Tempus Fugit
TEMPUS FUGIT
Another day plays out, mocks time and place,
inseminating choice with seeds which chance
encounters may have made, or circumstance
contrived to seem haphazard. Steeplechase
Man runs against his life-clock tides a space
ephemeral which ends by happenstance
or slow disintegration. Yet the dance
reels on. The players differ, as the pace
speeds up and ever onwards to enlace
the dancers in a mesh where to advance
leads down the serpent’s jaws, but backward glance
turns fresh to salt yet halts not wretched race.
Yet often those opposing normalcy
are double bound by chains they seek to free.
8 July 1991
robi03_0398_robi03_0000 SXX_CDZ
[c] Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
I On Transit
Upon the cusp of choice and chance,
stagnation's stigma or advance,
the heart must choose though bear in mind
a view holistic, leave behind
judgemental values and askance
eye 'easy' answers, tempting, kind.
Life's finite, if it be romance,
a vote for freedom, high finance,
unbiased ethics underlined
should be to key to Time's wave, find
in time and place trace to enhance
true intuitions, to unwind
the waft and weft whose patterns dance
for which few spare a second glance,
piece jigsaw fractals recombined
into kaleidoscope refined.
Stay not a slave of circumstance,
enhance free-will with shine enshrined.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sane seems insane
Societal challenge: momentum gathers pace.
Another thirty years? our span of grace
Now seems in meltdown clinging to a space
Extremely tenuous, fragile as race
Speeds to untimely end for human race.
Early or late trend tends towards disgrace,
Early or late Fate leaves behind no trace -
May in December ends in any case.
Sane and in[s]ane identically chase
Ideals predestined to black hole bleak. Brace
Now before bleak winds of change unlace
Storms Richter scarce suspected and uncase
Apocalypse which ‘progress’ will replace.
Necks thrust through Time's noose, loose ends, harsh Past
End of Days Present, Future b[l]ind - die cast.
1 December 1991 revised 31 October 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Evergreen Scene 1894
New leaf turns ova over to time's page
Empowering another causal dance
Which rich may prove if clemence move luck, chance,
Love lending life free from restrictive cage.
Enchanted wand fond future grants, life's stage
Acts out authentic play, each circumstance
Faced with fairness, wishing-well advance
That tolerates neither envy, sin, nor rage.
Uncertainty dissolved by mindset sage
Reads good intentions, punctures arrogance,
Never coarse, insensitive, each glance
Shows kindness ever eager to engage
Open options, opportunities.
Voyage evergreen gifts golden keys.
(12 August 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Contentment
Where Cupid wears no double face, -
beholder and beholden trace
together love in love's embrace
as each heart charts the other's pace.
No rush, no crush, no pride of place,
nor hide, nor free-ride commonplace,
as two take time to interface
outside of time in any case.
There’s chaste, no chaser and no chase,
there's no disgrace but only grace
and one shared chrysalid whose case
contentment spins as two enlace.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Non Oui Mais! sed We May!
NON OUI MAIS! SED WE MAY!
Another day tense present into past
laughs round the bend as future rhymes resolve
with salvo laughter salving bottle cast
upon Fate's foam flecked whirlwind search to solve
life's melody, key rune tune which will dance
swift circles round perceptions rigid, set,
sets scene, tomorrow timing with advance
which fears not self, untempted to forget.
From shoreline into sure line straight as die
'we may' the Gordian ribbons can release
fresh options from tired wrappings, can rely
upon dreams of reality at peace.
Mind solace finds as inner rainbow shines
on Chance which Joy and Circumstance aligns.
28 July 2008
robi03_1794_robi03_0000 SXX_KZX
Non Oui Mais sed We May poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Fragile Sum
Do we remember twice two hundred years
Ago the flow through which our genes descend?
None trace the way their ancestors would wend,
Spend time and rhyme before their vale of tears.
Life’s strife is trifle, rifled hopes and fears,
A fragile sum, soon dumb, blind to its end.
But ever Man will energy expend
In self-destruction, waste, hastes till Time clears
Memory’s slate – too late regret appears.
Empty our shell when race turns final bend: -
Dust through and into dust. We apprehend
Uncertain future. Here, today, Time wears.
TEMPus fugit, “why and wherefore” we
Shan’t find, behind bland smile we've lost hope's key.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Choice Voice
Ideas, ideals, freethinking underlined,
no negligence can know whenever they
allow free range where spirit well designed
marks space to catalyse choice chance which may -
if choice is choice not circumstance designed -
new windows open through which interplay
another to another insight wind,
make constant progress, interwoven play.
