Time's Tide
Those cause/effect relations seek to investigate
ask why life’s lamentations can’t flow past pearly gate,
why can’t hope’s expectations some sects anticipate
show we’re wheeled incarnations, frustrations, fears, negate
Why worry what tomorrow may offer if at all,
share laughter, spurning sorrow, ignoring wailing wall,
each wakes one day, hopes hollow, must piper pay as shawl
in winding sheet few follow, no trumps for final call.
Time's tide has been extended beyond the sands of hope,
free ride from heyday ended, frayed tether, broken rope,
recount lost time expended, events' ghost mirage grope,
as most proud man intended black hole's Time's telescope.
Bright spark - life's candle gutters - so swiftly movements cease,
one cry before heart flutters, before 'Here rests in peace! '
one sigh then parting’s shutters are drawn with no surcease,
one dies while crowd bread butters inheritance apiece.
In youth great expectations mask ignorance - a vice -
few meet anticipations, most, sour, scower at Fate’s dice.
life’s joke is on Creation’s head, ne’er repeated twice,
one innings: vindications leave after-thoughts to lice.
Behind lie verses threaded, skeins sense retains in vain,
life's loves too soon are bedded by Fate immune to pain.
life’s gloves too soon are shredded by thorny greed for gain,
‘Above’ is concept wedded to fear, none bat again.
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0922_robi3_0000 XXX_CDZ 2 January 2001 revised 22 December 2008 for previous version see below
Time's Tide
Some cause/effect relations
would understand and splice -
what wall of lamentations
may give a game played twice?
Why care Creation's date to play -
the aeons ebb and flow, -
Man wakes one day with price to pay,
and nowhere left to go.
Time's tide has been extended
beyond the sands of hope,
the time for games has ended,
what trumps remain, what scope?
In youth great expectations
masked ignorance - a vice -
of how anticipations
can sour at throw of dice.
A spark, - life's candle gutters -
so swiftly mouvements cease.
One cry before heart flutters,
before 'Here rests in peace! '
Luck's tithe has been expended,
no slack remains, the rope
draws tight 'spite rules once bended
to ease life's line, to cope.
And like these verses threaded
in skein sense would retain,
Life's loves too soon are bedded
by Fate immune to pain.
2 January 2001
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Priorities
PRIORITIES
Today’s priorities tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed one day before
turns sour before its zest to rest is laid,
incorporated into causal braid,
what’s left sewn through waft-weft of life’s rapports.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
Timed candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh thrilled head’s held high, yet soon
both silver spoon and slum lie dumb, stilled tune.
f[l]ame = flame fame lame l'âme aim am me
3 December 2001 revised 10 December 2008
robi03_0974_robi03_0000 SXX_CDJ
for previous version see below
Priorities
Priorities today, tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed the day before
turns sour before appointed hour, is laid
aside by patterns Cause, Effect may braid
into the waft and weft of their rapport.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself, - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
The candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh-space head’s held high, yet soon
all is dissolved for slum or silver spoon...
3 December 2001
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Pretentiousness
He stands as high in his own estimate
as Everest, yet never rests to show
he represents quintessence crowned by Fate,
the paragon of generations' flow,
sure soars, both source and force, all incarnate.
'I am' self-evidence appears, it seems,
with Time and Space combined, to demonstrate
perfection corresponding to all dreams
personnified. Such plateaux elevate
none without reason above lacklustre crowd.
Vice scorns torn virtue, self-perpetuate.
Ahead where most, more modest, bray less loud.
Nor could he cease to brag until his breath
apoplectic opens door to Death.
4 May 1998 revised 5 December 2008
robi03_0879_robi03_0000 SXX_JXX
for previous version see below
Pretentiousness
He stands so high in his own estimate
as Everest, and never rests to show
he Man's quintessence represents by Fate
triumphant crowned, - of generations' flow
he soars both source and force, all incarnate.
'I am' self-evidence appears, it seems,
with Time and Space combined, to demonstrate
perfection corresponding to all dreams
personnified. Such plateaux elevate
none without reason high above the crowd....
Vice turn to virtue? Youth perpetuate?
Ahead where most, more modest, bray less loud?
Nor shall he cease to brag until his breath
apoplectic opens door to Death.
4 May 1998
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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What is Man's Solution?
Symbols sprawled across the sheet outlive grief,
meditate upon Time, Time the thief,
that eternal Robin Hood, hoodwinking
some, at others, delusively winking
for a while untll due retribution
is meted out. What is man’s solution?
On a global scale, redistribution
shuffles cards so every generation
may try new hand at self-regeneration.
The cards of Fate, like those of day and night,
the glad, the gay, the sombre and the bright,
dealt by a jester as and when it suits.
Just or unjust call trumps, and, then, life loots.
The knave soon knows the spade, inters the heart,
yet still would seek a kingdom set apart,
and still would eat the icing on the cake
and dream that fears are past, - yet fears to wake.
