, offer keys
for who between the lines can read, and these
the waft and weft of substance may discern -
may draw the line dividing wood from trees.

So grasp that moving finger as it writes
wait not on Time, but tune to timing – flights
of fancy twin with chance advance spun once,
which may not seed again, feed dreams’ delights.

There is no world to hold but one to share,
there is no word in bold, no blank to spare,
there is no end and no beginning, none,
but just a line which seeks expansion where

vibration is the tune to rune the play
responding to a ripple interplay.
Response but not Reaction is the key
which liberates those give and take gainsay.

The meanings take and give are often lent
by those who blind behind their screens, lie bent, -
if on the ball then toss you call shall be
a legacy which ALL may represent!

Ambitions are but empty boasts to bind
Man to what he too soon must leave behind.
when curtain’s rung, act’s over, - all admit
wrung hands can’t cancel Fate once Fate’s defined.

Though most would Fate defy, few have begun
to find replies behind spun night and sun,
jails cannot hold who, bold, must freedom seek,
depart from self from start till journey’s done.

Discovery of central launching pad,
overcomes dams, artifice, to add
diversity to knowledge, tolerance, -
aims reconciled when game spins good from bad.

Too many spend their time on Earth asleep,
don’t dare to dream, don’t dream to dare, in keep
secure enclose the flame they claim astray
until that dread appointment all must keep.

The pilgrim staff that half directs the play
itself in pawn is to each coryphée
who for a spell puts on a little act
‘till Lethewards is sunk’ with no cachet.

Time is not blood but bud that inner light
may nourish, bring to flourish [st]ring delight -
the road soul takes makes light of 'here' and 'now',
realities are tease to freeze insight!

Dreams thresholds are where strangely side by side
Past, Present, Future, somehow coincide.
Tomorrow’s cake with flour of Yesterday
is [k]needed by Time’s hands, whose flowers abide.

Dreams with fresh dreams collide, ideas explode,
most petty, but some able to decode
the active grain from static chaff and weigh
imponderables within the mind’s geode.

Like ripples in reverse that override
the ‘natural order’, time-trap thrust aside,
Time’s warp and weft implode, and inklings spray
ink jets which think they playrights are world-wide.

No need for sundry saint or lotus sect,
to paint these coloured verses circumspect,
where joy and rainbow aim to blackout grey, -
no soul knows faintness which would self perfect.

But self no sense retains if for a year,
ten, or ten thousand is our sojourn here,
THE question lingers, will not go away,
once gone what will become of all held dear?

Once gone what sun will other eyes reflect,
what son to what fair bride will genuflect,
what ring upon which groom or fiancée
will glow, will grow, to comfort or protect?

Dismiss all doubts, advance, evolve, elect
a path regardless what all else select, -
free spirits seek no quarter don’t display
uncertain, undue or unearned respect.

“Unto thyself be true” yet never fear
to undo prejudice, the way is clear,
“there’s none so blind as will not see! ” yet each
deserves a passing sigh, if not a tear.

Formality must never intersect
a mind that’s open, tolerant, direct, -
yet tolerance is not a takeaway
excuse for man’s refusal to reflect.

Though there’s an inner conscience to obey
it must be sound, not papier maché, -
respond to Future, not to Past react,
reflect, reject excuses for delay

We draw upon a framework long foretold.
All groundless fears are ground to make new mould,
where energy is timeless - yesterday
tomorrow’s future could today enfold.

What lit that spark to differentiate
Mankind from ape, the eater from the ate?
matched energies that fuse, refuse to prey,
refusing fusion fuses primal state.

Ignore all who a moment are extolled,
who when the wheel turns are as rough rogues roled,
reject role models, and by conscience backed
mistrust bland fads and carpets red unrolled.

Work thus towards a future faraway
knit Time to rhyme with rhythm's calming lay,
and thus outplay time’s croupier who’s stacked
the odds against enlightenment’s entrée.

Beware ideals that feel not, hot and cold
would blow upon ideas which, uncontrolled,
could open up new vistas and convey
new patterns for Life’s petals to unfold.

Beware Religion’s dogmas, those the State
instils to brake or break the will to wait
upon a world unbound which won’t obey
blind power plays, would Man emancipate.

The door of Hope may ope to spirit bold,
to find the scope that can’t be bought or sold,
for equal opportunity why pray -
each would more equal be in luck or gold!

For equal opportunities don’t stay
untamed by use some make which most affray, -
The West’s religions and the East’s are sacked
by vested interests which the piper pay.

Though some there are who through true flair do float,
and there are some with multi-coloured coat
who help adapt and keep an even keel, -
most overboard do fall when rocks the boat.

Oh! fragile our environmental note
blown by el ninõ to, fro, remote.
climatic change climactic range does test, -
today’s mistakes tomorrow’s fate denote.

Who seeks desires must stoke the fires which
inspire to higher levels, somehow stitch
the links which join ‘[s]he thinks, [s]he acts’, enhance
the chances of ‘success’, avoid all kitsch!

For entertainment services somehow
an inner wilderness where ‘buy, buy now! ’
is seen as compensation by minds void
avoiding questions such as ‘why? and how? ’

For ‘how? and why? ’ must search the living past
to learn, mark and digest, its net deep cast,
while indigestion does consumption brand
with captive hand throughout our land so vast.

Time is a theme as current now as ever,
a pattern waved by youth who’s brow knows never
time beats out timeless hopes, till in dismay
age ploughs life under foot to chain links sever.

Time calls the tune, the moon with gravity
pulls in the seasons, yet the cherry tree
reblossoms every April come what may,
as May returns to [sp]ring time’s verity.

Time cows both Pauper, King, the simple, clever,
pleas disallows ‘spite advocate’s endeavour,
weighs souls with feathers, smiles at disarray,
from Life’s bough one more apple plucks forever.

The Tree of Life evolves as day by day,
fresh changes ring the seasons’ roundelay.
Though many sicken, most are trouble wracked,
the same would kill to lengthen their short stay.

“There is a tide in the affairs of men
which, taken at the flood” is Fate’s amen: -
“take then the current when it serves, ” some say,
why worry? What will be, will be again.

“To be, or not to be” the question’s put,
who cares if skin be ivory or soot?
Life’s caravan wends on its weary way,
and tramples generations under foot.

Why put the questions ‘How, Why, Where, and When? ’
Embrace Life’s lease with vigour, grow, and then
depart contented, welcome don’t outstay, -
yet leave a trace another race may pen.

Life’s not a prison, but a holiday
to be enjoyed as long as spotlight’s ray
can light emotions which remain intact
untainted by applause at matinée.

Each innings may be karmic interlude,
a turn to bat, return to feast or feud,
another cycle pedals into play -
yet insight’s lacking, - though for thought leaves food.

While black holes funnel light as on they spin,
whole galaxies in flight are spiralled in,
a mirror image universe can stay
without reflection waiting, sure to win.

Yet victory, defeat, are notions crude,
for Time as maestro may reverse each mood,
though anti-matter threatens us today
tomorrow all’s forgotten, sense elude.

One hole one cubic mile could hold someway -
sum total of Earth’s biomass at play
today, and, yes, the figures are exact,
and highlight life’s fragility bouquet.

We come to birth through labour, in the nude,
for bed and board we labour while, pursued,
by fears invented to set fears at bay,
in turn we’re boarded up, then bored for food.

Dust into dust’s absorbed which knows not sin,
nor cares a fiddle for a toothless grin.
Good, Evil, both are absent from a play
that ends before its ready to begin.

Through time some after conquests vain pursued,
still others, patient, stood in line and queued,
alike for those who’d pray and those who’d prey,
before too long one gong, - then exits cued.

Yet there were those by high self-pride imbued,
and those there were who after hermits sued,
and when the sun rose later where were they? -
hay making for another multitude...

Each spirit is a time-strapped castaway
upon Earth’s island, routeless émigré, -
yet Pot and Potter both are carbon b[l]acked,
seek clay’s perfection ere half-lives decay.

Fair blooms enjoy before the petals fall,
in all draw trumps ‘til trumpets curtain all,
life is curtailed, once hailed our strength is spent,
Time thirsts to swallow all in hollow hall.

So quickstep through the dance, uncertain ball,
and pleasure take in all things, great and small,
tomorrow? Spend tonight in merriment -
who knows when sorrow knocks, what may befall.

Why care a fig for bowler, bat or ball,
an innings independent live, in thrall
to no false prophet, priest or sect hell-bent
on making fear a breeding ground, - forestall

attempts to bind the mind to concrete slings,
to rabble rousers or the cause of kings,
temptation which would substitute rich cream
for wholesome water, fetters for free flings.

Seek not to barter best for better things,
nor fret about what freedoms future brings,
each karma drifts towards a downy dream
furled in the feathers of Time’s fleeting wings.

Ignore what others term Time’s wanton stings,
live for today, the heaven here that sings
heartstrings hearking darkling dreams agleam,
nor jealousy espouse, nor golden rings.

We’re born, we breath, we suffer, then we die,
in vain most seek to know the reason why, -
the finite to the Infinite appeals
but seldom gains the ghost of a reply.

We breath, we seethe, impatient, then we sigh,
so few stay snug, - complacent, ‘neath the sky,
Divinity the Book of Judgement seals
without appeal to heal or rectify.