Infinite voice, choice opportunities
new ground may break, stake scope, whole soul hope frees.
(17 February 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ballooning Acrostic 1783
Ballooning hope speeds, seeds scope's light,
All clouds disperse, all fears take flight,
On future graceful places dreams
On past despair trace fades, it seems
Ingenue fair finds fresh delight.
(4 July 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Response Seeds no Speech Silver
When twin souls key into each other's glance,
body language guiltfree, guileless, glows,
pulse increases, haemoglobin flows
hearts stamp vis[t]a vision blessed by ‘Chance’.
Interactions focus on advance,
respond to signals sent, scent seeming rose.
Implicit waves mind feels heart feels, seals, knows.
Pheromones exchanged, strange tendril dance
above, beyond, bland handshake circumstance.
Response seeds no speech silver, no doors close,
no circumspection, - two, twinned, juxtapose
their several levels, [t][h]read whole souls’ romance.
Heartbeat appreciation is returned,
deceit, repudiation, ever spurned.
27 January 2007 revised 2 October 2009 robi3_1593_robi3_0000 SXX_LXX
for previous version see below
[t][h]read thread, head, tread, read
Response Seeds no Speech Silver
When two souls key into each other's glance,
soft symphony, ensnaring, sudden glows,
pulse increases, haemoglobin flows
hearts stamp vis[t]a vision blessed by ‘Chance’.
Focus may through role-reverse advance
respond to signals sent, scent seeming rose,
implicit waves the mind feels heart feels knows
drill, pheromones exchanged, strange tendril dance
above beyond bland handshake circumstance.
Response seeds no speech silver, no doors close,
no circumspection, - two, twinned, juxtapose
their several levels, [th]read whole souls’ romance.
Heartbeat appreciation is returned, -
Deceit, repudiation, never earned.
[c] Jonathan Robin 27 January 2007
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XIX - Moving Finger Writes
Life's lease release few willing seek to peek
beyond the veil, to paradise, hell's burns,
or purgatory. All fear trough and peak,
‘the vale from which no traveller returns'.
Who holds his peace, condemned by double-speak,
who acts his piece, slight recognition earns,
between the two what voice for choice may tweak
advancing chance, who causal dance discerns?
Confined, bedridden, both, unhappy lot
space, trace, forgot ‘as finger writes, moves on'
priorites more pressing are addressed
as movement muscular remains forgot
in race towards oblivion upon
a dice throw, soon replaced by other g[u]est.
(17 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Cycles in Season
CYCLES IN SEASON
The grain, who'd reap life's golden grain
knows dust to dust's returned again,
though mortal flesh rots none impound
pure spirit risen, strength fresh found.
New found, to greet soul's season new,
scope springs again, hopes shall renew,
conceit that speeds humanity
grounds down needs through greed, vanity.
Profanity will seek full pound
of flesh before the clock’s unwound,
while wounded pride, vile greed for gain,
turns self-destructive 'gainst the grain.
Yet grain finds fertile soil. Long lain
awaiting stained-glass window pane
which cycle starts charts rich rebound
from dark profound to light recrowned.
18 June 1991 revised 14 December 2008
robi03_0390_robi03_0000 XXX_EJZ
previous title Circles in Season for previous version see below
Circles in Season
The grain, who reaps the golden grain
knows dust to dust’s returned again, -
though flesh may rot, one can’t impound
the spirit risen, strength new-found.
New found, to greet a season new,
strength springs again, hopes can renew,
but hopes that speed humanity
are ground down by its vanity.
Its vanity will seek full pound
of flesh before the clock’s unwound,
and wounded pride with greed for gain
agrees to go against the grain...
18 June 1991
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Quatrains
One said: Thy life is thine to make or mar,
To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star;
It lies with thee -- the choice is thine, is thine,
To hit the ties or drive thy auto-car.
I answered Her: The choice is mine -- ah, no!
We all were made or marred long, long ago.
The parts are written; hear the super wail:
"Who is stage-managing this cosmic show?"
Blind fools of fate and slaves of circumstance,
Life is a fiddler, and we all must dance.
From gloom where mocks that will-o'-wisp, Free-will
I heard a voice cry: "Say, give us a chance."
Chance! Oh, there is no chance! The scene is set.