Who, bold, would Death’s cold clutches e’er defy
soon stalls for storm or worm makes all comply, -
Eternity? - a changeling who conceals
Tomorrow, whate’er that may signify…

From birth to earth we struggle to explain
our loneliness, or seek to entertain
ideas of genes which constantly [r]evolve
round links of change, eternal karmic chain.

As nothing stands to wax that will not wane
add naught to nothing, who can count Man’s gain?
You from the past stem, passed your eyes dissolve, -
can fallen angels ever rise again?

One wick to trick flow stop and go, then snuff,
one lick at lollipop, then pop! – enough.
Take smooth with rough, for chronologic puff
one blast blows fast away, discarded bluff.

One wicket innings batting off the cuff
an eyelid’s batting measures buff to buff
returned, no halfway-house to purge
what ‘might have been’, hair-splitting, tough is tough!

The hair dividing reason from insane
remains a concept too few can retain,
the flame of fame flares, gutters, who’ll explain
the reasons for each season’s pride and pain?

Perfection is Time's mirage breeding fame,
a passion hot and sot, too soon turned tame,
a mummy which, once aired, melts down to dust,
consuming candle, moth, self-feeding flame.

All tombstones call two tunes, ‘I left, you came! ’
all we discover covers mortal shame,
cause and effect rolled dice but both went bust –
insisting each the other was to blame.

‘Cause’ and ‘Effect’ combine as on its way
Chance chimes advance whose rhymes appear today
unclear as if transparency requires
both distance and reflection for life’s play.

Yet loaded are the dice of interplay,
leaden weighted, fêted for a day,
dissatisfaction spurs an onward dance
as stage stage follows on Life’s stage at bay.

Little we learn and even less retain,
leaves willy-nilly blown, where all would gain
election entry to a higher state, -
ambitions empty, aims and means as vain.

Lotus blossoms for a season’s spell,
lends perfume to a transient breeze to tell
some unknown sentience XX XY walked
before the midnight came to fill Time’s well.

Like dust blown topsy-turvy by Life’s storm
we whirl around, try vainly to transform
the currents into channelled flow to ward
Time’s blow while Time grins, waiting, true to form.

Life is a chain we hope spite hope to be
linked to some future Eden, - fallacy,
myth entertained by mutual consent,
by nightfall there is little left to see

except some stray leaves, litter on the grass,
which twirled with second thoughts that quickly pass
beyond all recognition – ‘good’ or ‘bad’?
New dawn, no trace remains, - another fa[r]ce.

Life leads to Death as day feeds into night,
lost is the battle, though the will to fight
may in itself self-justifying seem
when in and of this world we’d weed out fright.

The wide world spins round claim and counter-claim,
the ebb and flow of which may leave no name
until the will of man ‘n’ times discussed
goes digital within a matrix game.

In what brash pride was rash Atlantis drowned?
Where are the countless kingdoms which, discrowned,
and sceptreless, whose [t][h]race Time’s washed away
have foundered ‘neath the [w]aves, remain unfound.

What wound Time’s train and whither is it bound?
What bound Time’s chain which daily is unwound?
What will remain, retain a final s[w]ay
when Doomsday's last refrain has echoed round?

What futures has the spun past run aground?
What spider’s web is dewly weighted, wound
around what timed flies fleeting as they stray
towards what echo waiting to rebound?

What unplumbed ocean trench in sleep profound
feels turmoil in its entrails underground,
prepares to dwarf Mount Everest one day,
leave all its snowbound secrets, weather ground,

What rock of ages can withs[t]and Time’s hound? -
yet what of Time when all but ultrasound
has been forgotten, slate wiped clean away,
when none are left ‘tomorrow’ to confound?

Tomorrow is an abstract merry-go-round
which whirls upon itself, self gendered stound,
it onward hurls, and twirls, companionway
and ladder leading to itself, unfound.

That strip of mind which separates the known
from the unknown seems desert now, but sown
the seeds of knowledge are, where, latent, lay
some stock of wisdom grafting flesh to bone.

I dreamed a dream, - no wine glass stood beside
no flask half-full, half-empty, - bona fide
a book of verses breadloaf was, and, nay,
no dulcimer, no damsel, surfed Time’s tide.

There was no need for Internet or phone,
there was no greed for gold, no grief, grey groan,
no bead strings, no strings tied, and no decay,
no scythe to tithe tomorrow for Death’s own.

Here ends a brief attempt to take a leaf
from Time the thief, and yet there is no brief,
no leitmotif to savour save the act
that offers in its way some slight relief...
'Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare
And those that after some TO-MORROW stare.'

20 March 1995,25th April 2005,5 December 2006 minor modifications 20 March 2010 robi03_0754_fitz01_0001

Rubaiyat of a Robin © Jonathan Robin – after Edward FITZGERALD Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

See below mirrored exerpt from opening stanzas after introduction

WHAT IS REAL TO ROUNDABOUT REEL
Mirrored excerpt from Rubaiyat of a Robin

Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep,
the East’s ablaze, there will wise rays rise steep
from far horizon, phasing stars away
phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow’s cheep.

A bird soft sings – one robin is enough –
to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff
art scored by millions more – cheep’s cheek astounds,
rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.

Eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits
on spider spinning, dawn anticipates,
while we may ask what sense is made of sound
by church and steeple, aisle or green stile gates.

What feelings hound retains for hare he’d chase
and what the hunted for the hound? What pace
finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound?
What’s real to roundabout when rests its case?

How feels the Tao for circling day and night?
what for the centre feels surround, dark, light?
what of the bounce when words once more rebound
describing robin breasting air in flight?

What feels for fractal any given point?
What feels the oil for King who rites anoint?
What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned?
Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint.

Stars seek love’s meaning, spinning hot and cold
on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold
around their half-life cycles and around
on ‘always’ as they fight the black hole’s hold.

Bird song still seeks its Way upon Time's wave,
stars spin off Mankind’s blind, ambitious crave, -
cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound,
crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave.

--
Crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave.
cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound,
stars spin off Mankind’s blind, ambitious crave, -
bird song still seeks its Way upon Time's wave.

On ‘always’ as they fight the black hole’s hold
around their half-life cycles and around
on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold,
stars seek love’s meaning, spinning hot and cold.

When foreign smokescreen floats round beauty’s face?
how may red blood react to heart’s flesh pound
may star count light years till return to base?
what reads the clearing into red deer’s [t]race?

Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint.
What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned?
What feels the oil for King who rites anoint?
What feels for fractal any given point?

Describing robin breasting air in flight
what of the bounce when words once more rebound?
What for the centre feels surround, dark, light?
how feels the Tao for circling day and night?

What’s real to roundabout when rests its case,
finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound?
and what the hunted for the hound? What pace
What feelings hound retains for hare he’d chase
by church and steeple, aisle or green stile gates,
while we may ask what sense is made of sound
of spider spinning dawn anticipates,
eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits …

Gold bees abound, buzz round some kitten's sneeze,
life’s warmth wells from flat fields, rills, rocky tors,
tunes into echo surfing prime rhyme's breeze,
Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease.

Rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.
art scored by millions more – cheep’s cheek astounds,
to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff -
a bird soft sings – one robin is enough.

Phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow’s cheep.
from far horizon, phasing stars away
the East’s ablaze, there will wise rays rise steep
Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

What is Real to Roundabout Reel - reverse mirror after Rubaiyat of a Robin

Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep,
the East's ablaze, there will wise rays rise steep
from far horizon, phasing stars away
phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow's cheep.

A bird soft sings, one robin is enough,
to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff
art scored by millions more - cheep's cheek astounds,
rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.

Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease
tunes into echo surfing on the breeze,
Life's warmth wells from flat fields and rocky tors,
gold bees abound, they buzz as kittens sneeze.

Eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits
on spider spinning, dawn anticipates,
while we may ask what sense is made of sound
by church and steeple, aisle and green stile gates.

What feelings hound retains for hare he'd chase
and what the hunted for the hound? What pace
finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound?
What's real to roundabout when rests its case?

How feels the Tao for circling day and night?
what for the centre feels surround, dark, light?
what of the bounce when words once more rebound
describing robin breasting air in flight?

What feels for fractal any given point?
What feels the oil for King who rites anoint?
What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned?
Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint.

What reads the clearing into red deer's [t]race?
May star count light years till return to base?
How may red blood react to heart's flesh pound
when foreign smokescreen floats round beauty's face?

Stars seek love's meaning, spinning hot and cold
on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold
around their half-life cycles and around
on ‘always' as they fight the black hole's hold.

Bird song still seeks its Way upon Time's wave,
stars spin off Mankind's blind, ambitious crave, -
cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound,
crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave.

Crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave.
cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound,
stars spin off Mankind's blind, ambitious crave, -
bird song still seeks its Way upon Time's wave.

On ‘always' as they fight the black hole's hold
around their half-life cycles and around
on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold,
stars seek love's meaning, spinning hot and cold.

When foreign smokescreen floats round beauty's face?
how may red blood react to heart's flesh pound
may star count light years till return to base?
what reads the clearing into red deer's [t]race?

Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint.
What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned?
What feels the oil for King who rites anoint?
What feels for fractal any given point?

Describing robin breasting air in flight
what of the bounce when words once more rebound?
What for the centre feels surround, dark, light?
how feels the Tao for circling day and night?

What's real to roundabout when rests its case,
finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound?
and what the hunted for the hound? What pace
What feelings hound retains for hare he'd chase

By church and steeple, aisle and green stile gates.
while we may ask what sense is made of sound
on spider spinning, dawn anticipates,
eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits.

Gold bees abound, they buzz as kittens sneeze,
Life's warmth wells from flat fields and rocky tors,
tunes into echo surfing on the breeze,
Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease.

Rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.
art scored by millions more, cheep's cheek astounds,
to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff,
a bird soft sings, one robin is enough.

Phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow's cheep.
from far horizon, phasing stars away
the East's ablaze, there will wise rays rise steep
Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep.

(6 May 2008)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Rubaiyat of Romance

Romance draws from response to stimulate,
and span two dreams’ convergence, second state,
meets live with love to spurn Time’s rendezvous,
ignoring jigsaw mind-set’s zigzag gait.

Love is link ‘pheronomic’ catalyzed,
Romance is ritual, hopes realized, -
what complicated seemed is later seen
as simple steps towards goal undisguised.

Romance: a link between ‘pretend’ ‘extend’,
where end to means is sometimes means to end,
where current flow re...volts as feelings churn ~
though real solutions may seem round the bend.

If whirlwind is Romance see dance with fast
advance, retreat before decision’s cast
upon love’s winds which often after time
turn zephyr into cyclone's whirlwind blast.

‘Festina lente’, ‘hasten slowly’, ~ Fate
may be amused when we anticipate
the way the dice is rolled a turn or two,
but should turn guilty temptor from gilt gate.

Romance is all about “anticipate”
while love is passion, - lessons learned too late
may heighten disillusion when heart’s chart
from artless spins to envy, hope to hate.

Romance is bed of roses for the mind,
Love, blind, this channels - nearness, distance pined,

Romance in polychrome makes awesome write
yet turns to empty rite with motives blind.

Be wary of presumption, stretching luck,
too few are called where most, lame, come unstuck,
identify the slipstream tipping crown,
avoid spin drown in cyclone vortex suck.

Oft man and maid confuse Romance and Love,
to summon images of turtle dove,
of partnership above Life's passing years,
no tears may know, advancing hand in glove.

Yet when to test of time is marriage put
Man calls both head and tail despite the foot
which in his mouth so often shows he lies
while maid’s mascara tears soon turns to soot.

She cares for kids, where he kids, cares to rest
before some sport - while she supports the rest,
works both from nine to five and five to nine.
He sports bright ties - light ties prefers the best!

She looks ahead while he, as head, looks on
good looks - which in her book is more than wrong,
regretting grass seems greener seen through fence,
defence of dreams is sold short, for a song.

He wields the axe, while she bears forty whacks,
He thinks he wears the trousers though he slacks,
He waxes wroth he ‘needs’, she kneeds the wax
fills cracks, unshackles, builds long lasting shacks.

He spares to live, she ever lives to share.
He won’t forgive, she blossoms everywhere
needs harmony not tomb to bloom, bear fruit, -
He spi[t]es for wayfare, she, sprite, lights way fair!

He fields the work, while she must work the fields.
She feels the pinch, while he both pinches, feels.
She earns her keep while he her earnings keeps, -
She yields the count, while he, he counts the yields!

He’d lay the rules and rule the lays. Some say
unbalanced are the scales! On Judgment Day -
when all are weighed he’s wanting found withal -
while she’s a paragon, he’s gone astray!

She swears to honour, cherish and obey,
while he of harem dreams, as Pasha, Bey, -
what’s worth his plot of earth if one fine day
parthenogenisis may come to stay?

If SHE could autoreproduce or clone,
If SHE the race continued all alone,
what trace would HE retain who, vain, sees end
as master, losing face, to lying prone?

If HE, who least believes, leaves set as stone,
If HE, who most receives, heaves righteous moan
then Mona Lisa sentence might suspend
and spare the rib that cuts her to the bone.

For Woman is the source, the stream, the flow,
SHE bends where HE may break when strong winds blow,
HE who would rule the cradle seldom takes
sufficient time to nurture Nature, know

Romance may be spun out till kingdom come,
is not a cobweb to entice the dumb,
led on through love to larder poorly stocked,
who seeking cake discover acrid crumb.

But what to love is ‘inside’ or is ‘out’?
for Time’s dimension love would do without ~
the signpost seen may blow now east now west,
crow heeds no fixed road stop sign roundabout.

Though rhyme and reason often are withheld
till time and season pass, their winter knelled,
sustained romance essential is where heart
would chart affection through tomorrow welled.

Who would evolve must choose from many doors,
each offers either fame or blame, doom draws,
each offers health or wealth, advance or pause,
must think the link between effect and cause.

What love is, what romance, though, who foresees?
What choice reject, what opportunities
take for, or take as, granted, who can tell?
Time twists or undertows the flows men seize.

What matters and to whom? What gravities
matter patter pater mater tease –
conundrums which a life-long paradox
entertains until all memories

are atomised upon a karmic breeze,
blown willy-nilly till, like honeyed bees,
they bumble on towards a homely hive,
they stumble on till patterns by degrees

from angles wide frame focus, offer keys.
For who between the lines can read, chalk, cheese,
discerns – the waft and weft of substance – learns
to draw the line dividing wood from trees.

So grasp Romance’s finger as it writes,
wait not love’s Time, tune tide to timing, flights
of fancy twin with opportunity
which may not seed again. Feed dreams’ delights!

notes
Edward Fitzgerald – Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam http: //www.arabiannights.org/rubaiyat/index2.html

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Chequer Board

Tomorrow [b]rings tomorrow, s[tr]ings today
Across the chequer board of day and night
Karmic - some say graven black on white -
Each on his Way must thread, to piper pay.
Time is a trick oasis, sent to play
Its cards to chaos compensate or right.
Master dream wave patterns with insight.
Enjoy life’s game untamed, don’t, blind, obey,
Out of kilter twisting Fate, whose sway
Filters much which to vain future bright
Fain would advance. Fight struggles senseless quite.
Nature teaches: overreach past spray.
Only open searching springs release,
Will Cause, Effect, combine, fine tune, [b]ring peace...

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Choice Channels Choice Channels Choice Current Version

Is Man Free Will or karmic puppet strung
upon Fate's juggling whim with sting or stung
dependant on some déjà vu song sung
by Time's wind blown?

Thus, 'What is Truth? ' if logic's made to fit
some preconceived ideas, Cartesian kit:
'The moving finger writes, and having writ
moves on' to clone

another pawn whose dawn is followed soon
by blight or boon, pride's sunny afternoon
is swift supplanted by black night. Buffoon
who would gold own!

Who seeks control, spurns writing on the wall
is often role-reversed, flight's final fall,
who takes theme 'dream supreme', who 'hears the call'
may be just drone.

What Tao to follow, what gleans win, means lose,
what grief's choice try, buy, what joy's track refuse?
Hindsight finds, binds vice voice to confuse
what's light, what's stone.

Hindsight tricks weal's wicks, drum double-bind,
dream mirage offers hesitating mind,
as what before remains, what's left behind,
hopes overthrown,
depends on more than superficial weave wound
on waft and weft success or failure found,
on pride or fall. Peak's call, cave underground,
mirth, dearth, atone.

Insight holds good when goal's perceived, race run
with trust, integrity, deception shunned,
with Fate's thread spun what seems done's just begun,
take stock alone.

Seconds spin, dissolve, fresh mesh weaves lace,
flesh minutes in strange sequence, interlace
the hours which daily years refresh to race
Ganesh unknown.

Each thought wave ripples out, conceives trump's ace
as cause/effect relationship few trace
and fewer find the time to interface
fate's seeds unsown.

All makes sense when channelled, radar's trace
decodes what static seems to those who'd lace
the edges of their cells of time and place
together thrown

Time deceives, re-edits joy, disgrace
here tosses coin, replaces tail with face,
there spin repeats, initial choice erase
with cards unshown.

What some believe as Gospel state of grace,
others hold heresy, biased debunk, debase.
Black, white, day, night, lack insight to replace
with hid what's shown.

On ignorance creeds feed, doubts cleave to base
on certanties' tease, insecure, they chase
from fount to font minds blind or lower case,
can't call their own
trust, tolerance leave or misplace
understanding, for neighbours living space
to foster common interest with good grace,
not pick a bone.

Thread pattern, fractal facettes reeve, erase
retinal after-image to encase
the here and now in setting far from base,
hear 'how's' tune-tone.

Thought waves pushmi-pully, surge, merge,
heave sigh of relief, burst bottlenecks embrace
Change interlink to ink invent, deplace
accent ‘chance' blown.

Surf foams with make-believe, fears future's face
leaves fall, leave echo [c]old, untold, embrace
the stirrings of another zeitgeist's pace
as challenge prone.

Second thoughts conjur hell or saving grace,
momentum gathered rushes on a-pace,
continuous, relentless, rolling race
to the unknown.

[19 June 2012]

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In_Finite Terms - 0987

Eternity in sand grain signed
spans time in rhyme that, here, needs bind
through more than thirty lines assigned
to blossom fair [h]our prose aligned.
Perceptions springing from the mind
leave toils and troubles far behind,
discover karmic scope designed
to open vistas well inclined.

Societal design supposes
though Earth is not a bed of roses
adaptation interposes
evolving fixed-line blind proposes,
to steer change, range beyond laws Moses
exposed. Insight metamorphoses
closed-mind comfort zone life shows is
mirage mirror. All transposes.