Up with the curtain! Man, the marionette,
Resumes his part. The gods will work the wires.
They've got it all down fine, you bet, you bet!
It's all decreed -- the mighty earthquake crash,
The countless constellations' wheel and flash;
The rise and fall of empires, war's red tide;
The composition of your dinner hash.
There's no haphazard in this world of ours.
Cause and effect are grim, relentless powers.
They rule the world. (A king was shot last night;
Last night I held the joker and both bowers.)
From out the mesh of fate our heads we thrust.
We can't do what we would, but what we must.
Heredity has got us in a cinch --
(Consoling thought when you've been on a "bust".)
Hark to the song where spheral voices blend:
"There's no beginning, never will be end."
It makes us nutty; hang the astral chimes!
The tables spread; come, let us dine, my friend.
poem by Robert William Service
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Do I Think to Feel or, Feel to Think?
Sonnet variation of Tease - see below
Do I Think to Feel or, Feel to Think?
I think I think I'm really me,
I'm me, who looks through God each day
when venturing to fight life's fray -
I'm free I think to think I'm free.
Life’s little fish in fee pond see
me swim till In_turn Net casts phish
upon identity to dish
life's causal quest: eternity.
Trace race reels on haphazardly
till passed up, by time's bank foreclosed,
to ‘Standard Poor’ metamorphosed
as mind grinds heartfelt hopes at sea.
Though verse divine is made by me, -
what's cause/effect, and where is She?
29 July 2009 robi3_1891_robi3_0000 SWX_JEZ
Tease
I think I think I'm really me, -
I'm free I think to think I'm free -
I'm me, who looks for God each day,
and then goes out to fight life's fray.
I'm me, life’s simple little fish
who swims till Inter Net casts phish
till passed up, by life's bank foreclosed,
to ‘Standard Poor’ metamorphosed.
I'm me, who may forever bear
more kids till old age dyes my hair,
whose bosom beats till Time rhymes drain
with dreams of castles lost in Spain.
Poems divine are made by me, -
but what is God, and where is She?
(c) Jonathan Robin Parody Joyce KILMER 1888_1918 Trees robi3_0240_kilm1_0001 PWX_IMN
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Beyond Straitjackets - 1567 - Current Version
Think! outside in is spelled E.M.I.T.
Inside out finds T.I.M.E. fit
Must to the day the evil thereof be ~
En_graved to T however played wan wit.
To Time what signifies inside or out?
If Time's dimension both can do without ~
Man's signpost vane spins vain, north, south, east west,
Express crow heeds nor 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.
Tempus fugit! breath, death share one rhyme,
Implying pure and dissolute in crime
Musty must mingle, moths consumed by fire,
Evicted from life's phantom pantomime.
Life's pattern shifts as time from time's thread stock
mutates or waits on catalyst to key
into, through, metamorphosis to free
free-will from status quo, historic lock,
beyond straitjackets which clear thinking block.
The answer may not individuality
be seen to be, but way we Destiny
engage in path unique as life's short clock
tic tocs from birth to berth, first shock, last dock.
Genes seldom hold choice voice or equity
in fee to Darwin contradictory
dreams, compromise, from each bloom, blow half-cock.
Through open options, opportunity,
Mankind may leapfrog evolution's tree.
Time's breakneck pace hangs helter-skelter. 'Rush!
I must survive! 'Â kills others in cussed crush,
Merge, surge then splurge, urge on, and then strike-out,
Ephemeral applause drowned. Deafening hush.
To omega from alpha Time's hymn hum
Incorporates strange range, rei[g]ns all that come,
Man's first, last cry, lie dumb, die, destiny recast,
Endlessly seeks equilibrium.
Tomorrow tells who'd dwell on past success
It in itself knells tocsin fell few bless,
Makes fun of humdrum and 'unique', Time's bill
Empties glass, aside casts second guess.
Trust Carpe Diem! rust soon supercedes
Iron bright, steel will soon tarnished, weeds
Muzzle dynastic seeds, reigns' skeins unwind,
Exit pursued by Lethe! game concedes.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Heartbeat Appreciation
When two souls key into each other's glance,
soft symphony, ensnaring, sudden glows,
pulse increases, haemoglobin flows,
hearts stamp vis[t]a vision blessed by Chance.
Focus may through role-reverse advance
respond to signals sent, scent seeming rose,
implicit waves the mind feels heart feels knows
drill, pheromones exchanged, strange tendril dance
above beyond bland handshake circumstance.