Wide world, or vision narrow held
as crutch confronting harsh fate knelled,
too often interface is held
to preconceptions neatly spelled.
Perception cannot be compelled
to toe the line, fine print upheld,
must seek holistic outlines, meld
both seen, unseen, from naught withheld.

Yet few dare challenge paradox,
or view life from outside cant box,
and many fear, when door unlocks,
free choice, will shiver in their socks,
when faced with options seen as blocks,
complain about their starting-blocks,
call into question how life's clocks
seem overtime to run hard knocks.

Without self-knowledge who can judge
events, relationships, and budge
responding not reacting, sludge
discard, draw trumps, yet not begrudge
chance dance elsewhere, who need a nudge
to measure, pleasure, not prejudge
each unexpected, sundry smudge.

Self-confidence prerequisite
remains permitting cap to fit
while blinker free and insight lit
must motives meld both sense and wit.
Care not for sects too tightly knit,
which come with some predestined kit
to offer strictures roast on spit
which turns around redemption's writ.

When life's soft tick flicks swiftly by
when fête holds sway old Time must fly
'and not a cloud obscures the sky'
why worry, pleasure now deny?
For joys tomorrow soul soars high.
True, some are smitten, springs run dry,
yet few heed inner warning cry.
to mist dimiss, wave Time goodbye.

Fate may be written, it may lie,
behind the veil is passing sigh,
more is assumed in store so why
seek answers which no gold can buy.
For, if there's more, hope cannot die,
if nothing, then why worry, high
and low in turn their fate defy,
then wave forgot sink twixt sea, sky.

Life's transience, quite underrated,
too rarely seems appreciated
as if the spirits, once elated,
could keep their thrust unmitigated.
What lies beyond the tombstone dated
has never been elucidated, -
though many have prevaricated
redemption offer unabated.

Yet dances led, with lead unweighted,
quickstep through life, Death unawaited.
Why worry if the dice are weighted
with finite term anticipated?
Perception closely seems related
to actions oft anticipated
by intuition which, unsated,
seeks 'more' before true core is stated.

When Time speeds up and hell-for-leather
is pressured onwards, storm tossed feather.
how drear each day to wonder whether
tomorrow's game we'll play together!
Ignored too often altogether
are ice-burst pipes in balmy weather,
or sacrificial goat on tether,
when life's free run on hill, vale, heather.

Dim is victim's prescience
despite disaster's imminence,
secure perception complements
self-satisfaction's arguments.
Men draw their sense of permanence
from self-supporting evidence
behind life's surface comforts whence
much is drawn, save diffidence.

Life's patterns in advance may churn
a warning aura we discern
through experience, concern,
here cause, effect, respect must earn
before anxieties return
to haunt, to taunt, or bridges burn.
Life's patterns in advance who turn
to true advantage, all peace yearn.
Unwise who'll sapless, saphead, spurn
the hints that candles one can't burn
at both ends long. Yet each must learn
alone wheels turn. Urn soon we earn.

How much of man's self-confidence
is self-sustaining self-defence,
a mechanism fear prevents
although at prudence's expense.

The coin cards of coincidence
that noise to others represents,
turn to advantage, making sense
of elements which signs dispense
which seed the sentiment events
may be controlled as 'whither' 'whence'
seem linked by dream intelligence
that lasts although we're hurried hence.

When cloud free shines the morning star
dawn's rose grows gold, presumes too far,
as if no shadow near or far
could compromise success, could jar,
could ever dowse life's vital fire,
as if, once launched, the poet's lyre
could chant forever and inspire,
nor bore nor jaw resentful ire.

Man's pride still heeds the siren call
till morn when free flight turns free fall.
that day one lesson learns, - that small
sweet seems to gleam when night threats all.
Perceptive insight should withal
ignore snobs, mob's pedestrian brawl,
innately find the wherewithal
to scribble, scrawl transcend, soothe squall.

Then narrow the circumference
of independence seems, intense
the pressure, the predicaments,
when arguments can't influence,
invalidate or overturn,
decisions others would confirm,
when former freedoms won't return
to light horizons dim and tern.

Those who rely on providence
too soon may find at their expense
that everlasting affluence
rhymes rarely with experience.
There is no 'Ave' no 'Marie',
no Eden for eternity.
Perjured who would guarantee
eternity's hours in houri spree.

There is no golden throne and grand
when falls life's last coarse grain of sand
[the spectre of reign's written hand
of course reins in things out of hand].
There's no white rabbit, magic hat,
no second innings where the bat
defies Time's ball. When that is that!
dreams of karmic streams fall flat.

When Fate's hand, tricked and trumped, turns black
dark Present weighs, no turning back
to glories past. When cares attack
fair opportunities all lack.
Reflect! Each given day completed
is stay of execution greeted
before fell final judgement meted
when hope for fair appeal's defeated.
Reflect! What future radiance shines
For anyone beyond life's lines?
Enjoy today! The Present signs
itself, as Cause Effect aligns.

Perception balance interjects
between life's toil and trouble wrecks,
and wishful thinking, thus respects
both fear and fancy, trust elects,
reality and dreams connects,
defensive phalanx e'er rejects,
creating vision true, inspects
both fact and fiction circumspect.

How the above our verse affects
to stay on course, spurn side-effects
distracting which the truth neglects
stems from internal balance, checks,
soul-song which laziness deflects
to order thought that naught infects.
Creative wells leave most perplex,
write which 'mots justes' with ease selects.

One could expound till time and tide
see mankind taken for a ride,
let this short essay thus abide
as introduction to provide
an insight into vision tied
to sentiments that coincide
with heart's intelligence allied
unto vocabulary wide.

(2 April 2008)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Between Dark Past and Future Flight

Between dark past and future flight
Effect and Cause we question quite,
rhyme time between midnight and noon
to read, mark, learn, digest this tune.
Soul travels far, ka’s second sight
scouts out from dune to blue lagoon -
with moral codes plays fey buffoon.

Between dark past and future flight
the butterfly finds wings for flight
although, in silk spin knit cocoon,
it knows not dawn from afternoon.
Mind mirage magic may excite
confusing notions – far and soon
merge premonition’s present boon.

Between dark past and future flight
trace space, expand and pace delight ~
from morn till midnight one should learn
to seed born insight, harvest earn,
bend to contentment very soon
ends, means, all harmonies attune
heart, soul, which whole from parts return.

Between dark past and future flight
now ‘stalac_might’ checks stalag tight
mankind evolved from the baboon
to trace his race pace picayune.
between the darkness and the light
most squander chances opportune
dreams rose themed spurned, they haste to tomb.
Vague contexts blurred, restrictions fight
unshadowed vision full, shy moon
casts spell whose pull’s forgot by noon.

Between dark past and future flight
The wheel spins on, ignores ‘wrong’, ‘right’
As light, dark, rainbow’s ark all churn
fear not fall near, nor rise call spurn.
Sandman plays game outside luck, blight,
for more than intellect's harpoon.
Hope blooms, may anguish, heartache, prune.

Between dark past and future flight
oft ‘Justice’ seems a notion quite
outside God’s scheme - ‘on joue le clown’
play insecurity immune
while mocking empty social rite
inventing, changing Scheme and gods
to bury fears inspired by sods.

Between dark past and future flight,
through silver starred aragonite,
December’s frost melts into June.
Some worries shrink while some balloon.
Concealed may be revealed despite
the veil few tear – invite, festoon
lass lonesome on her honeymoon.

Between dark past and future flight
Cupid, Apollo, Aphrodite,
injustice remedy, dragoon
Fate’s darts, spite filled, to build pontoon,
surprise to catalyse, excite,
scene set for future hid from sight
till pattern pieces knit in tune.

Between dark past and future flight
some role reversals reunite
checks, balances, inopportune
risks which too haughty silver spoon
takes, greedy, - tides turn, pride indict.
Who, rich, Today would play and croon,
Tomorrow buries very soon.

Between dark past and future flight
sleep paints saint, social parasite,
in wavelengths rainbow may lampoon
for wage-slave, sage, or loon tycoon.
Blind bodies curled, bind whirl-swirled quite,
from youth uncouth, ungainly goon,
“to lean and slippered pantaloon.”

Between dark past and future flight
enchanting maid, heroic knight,
play out day’s doubt, - though beer saloon
may spur the bleary eyed to swoon.
Einstein’s ignored for much which might
influence an inner tune
or new create, decoding rune.

Between dark past and future flight
is vision sent meant to incite
destiny's spermatazoon
egged on by p[h]antomime cartoon?
Is insight drawn through second-sight -
though chance seems blind behind sin’s call
true dance dreams find combined in all.

(c) Jonathan Robin - Rhyme scheme after R.W. Answell
written 23 March 2005 and 29 November 2006 revised and expanded 14 April 2008.

For initial version and Answell see below
___________

Between dark past and future flight

Between dark past and future flight
the butterfly finds wings for flight
although within the spun cocoon
it knows not dawn from afternoon.

From morn till midnight we can learn
to seed born insight, harvest earn.
Thus to contentment very soon
sweet thoughts will bend, send sweeter tune.

Between dark past and future flight
trace space, expand and pace delight ~
although Fate now plays the buffoon
mocks efforts with uncoded rune.

As light, dark, rainbow’s ark do churn
fear nothing near yet nothing spurn,
for more than meets March eye in June
may blossom ~ anguish, heartache, prune, ~

for fears grow dim, soon tears do dry,
and Sandman grim can only sigh
when confidence and trust balloon,
scout out from dune to blue lagoon.

23 March 2005

Between the Sunset and the Sea

Between the gate post and the gate
I lingered with my love till late;
And what cared I for time of night
Till wakened by the watch dog’s bite.
And thud of leathering boxtoed fate
Between the gatepost and the gate.

Between the seaside and the sea
I kissed my love and she kissed me;
But rapturous day was gruesome night,
And what is love but bloom and blight?
And what is kiss of mine to thee
Between the seaside and the sea?

Between the sunshine and the sun
I saw a face that hinted fun;
But what is fun, and what is face,
When driven at life’s killing pace?
I simply say that I have none
Between the sunshine and the sun.

Between the bumble and the bee
Full many a soul has had to flee;
And what is love, may I enquire,
When asked to build the kitchen fire?
Or who would not leap in the sea
Between the bumble and the bee?

Between the tea store and the tea
There is a wide immensity;
A dollar twenty five a pound,
And not a nickel to be found.
Then what has fate in store for thee
Between the tea store and the tea?

R.W. ANSWELL

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In Finite Terms - 0987

When Fate's soft tick flicks safely by
when fête holds sway old Time must fly
"and not a cloud obscures the sky"
why worry, pleasure now deny?
For joys tomorrow soul soars high.
True, some are smitten, springs run dry,
yet few heed inner warning cry.
to mist dimiss, wave Time goodbye.

Fate may be written, it may lie,
behind the veil is passing sigh,
more is assumed in store so why
seek answers which no gold can buy.

For, if there's more, hope cannot die,
if nothing, then why worry, high
and low in turn their fate defy,
then wave forgot sink twixt sea, sky.

Life's transience, quite underrated,
too rarely is appreciated
as if the spirits, once elated,
could keep their thrust unmitigated.
What lies beyond the tombstone dated
has never been elucidated,
though many have prevaricated
redemption offer unabated.

Yet dances led, with lead unweighted,
quickstep through life, Death unawaited.
Why worry if the dice are weighted
with finite term anticipated?

When Time speeds up and hell-for-leather
is pressured onwards, storm tossed feather.
how drear each day to wonder whether
tomorrow's game we'll play together!

Ignored too often altogether
are ice-burst pipes in balmy weather,
or sacrificial goat on tether,
when life's free run on hill, vale, heather.

Dim is victim's prescience
despite disaster's imminence,
secure perception complements
self-satisfaction's arguments.

Men draw their sense of permanence
from self-supporting evidence
behind life's surface comforts whence
much is drawn, save diffidence.

Unwise who'll sapless, saphead, spurn
the hints that candles one can't burn
at both ends long. Yet each must learn
alone wheels turn. Urn soon we earn.
How much of man's self-confidence
is self-sustaining self-defence,
a mechanism fear prevents
although at prudence expense.

The coin cards of coincidence,
that noise to others represents,
turn to advantage, making sense
of elements which signs dispense
which seed the sentiment events
may be controlled as 'whither' 'whence'
seem linked by dream intelligence
that lasts although we're hurried hence.

Man's pride still heeds the siren call
til morn when free flight turns free fall.
that day one lesson learns, that small
sweet seems to gleam when night threats all.

When Fate's hand, tricked and trumped, turns black
dark Present weighs, no turning back
to glories past. When cares attack
fair opportunities all lack.
Reflect! Each given day completed
is stay of execution greeted
before the final judgement meted
when hope for fair appeal's defeated.
Reflect! What future radiance shines
For anyone beyond life's lines?
Enjoy today! The Present signs
itself, as Cause Effect aligns.

(16 Febuary 2002)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tomorrow's Another Day

Tomorrow [b]rings tomorrow, s[tr]ings today
Across life's pillow-billow board, day, night,
Karmic sable, ivory insight.
Each must life's lyrics swing his/her own way.
Time's menace - trick oasis sent to play
Its cards to chaos compensate or right.
Master dream wave patterns, second sight.
Enjoy life’s game untamed, don’t, blind, obey,
Or rate Fate's twists disturbing serpent's sway.
Filter 'impossibility' - hope's light shines bright
Fight boredom and monototny as trite.
Nature teaches: overreach past spray.
Only open searching springs release,
Will Cause, Effect, combine, fine tune, find peace...

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

From Bare Despair Prepare Rare Future Fair

Strangers in strange lands where nature's maps
are daily altered: who can tell, perhaps
utopian dreams may one day be fulfilled -
what wishes we project with one 'perhaps'!

But that 'perhaps' with other minds must be
shared or entrusted till eternity
when bell and tale are told, both drum and gong,
before too long all meet their destiny.

Another week ticks off its finite hours,
last leaves weak fall, distressed are hedgerows, bowers,
no rainbow reign, polluted heaven spans
streams as polluted, mole in burrow cowers.

Today tomorrow's fears must count the cost,
of vested interests, while, with fingers crossed,
fire, freeze turn topsy-turvy, climates change,
strategic opportunities are lost.

Most are bewildered, having pushed their luck,
they find dice loaded, - chicken lacking pluck.
When all is balanced, weighed within the mind,
game years behind were wasted, came unstuck.

And so the well laid plans of mice and men
turn sour, devour their children, - in suspen-
sion stays spoke that can't stay fate's wheel, wry jest
unspeaking which unspoken rolls... Amen!

More time to spare may lead to pastures green
obscured by clouds, unlit by moon serene,
or desert dune oasis hide where rest
may not prove mirage, harvest joy to glean.

I saw myself in wa[l]king dream beside
a river which flowed out to meet time’s tide,
fresh waves to salt waved greetings as they passed
to ice-free ocean, plankton pushed aside.

A watershed, which never tears shall show,
approaches and one knows not where to go,
wide world won’t wait while weighing arbitrage
with options harsh displacing comfort’s glow.

New cock may crow, fiends' jeers turn cheers from friends,
phantom mime timer trickles, makes amends,
for false pretence whose stings show one still feels,
may heal hurt, harm injury within which ever rends
the spirit from external casing show
skeletal which nobody cares to know,
for here today, tomorrow atoms spread
around fresh food chain, pride from high brought low.

So soul must sink when candle, burned both ends,
no wick retains to feed the flame which sends
light for a moment, highlighting the dark
behind beyond til epilogue appends
a testament scenario reprieved
from papers left behind – part to deceive
and part as explanation for a gest
about which we suggest too few shall grieve.

Subprime takes prime time working overtime,
as credit cards to debit dards turn, climb
precedes a fall unlooked for – pendulum
swings weigh past tipping point, primeval slime
not dust to dust replaces Eden’s rhyme,
mankind’s equation out of kilter, mime
instead of deeds proactive, selfless, fair,
concludes Man’s play, applauseless p[h]antomime.

Some seek settle credit overdue,
some, senseless, seek solutions from the blue –
accounts drawn down close race’s case, no trace
remains, shell shocked, locked out, no overview.

Rise from despair, surprise may fate prepare,
chance choice gives voice to future prospects fair,
wheel turns, life spurns temptations lethal that
stitch winding sheet from which return is rare.

The trick, if trick there be, is see the light
between effect and cause, nor wrong, nor right,
but timing's of the essence as each day
plays in its way new part, departure bright.

Dark disappointment past events might cause
may cease today, turn retrograde and pause
to offer breathing space for weaving joy
while poison ivy wreaths good luck withdraws.

Dark reasons for a season may hold sway,
yet light through black-hole shines to pave the way
for happiness - whatever that may mean
to who must first slake thirst, salve sores which weigh
upon the conscience - fact or fiction play -
it matters not: if pain's perceived today
to morrow may blunt edge of sting sharp, keen,
that wounds the soul that seeks clean getaway...

previous title Rubaiyat of Despair
3 October 2005 revised 26 August 2007
rewritten and expanded 12 January 2010

Rubaiyat of Despair

Strangers in strange lands where nature's maps
are daily altered: who can tell, perhaps
utopian dreams may one day be fulfilled, -
what wishes we project with one « perhaps »!

But that « perhaps » to other minds must be
entrusted through steps to eternity,
both bell and tale are told, both drum and gong
before too long will welcome destiny.

Another week ticks off its finite hours,
last leaves weak fall, distressed are hedgerows, bowers,
no rainbow reign polluted heavens’ spans, -
as rain in hurry can unleash its powers.

Today tomorrow fears must count the cost,
of vested interests, we, with fingers crossed,
find fire and freeze turned topsy-turvy as
strategic opportunities are lost.

Most are bewildered, having pushed their luck,
they find dice loaded, - chicken lacking pluck.
When all is balanced, weighed within the mind,
game years behind were wasted, came unstuck.

And so the well laid plans of mice and men
turn sour, devour their children, - in suspen-
sion stays the spoke that may not stay the wheel
unspeaking which unspoken rolls... Amen!

I saw myself in wa[l]king dream beside
a river which flowed out to meet time’s tide,
fresh waves to salt waved greetings as they passed
to ice-free ocean, plankton pushed aside.

A watershed, which never tears shall show,
approaches and one knows not where to go,
wide world won’t wait while weighing arbitrage
with options harsh displacing comfort’s glow.

Soon cock may crow to cheers of phantom friends,
with timer trickled none need make amends,
or further false pretence with insult rare
to cover injury within which rends

the spirit from external casing show
skeletal which nobody needs to know,
for here today, tomorrow atoms spread
along a food chain soon from high brought low.