Response seeds no speech silver, no doors close,
no circumspection - two, twinned, juxtapose
their several levels, [th]read whole soul(s romance.
Heartbeat appreciation is returned -
deceit, repudiation, never earned.
(29 January 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Mist Dismissed
Hope rune reads, deeds renew
true vision reaching through
mist myths, tunes time and place
outside imposed curfew,
restraints which block clear view,
discovers overview,
serenity and space.
Vast vista orange, blue
surpasses déjà vu,
deeds jaded joy erase.
Through intuition's clue
few challenge, none conspue,
line draw, find answers to
empower state of grace.
'Unto oneself stay true! '
flows naturally, on cue,
when 'Brave New World' we face.
Temptations one must rue,
defy, deny, subdue,
prepare just rendezvous
from Kent to Katmandu,
tomorrow's freedoms trace.
To fill hole darkness drew,
advance, direction new
seeds need to tap fresh base,
set doubts behind, review
trust in insight's flight. Who
would counter fate should do
what's needed to replace
uncertainties askew
crass ignorance which grew
through hesitance, disgrace.
Bid bluff, defeat, adieu
let principles, virtue,
encourage fresh debuts
eschewing actions base.
Dark phase ends, one, free, starts, hope turns to find
spark gaze sends sun, heart charts scope, learns true mind
© Jonathan Robin 2 August 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Tempus Fugit for M lady Abha Sharma
Tempus Fugit
The minutes pass by fast or slow
They come and go
without a pause.
Simply because
that is what they’re meant to do.
They’re passing through.
They cannot stay,
brook no delay.
They’re measured by the tick and tock
of every clock
You can’t deny
time must pass by.
4-May-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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What Mission Now?
What mission may the poet still retain
Here in this day and age, which sees the world
As lost as ever, while mankind is whirled
Too fast, and at a pace few can sustain.
Most mask their feelings, shield themselves from pain,
In hope that though no psalms are skywards skirled
Some light can filter through cocoons which, curled,
Shut out most aspirations, which remain
Ideals Man thinks he ought to seek. In vain
Or so it seems, the flag of hope unfurled
Now braves the insults philistine which, hurled,
Nor spare nor temper the poetic vein.
One voice, when clear, will break the glass of Time,
What matter if in free-verse or in rhyme?
Whenever rhyme is crafted on ideas
Heart tunes to rhythm, can effect enhance
Allowing invitation to a dance
That adds dimensions in way that clears
Muddy waters - often verse appears
In ways which heighten, lighten, help advance
Subtle emphasis where words through Chance
Seem to stream together. Inner ears
Intuitive may key to song that steers
Over prose bound limits, elegance
Neat meanings adding through rhyme's happenstance
No forms need hamper thought where heart heart cheers.
Open mind behind the [t]racing pen
Will channel words creating worlds again...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Clock
The clock, it tells a story-
One look at its tired face-
And a glimpse of both of its hands-
Why those seconds, just simply race...
Tick tocking its continued sounds-
Reminding us that time simply flies-
No it does not sprout feathered wings-
Nor take to the azure-blue skies...
But it moves nonetheless-
And with each day that passes away-
We are another day older-
And out of our youth-filled May...
Out of our heated July...
Rapidly, the clock, it simply ticks away-
Out of the falling leaves of our October-
Into Decembers white-ice chilled days...
'Tempus fugit', all we old timers cry-
Where oh where did all of our minutes go?
Just look at the clocks tired old face-
And its worn hands and you will surely know...
Dedicated To: G.A.C., Phillip, Joe, Bub, Lugh,
Zeike, and Pete.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Seek Cause Effect History - His Story
'So let it be with Caesar' said dead bard,
Expressing an opinion that life's deeds -
Evil or good - are judged at diverse speeds,
Kneading Time's sift from swift climb to fall hard.
CAn pound of flesh be panned without blood, lard?
USE caution when you grade what fails, succeeds,
EFFECT and cause weave web veiled future seeds.
High today, tomorrow low may card
In retrospect be seen spleen's spiteful shard.
Some ill can catalyze much good, good leads
To hell through best intentions tension feeds,
Or fails against scaled feather, motives scarred.
Revealed beyond death's door scored good or ill
Yet what is life, stage page prompt, promptly still.
© Jonathan Robin acrostic sonnet SEEK CAUSE/EFFECT HISTORY written 20 November 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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