So soul must sink when candle, burned both ends,
no wick retains to feed the flame which sends
light for a moment, highlighting the dark
behind beyond til epilogue appends

a testament scenario reprieved
from papers left behind – part to deceive
and part as explanation for a gest
about which we suggest too few will grieve.

Subprime takes prime time working overtime,
as credit cards to debit dards turn, climb
precedes a fall unlooked for – pendulum
swings weigh past tipping point, primeval slime

not dust to dust replaces Eden’s rhyme,
mankind’s equation out of kilter, mime
instead of deeds proactive, selfless, fair,
concludes Man’s play, applauseless p[h]antomime.

Its time to settle credit overdue
no sense to seek solutions from the blue –
accounts drawn down close race’s case, no trace
remains, shell shocked, locked out, no overview.

3 October 2005 revised 26 August 2007

after Edward Fitzgerald Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Frond Bond Standing Under, Above and Beyond Understanding - after Bryan Waller Procter Pre-Existence

One dreams beyond the palm-tree fronds tinged pink by sunset which
paints picture pink, inspires to think, on comings, goings, rich
that here inspire the poets lyre to muse on present, past,
on currents' flows, on Natures shows, on shadows all things cast.
One feels at ease amid light breeze beneath palm trees by beach,
sand dunes behind have underlined deep themes that seem to teach
Life journeys on, no soon begun than done, sun story passed
to higher planes - to start again chance karmic dance at last?

One sits beside wide sea to see wee sandy grain once rock
which doubtless stood out centuries would, mighty, lightly mock
sun, wind and rain that Time's reign trained to slowly infiltrate
nooks, chinks and crannies summer heat expanded at a rate
which seemed so slow - years ebb and flow - when measured by the clock
whose hands crept fast as seasons passed relentlessly, tick-tock.

One sits on sand to understand and silently take stock
of passing time which in rhyme's chime stands out and, with a shock,
one asks again how fame, task, gain can matter; what seemed great
is shattered, tattered, blown away one day by ebb tide Fate.
Yet still one thinks at water's brink till suddenly the cock
begins to crow, 'tis time to go, Life's mysteries unlock.

One bends light waves when wonder craves to wander with insight,
enlightened caves, beyond slave graves, to trace ways to unite
hope's stalactite, scope's stalagmite, to fight face values' bait
which ties rope tight round fears found slight, quite groundless, reprobate.
Creative thought, rich caught, to naught to often fades as night
to dawn defers, morn mourns, prefers to dream strange theme, changed bill of rights.

What's safe, what sure, stray waif, secure? All ends in wormwood box.
Bought sinecure, sought cancer cure, fight mortal paradox.
Time's skeins unwind, wane, mind's refrain release finds seeking peace,
few key to tunes which cue to runes foretelling change won't cease.
Our memories freed from mistakes, fake cash greed, crash, boom, bust,
enigmas solve before dissolved, resolve spurned, turned to dust.

One would reach out beyond beach, flout horizons fixed, finite,
beyond restraints where courage faints to find wings for mind's flight
which soar beyond poor petty pond to ponder second state
where cares today may melt away as hope can conjugate
eternity in sandy grain, see beauty shining bright
as time and tide are put aside and never know goodnight.

(19 February 2012)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Timely Rubaiyat

If outside in is spelled E.M.I.T.
and inside out spells T.I.M.E. fit
unto the day the evil thereof see
fit to a T however played one's wit.

But what to Time is 'inside' or is 'out'?
for Time's dimension both can do without,
vain signpost vane may spin now east now west,
crow heeds no fixed road stop sign roundabout.

Thus pride precedes greed's fall, Fate far and wide
Indicts Man's might, plight sets gleams' dreams aside.
Most confidence masks weakness, sorry schemes
Ensue, Time tables turns, spurns deals inside.

Vainglorious is immaturity,
gifts mirage mirror of futility
reflecting on societal concern
defining off and on in sanity.

Some comfort find vouchsafing certainty
though blind most minds before dark door they flee,
for insecurities behind bluff masks
still smack of shameless insincerity.

What hides behind Time's trap, no map may see,
few counter fate, discover guilt edged key
of "me and thee" when once behind its veil,
what will prevail, beneath what scrutiny?

Birth - berth, worth - earth, that sweet felicity
which flashed upon the page of Destiny
one little lifetime soon is swallowed up,
archive deleted from man's memory?

Time helter-skelter headlong spins, all's rush,
"I will survive! " slays others in the crush,
Merge, surge then splurge, urge on, and then strike-out,
Ephemeral applause drowned out by hush.

From alpha unto omega Time's hum
reels strange range wheels recycling all that come
first cry, last cry, lies die, then die's recast
as harmony seeks equilibrium.

Thrust's force attraction contradictions seeks
to overcome, Time's great equation's speaks
to recreate and recombine, stem cells
flux mustered, mastered, peaks, weak wanes, then reeks.

New cycles spin, unpin past wins, address
fresh challenges, evolve, adapt, contest
tired tenets, genes rewired, force fired set scene
for stranger change, to counter maladdresses.

No sense in dwelling on vast past success,
which in itself is source for future stress,
why break sound barriers that Time instills
teach reach, brake, sense retain? More may prove less!

Term prudence "safety"? Whore's short-term success.
Interests vested, spendthrift years contest,
Modus operandi, Time Time kills,
Each icon old fresh status quo divests.

Time's Tortoise, Man is fable's Hare, confined
in mortal contradictions which the mind
finds quite unhuman, taking what it gives
what lives soon undertaken, chaff to grind.

snide greed, pride, speed, soon overcome
Is it justice? Is it balance? Those ahead soon d[r]ead behind,
Making room through swift disposals for proposals less confined,
Express need for further testing, jesting, questing, inquest dumb.

Time, tempter and preemptor, auctions choice
as bubble-gum exploding, empty voice,
one generation fades away, one more
takes cue to strut as peacock and rejoice.

What cheers have penetrated great divide
between one era and the next? what guide
avoided asteroid explosion set
to make clean sweep of chatter and tongue-tied.

Time mutates, very speedily translates
as viral spiral gyral ices cake,
spliced monky to man key plan or grave mistake,
downsizing, soon induces second states
that pace race, trace select, until the past
fast buries past's repasts, idols outcast,
no ‘Ergo cogito' shows ‘sum' in store,
all dwindles in nothingness at last.

Time destroys its own foundations, rule of thumb
Leads ever onward, vicious spiral scrum,
where one way trip soon rips predispositions
without concession, tic-toc blocked, locked, dumb.

Intuition tunes to pattern ducts intelligence designed.
Mankind must forward press, and quickly, or its mainspring may unwind,
Ever onward, tripping, hasty, vicious forward spiral-scrum.

Time, true master of new master, swift may slave of slave become,
In a twinkling of an eyelid, with an inkling of the mind,
Most by wayside fall, and falling fail to rise, we seldom find
Each with grief reach silver lining welcome, wheel spins go and come.

Time, prestidigitator, spurns prestige,
sand grains drain, Time, replenished stands the seige,
when boom goes bust dust tomb entrusts low, great,
rebuilds from scratch big bang hatch, scorns vestiges.

Time's zenith ride descendant has prepared,
mutes bugle's rally cry round cause compared
to none as pendulum against itself is swung,
hung, drawn and quartered, preconceptions pared.

What footprints may be gleaned from sands of Time,
what idylls and what odysseys to rhyme
may be retained as in an amber bubble,
what climb, what fall, what forfeiture, what crime?

From timely opportunities some draw
conclusions which confusion turn when more
is known or shown of causal wheel or karmic churn
which burns or freezes, frieze all still ignore.

Time, excellent musician, drummer, drum,
is clay, pot, playful potter, part and sum,
fobs off mocked mortals puny pleas and adds
where it subtracts, leaves fiction, facts, both numb.

Evanescent, effervescent matrix grid,
vibrates through tuning fork in road well hid
from sight and insight, secret intertwined
with second-thoughts which time distorts unbid.

Time, both predator and dater, turns the bread
of life to crumbs, life's water ices, - sped
past hope for scope in halter's halted, while,
Time onward flies, belying time well fed.

Magician fly, man's pyramids remind
our power, pomp pain hour stomp, romp turns to rind,
blossom blows, Time, heedless flows, drip, drip,
pips toast at post, tips, slips, - grain grist to grind.

Time knows no evil, coeval is with all,
withal is none, as naught, both call, recall,
pride, fall, low, tall, slow, fast, at last remains
as silent witness, stage, play, box and stall.

Tempus fugit, Time is flying, soon we're dust,
is it dying? is it buying time? Earth's crust
plays little part forcasting lava flow
when time is up, it still observes, non-plussed.

'Festina lente', 'hasten slowly', Fate
may be amused when we'd anticipate
the way the dice is rolled a turn or two,
soon ticks off guilty temptor from gilt gate.

Trust intuition, method leads astray
where narrow will or shallow leads the way,
but channelled energy may help create,
not barter aim in mind for fame today.

Contract a link between 'pretend' 'extend',
where end to means is never means to end,
where current flow is revolts and study churn
though true solutions may seem round the bend.

Invention is extension catalyzed,
or role reversal, vistas reapprized,
what complicated seemed is later seen
as simple step towards a goal disguised.

Time's tide abides while mortal meets fate which
puts final touch to an unfinished stitch,
however phrased dust back to dust returns
spites ‘lame' excuses, game of toss and pitch.

Up tick, down toc, clock witnesses spring shoots
of causal arborescence, 'right', 'wrong' roots,
with hindsight show man unpreprepared
for Past and Future playing in cahoots.

Though rhyme and reason often are withheld
till time and season pass, their winter knelled,
true timing is essential where the mind
would tap the forces from tomorrow welled.

Who would evolve must choose from many doors,
each offers either fame or blame, doom draws,
each offers health or wealth, advance or pause,
must think the link between effect and cause.

What fame is, what is doom, though, who foresees?
What choice reject, what opportunities
take for, or take as, granted, who can tell?
Time twists or undertows the flows men seize.

What matters and to whom? What gravities
apply when anti-mater equals tease?
conundrums which a life-long paradox
entertains until all memories
are atomised upon a karmic breeze,
blown willy-nilly till, like honeyed bees,
they bumble on towards a homely hive,
they stumble on till patterns by degrees
from angles wide frame focus, offer keys.
For who between the lines can read, chalk, cheese,
discerns, the waft and weft of substance, learns
to draw the line dividing wood from trees.

Life's littleness "ist alles in die Welt",
mocks Man's ambitions, motivations melt
to watershed necrologies. Black crepe
with no escape whate'er regrets are felt.

Time's muzzle muffles boast, toast, day by day,
effects' and causes' subtle interplay
through life's incessant dream theme ebb and flow
efforts prove vain, love, pain, all's bubble bray.

None may control coincidence at play
flaking dates and energy away
while winter of our discontent's stop/go
spins into vertigo, then fades away.

Self-righteous say religion shows the way,
agnostics best of both worlds want, display
their reticence as sense, pretence as plus,
few atheists would haste to piper pay.

Most blow hot, cold, quit stage to sink unheard
before they even feel life's ripples stirred,
Time can't be reined, restrained, no string and bow,
sends arrow through entanglement preferred.

Why worry what tomorrow, if at all,
may offer, laughter share, spurning wailing wall,
each wakes one day, hopes hollow, probate proved,
few follow winding sheet, trump final call.

Time's telomeres may stretch, but sands of hope,
free ride from heyday ended, broken rope
recount lost time expended, ghost mirage,
no soft soap ever smoothes, naught soothes blind grope.

Bright spark, life's candle gutters, movements cease,
one cry, heart flutters, shutters, 'Rest in Peace! '
with no surcease, one sigh then curtains drawn
while legatees bread butter, fleece, apiece.

Youth's hopes are caught in Time's relentless vice,
what opportunity's repeated twice?
Life's joke's is on Creation's head, vibes jibed,
one innings leaves all after-thoughts to lice.

So grasp the moving finger as it writes,
wait not on Time, tune tide to timing, flights
of fancy twin with opportunity
which may not seed again. Feed dream delights!

These rhymes hold no bonanza, moral plum,
Time's trick wick tireless flickers, static hum
moves forwards egg and chicken parsec plot
as we, time-stricken, quicken final strum.

(24 October 2010)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

From Hibernation's Winter of Discontent

Hiatus hibernation: hope uncloses
fresh cycle, offers confidence one knows is
unshuttering for healing broken heart,
from crysalid apart true joy discloses.

Cocoon appears to be some halfway house
as pupal stage evolves from vain carouse,
an incubation metaphorical
'I am aim' flight prepares, to spirit rouse.

Inaction's action although from without
state changes' range seems subject to some doubt,
bliss metamorphosis takes time, and time
is grind mankind too often tries to flout.

Dreams may be blessed as fears fade, laid to rest,
renewed zest is caressed, heart's treasure chest
pulses slowly till wing span unfurls,
to chart new start, maps jest till nap's inquest.

Though silent snowflakes hush both man and mouse,
white mantle donned by garden, path and house,
helter skelter crystals soon shall melt
for seasons spin, thaw hoar in rhymed carouse.

Spring lungs inhale, absorbing Nature's scent,
while winter's sleep-weep sweeps away, scope sent
from hibernation freed, to births new day,
through growth within spring's blooms more represent.

When light returns to comfort spirit sight,
when weariness falls from enlightened wight,
the sacred Truth within you soon shall find
as sun dissolves cold snowbound oversight.

Life seeds, need not be spent mid living dead,
whose wanton souls wilt, aversion fed,
who ruminate, lament their unjust fate,
feel bitter fruits of life must lie ahead.

No longer languish, mark majestic morn
transforms each ugly duckling to swan sworn,
enlightenment admitted as clear goal
from nigh soul whole at last may be reborn.

Patience is rewarded as clouds pass,
whose spirit, as transparent as clear glass,
haloes hallowed hollow deep within,
mind sloughs rough weight off, shredding wait's sin skin.

May patience follow woes and hollow hide,
may spirits soar embracing warm world wide,
hallowed halo shines as false fears fade,
mind sloughs rough sin skin, shards shed, set aside.

Life's stainless reign, not drain vain vale of tears,
or time-trap tapping energy that steers
uncertain track back, forwards, gainst dice stacked,
yet, challenge met, stress fretwork disappears.

If soul can't suffer outside mortal sheaf,
no need to overcompensate for grief
in haste waste chase replacing senseless ends,
with spring's return, spurn cold, bold turn new leaf.

Prepare fresh phoenix flight from embers, ash,
anticipation of renascent flash
relief from trouble, torment signifies
wheel spins so seize the day, bind no grind gnash.

Jack frost's cold core shall surely thaw away,
bask maskless in reflections from today
accompanying chirped birdsong to rejoice
and celebrate an optimistic Earth.

Hibernation's dreams strange themes may range,
bring inspiration which may rearrange
conundrum, jigsaw puzzle sleeper plays
as causal link in mortal ink's short-change.

Time takes from time's mistakes spin win which may
weigh in the balance, causal interplay
of fractal patterns which may factor in
much hidden from and by our D.N.A.

Potential, thus, through meltdown finds true way
to free self from past self, from hideaway
awakens to more positive exchange
sustaining evolution on life's Way.

(5 May 2010)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Piecemeal 1842 after Marion Mantel The Abode of Everlasting Peace

Mind's company no bail-out needs, foreclose
looms near yet fear and gloom must come to blows
with hope whose scope increases every day
that interplay improves what soul search shows
to sojourner whose 'Choose! ' life's trumpet blows.
till conscious core dissolves, for all one knows
is that there's 'lots to learn' before life's wick
which once o'er brimmed is trimmed by Time's gale blows.

It may be Peace per Peace should not be goal,
nor patchwork quilt unmatched to comfort soul,
serenity accompanies the Way
why seek to weigh of thought and mind blind role?

Surrender self to wealth of non events?
Abandon fear of budget free expense?
Impermanence an ultimate release?
One questions causal links where self defence
is deemed a changeling spinning Time and Place
as prison for lost mind that seeks its place
though absence, presence, circle, square are one
begun and ended leaving little trace.

Freedom may be found within life's play
today submerged by fate of yesterday
for future must survey an empty seat
and meet another straying from the Way.

Though many paths to Rome may lead, not one,
perhaps life's karmic cycle may be spun
by mind which 'fearful thief' finds definition
outside experience, game itself is fun.

Thus 'heaviness' is cerror, out of bounds,
as mind proceeds through mind by leaps and bounds,
rebounds from challenge, rising to embrace
new challenge though rise, fall are mirage hounds.

These seem to dream to seamstress, dream to seem
reality which sifts from milk its cream,
we butter bread with head as much as hands
while inklings chitter chatter, teem then team.

For absence of control need not mean void,
for voids are mean if meaning men avoid
the search from perch to parch, from lurch to arch
triumphant, animated eclipsoid.

There are no fancy laws for mind rich, pure,
which energy converts from sinecure
to weaving sheaving, leaving grieving yearn:
mortality, in time, provides self cure.

(18 January 2009)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Old Sea Saws and Modern Instances

Time's sea through which surfed story stares,
draws close and then again withdraws,
who’d wave away all weighting cares,
investigates Effect and Cause.

Effect and causal interplay
prismatic panoramas rare
prepare in an insightful way
for those who constantly compare

the patterns that, converging, wear
time’s face awhile, forgetting flaws,
altert to tempo, pace, space, - where
most stick to facts while clutching straws.

The swirling lights from faraway
switch to tomorrow’s and before’s
entwining helix holiday
which time and place in_tact ignores.

Though toadstool ring and elven flair
protect the glade from orcish claws,
there’s more than meets the eye as stair
leads long a track surprises stores.

Wild wonderland awaits as day
to dream surrenders that explores
relationships which on our way
we make or break, take from time’s jaws.

Coincidence some call repair
rewinding skeins of silken gauze
though very few remain aware
of links, elastic chains, as laws

invisible act out life’s play
turn and return each part as Cause
in equipoise may castaway
restore to health, wealth as implores

the rich for mercy. Lady fair
find behind beast’s ugly roars
the mind that steers her true welfare
hooks kind preparing for her oars.

Should panther seem to pounce today,
seek neither flight nor sword, because
dismay sows its own seeds and grey
more grey attracts, - avoid rapports

with self-made thunderstorms, forbear,
for one must wake within, applause
win through true harmony - who'd wear
contentment’s crown renown ignores…

Time's sea seems trap which mortals snares
draws curtains' close though mirage shores
would wave away all waiting's cares,
dreams ebb fresh paradise restores.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Calculations Fail

Can knowledge any sense in life retain?
All trace in space must some day disappear.
Life's calculations fail, ambitions vain.
Colours, now magic, soon no longer here
Unknown sounds, scents tomorrow shall remain.
Love's lightning, having struck, moves on, a mere
After-ripple on time's wave, cleansed clear.
The struggle ceases, Lethe, down the drain
Is every trace flushed before we can gain
One insight on Life's mysteries, or steer
New trips through dreams, few dreams themselves appear
Sense bearing whose waft, weft, need never wane.
FAll follows pride, soul weighed by feather light,
ILl starred our ride, bright spark mid endless night.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

To Tint Mad March with Tenderness of June

Another tide flows in, another moon
spins silver gossamer upon soft ground,
another droplet of spaced-time too soon
its home within eternity has found.

Soul's song has lost strong s[pr]ing. None shall resound
as midnight breasts twelve steps that lead to noon,
can chart the sentiments still heart astound,
to tint mad March with tenderness of June.

Yet still this spirit restlessly repines,
though fane would flower from its pain cocoon,
to span star-spangled sky, scan far for signs
which one day rich say she may grant my boon.

If Truth be Beauty, of a truth these lines
shall sparkle where Life’s fair reflection shines...

Dream's haze obeys the tidal ebb and flow
that Luna excercises as its pull
draws, opens, curtains here, there seeds may sow
to catalyze reflections to the full.

Filters fail to stem prismatic streams
whose waves save inklings hiding from dawn's light,
strange how both fragile and eternal themes
link this world to its parellels, unite

base terran trace to hidden face whose spells
spin cause into effect, direct our play,
whose influence spans last gasp, first farewells,
chance dance, phrase phases, catchwor[l|d roundelay.

Alarm bells ring to spring this song from sleep
as sun peeps past horizon, robins cheep...

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dreamcatcher

There are no dreams that go astray,
there is no duty one must pay,
sleep taps spontaneous recall
unwraps capped limits one and all,
discarding strictures though men say
obey.

Fey mind behind blind mask may rise
to challenge stereotypes, surprise.
Imagination's magnet makes
light of past downcast, fast mistakes,
inner orbits [b]ring twinned sway
night, day.

One hand may weave a web as fine
as silken spider's, line by line,
mind mesmerized, net-knit, winged, may
hoodwink [l]one hand when interplay
is woken by unspoken sign
today.

As Milky Way's spun stars combine
in silver necklace, gems divine,
truth's words through time may overlay
poetic inspiration's play
to lay foundations, redesign
the Way.

Soul peeps dream satchel deep, supplies,
stimulation to catalyze
synchronicity shared around,
with naught held back, naught to impound
as ransom - superficial sighs
that weigh.

Thus thoughts may roam, float far from home
from land to land, from foam to foam,
as spirit insight unlocks keep -
restraining order - thence to leap
converting into polychrome
joy's day.

Dreams hyphonate what could be/come
with what stays still, forever dumb,
retain the reins of destiny
so reign's refrain's sustained, stays free.
There is no hardfast rule of thumb
in play.

Some inspirations answer prayer,
some aspirations bubble air,
most memories dissolve at dawn
though some persist, won't be foresworn.
If 'Anything' is 'Everywhere'
one may

convert mysterious phantom mime
into enlightenment to climb
towards tomorrow and expect
rewards not sorrow some project
or interject as paradigm
passé.

Pale horse as Pegasus is seen
to set scene for door unforseen -
adventures which advance to chance
no sharp indentures - circumstance
highlights freewill, none pastures green
gainsay.

Thus dreams bring close what far away
appeared beforehand, interplay
between right brain and left can link
cause and effect beyond the brink
of s[cr]een horizon's [s]way with fey
display.

(8 June 2012)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Every Time I Open My Eyes

Night or day
I dream of you
Dream of spending time with you too
Dream we decided to fall in love and that you'd always stay
Sometimes it makes me want to sleep all the time
What's the point of being awake
When during my dreams is when I'm happy
Because during my dreams you're here with me
I'll try to sleep for your sake
We've had the best times together these past three weeks
Even though I haven't seen you in awhile
Every night I go to sleep with a smile

But every morning, every time I wake up
I feel the depression, someone take this cup
Because every time I open my eyes I'm still alone
No matter how sweet the dream, it ends
No matter how much love my heart sends
The dreams they end and when I open my eyes I'm empty
When I open my eyes I'm still alone, I'm still me.... just me
I almost don't want to dream for fear of harsh reality
I know it's selfish of me
To want to dream all day and then not because it hurts my feelings
I wish I could just tape up my heart with sealings
And not let anyone is because all I dream of is true love
And all I can think when I wake up is: I'm completely alone
I'm unloved
I can't write poetry, and I can't rhyme
I have no skill, and I have no true love
EVERY SINGLE TIME MY EYES ARE OPEN!
I'm just alone even when I close my eyes to cry, the second they open tears
Come again, because I'm still alone...
It's gotten to the point where I can barely cry I've drowned in my emotion
I almost wish for death again, anything to end this loneliness
Why do I seek love so ardently when I have nothing left to give of me...
Maybe that's why when I open my eyes I may be a young boy
But I feel like
'An old man, filled with regrets, waiting to die alone.'

poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Wayfarer’s Welcome

From life's fair shore the wish for more
helps soar above life's angry sea
whose violent churns soul spurns - in store
a road unknown sets flesh, bone, free
to sound true core unseen before,
restoring confidence to be
to self true for fair future draw
cards dealt by heedless destiny.

Bright light may guide from deep inside
wide vision may unravel
life's mystery, see clarified
‘why’, ‘wherefore’ as you travel.
Though gravel hide gold paving bide
awhile until Time’s gavel
knocks twice, till inner keys provide
life’s answers true though novel.

No fears, no tears, hope's scope endears
sight to eyes which insight
recovers, hears through inner ears,
new rune tunes joys incite.
Today’s dearth, blight, on Earth well might,
reversed, redraw frontiers,
and expedite change welcome, right
wrongs, blunt strongest spears.

Past storms at last are over, cast
behind, - mind, soul, washed clean,
while vistas vast unveiled may fast
set scene for Hippocrene.
Verse unsurpassed leaves all aghast
who cannot match serene
and touching cast all will outlast,
deserving only paean.

No desert here, nor mirage drear, -
beneath tomorrow's sky
twin moons appear, - Mars, Venus dear,
luck, love, personnify,
to travels steer away from fear
of way unknown, to try
fresh paths, to peer beyond ‘now’, ‘here’,
crass ignorance defy.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Like Melting Snow

LIKE MELTING SNOW

Though dream's stream ebbs at dawn each day
must this presage its passage void?
If gods there be dreams' interplay
with acts alert may cares avoid.
Thus wave-lengths which submerge our sleep
emerge on waking, help to see
through artifice, beyond veil peep
with clairvoyance, transparency.

When effort meets no just reward
why solace seek in vain regret,
from attic, loft, or cave life's cord
can hang or lifeline form, scene set
for double bind or ladder which
prepares fresh phase from growth within,
those options cause, effect may stitch
discard false creed's imagined sin.

No lies lie in men's hearts to pierce
thin skin and curdle blood in vein,
no pin striped angels, dragons fierce,
hope lies ahead, advance again
towards accomplishments - though hid -
seem close not closed to inner ear,
dark shadow shapes themselves forbid
to see the light approaching near.

Hope may appear a two-edged sword
until the promised land's attained,
yet voyages themselves afford
an opportunity unstained
to meditate on inner goal
avoiding pride before the fall,
retaining strong, consistent, soul
on call for all that may befall.

No need to feed on fears, despair,
no need for doubt though out of luck,
no need for hunter, hunted hare,
when there's thin air from which to pluck
pluck - courage - role-reversing tears
despite years' spin none can subtract
from finite space to trace hope's cheers
before death's magnets worms attract.

Each day seize, sunrise in the east,
Each day flees, sunset in the west,
Each day keys into more from least,
Each day recedes, yet what is 'best'
when light from darkness is reborn
when dark gestates light's cycle ink
when light reminds links may be torn,
when black draws back from curtained brink?

One never knows beyond next bend
what pain or pleasure may await,
'tis more trip's sip than slipping end
which fate prepares before too late
inters his_story six feet deep,
or ashes turns no phoenix knew,
each night dreams challenge doubts as sleep
plays out scene both foreseen and new.

As seven stanzas flow to eight
and eight through eighty could evolve
in search to understand, translate,
of mice and men existence solve,
woes which today may heavy lay
yet which tomorrow's joy may show,
we'll end this tale, soft steal away
like melting snow, like melting snow...

22 July 2008
robi03_1788_robi03_0000 XXX_CEZ

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

En.Citatepedia®.ro

Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

Related quotes

What is Real to Roundabout Reel - reverse mirror after Rubaiyat of a Robin

Rubaiyat of Romance

Chequer Board

Choice Channels Choice Channels Choice Current Version

In_Finite Terms - 0987

Between Dark Past and Future Flight

In Finite Terms - 0987

Tomorrow's Another Day

From Bare Despair Prepare Rare Future Fair

Frond Bond Standing Under, Above and Beyond Understanding - after Bryan Waller Procter Pre-Existence

Timely Rubaiyat

From Hibernation's Winter of Discontent

Piecemeal 1842 after Marion Mantel The Abode of Everlasting Peace

Old Sea Saws and Modern Instances

Calculations Fail

To Tint Mad March with Tenderness of June

Dreamcatcher

Every Time I Open My Eyes

Wayfarer’s Welcome

Like Melting Snow

En.Citatepedia^®.ro