Hope springs a moment like a tiny life
in Spring, in love with love, in the belief
that life’s eternal, had for just the thinking,
as real as sandy Spanish castles, sinking.
There’s little space for stale circumlocution
when ozone levels fall. Worldwide pollution
spreads before man’s final execution.
One needs a sense of timely observation
unbiased to ‘un-earth’ an explanation.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Masked Dichotomies
MASKED DICHOTOMIES
Masked Dichotomies
Must life's train be constrained, vain self contain,
May self-effacement ease heartache, disdain?
Must mirage rain slake lost-in-desert bane,
May dreams' ream verse bring love to life again?
Must stalking hawk-eyed hawkers grey prey, pain.
May heart's refrain touch who'd from touch refrain?
Can conversation compensate for wide
disparities between speech-reach inside
and barricades behind which hearts mask, hide,
where one greets and the other's grates abide
spite needs apparent, though those needs denied
are tantamount to self-rejection sighed.
Dichotomies between acts and attraction
can't heal heart's hurt, leave hope too little traction.
8 August 2008 revised 9 January 2009 and 26 April 2010
robi03_1800_robi03_0000 SXX_JLU
for previous version entitled Dichotomies see below
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Dichotomies
May life's train be constrained, vain self contain,
May self-effacement ease all heartache, pain,
May mirage rain slake lost-in-desert bane,
May dreams' ream verse bring love to life again,
May 'we may' for 'oui, mais' translate joy's reign?
May heart's refrain touch who'd from touch refrain?
Can conversation compensate for wide
disparities between speech-reach inside
and barricades behind which hearts mask, hide,
where one greets and the other's grates abide
spite needs apparent, though those needs denied
are tantamount to self-rejection sighed.
Dichotomies between acts and attraction
can't heal heart's hurt, leave hope too little traction
8 August 2008 revised 9 January 2009
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is this life...
What is this life?
If full of care.
We have no time,
To stand and stare.
No time to dream.
No time to hope.
Life is passing by,
Faster than I can cope.
No time to see,
Dreams in the day.
And plan my future,
Shape it my way.
No time to watch,
Myself grow into a woman.
Burdened by expectations,
I am always on the run.
No time to admire,
The starry night.
I sit in a room,
Where my thoughts cannot take flight.
I yearn for the window,
Through which I could peek.
Catch a glimpse of the world,
I desperately seek.
poem by Dipti Date Gokhale
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To Cease Upon the Midnight - 0401
What plot encompasses our story's scope?
Ret-urning tears well, eloquently dumb,
where shadows numberless leave yearning numb,
and where the headstone's granite shoulders slope
squat down upon grave tomb's departed hope.
Chips cover churning worms which gorge plum, plumb
fame's name, life's game, both spurning: zero sum.
Why worry whether minister or pope
on empty blessing strings pain sermon's rope,
vain hope remains in echo's braggart drums!
The petty pomp which time spent pawning crumbs
is thrust by Time, nonplussed, from g[r]asp and grope.
A sandy trickle ends, calls each to task,
the handy sickle bends, falls, reach to mask.
(10 July 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Awakening for Seasons
Alarm call signal beeps, wakes life to hope.
While vague, untidy heap stirs, seeking soap.
Above white sheets eyes peep – ‘collide a scope’
Knaps excerpt from sleep's waves, attempts to cope
Extracts dream-echoes deep which telescope
Nano half-lives, fragile figments elope.
Isolated fragments salmon-surface grope
Now mid the mind’s adjustments, knot loose rope,
Glimpse anchors dreams yet keeps thoughts in their scope.
Flashes snow sheep show, recounted hope
Of t[r]apping spring of sleep... dream’s periscope.
Rise above life's challenge slope!
SEA-change awaits as crocus, once snowbound,
SONg sings which trees decks green, gifts green to ground.
7 December 1991 revised 12 April 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A widow's life
Life is nothing but an empty show
On the branch of hope no flowers grow
Everything is dark before her eyes
In her heart only anguish lies
In the whirlpool of life he left her alone
By the hostile fate no mercy was shone
Her brimming youth has lost its charm
Time has done her a great harm
No one is there to share her pain,
Without her husband what is there to gain?
Her days are passed in great ordeal
Her nights are spent devoid of zeal
She sheds her tears
in the dark of night
Any heart would wring
seeing such a sight
Unrest and trouble are under her pillow
Such a miserable life is led by a widow.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Dis Solution Dissipation
Weighted with darkness of impending doom
each waits alone, alike to friend and foe
as deaf as stone, as heedless of each blow.
Who cares what curtains drape eternal gloom?
No will, however strong, when death will loom,
pride vaunts oblivious to oblivion's slow
approaching icy grip from tip to toe -
as though dissolving essence could make room
for Hope at Act’s end. Wormcast catacomb,
Life’s dust dispersal tomb rehearsal show
is headlong blown along Time’s one way flow,
tomorrow naught can conjure from Past's womb.
From darkness stark may flesh fresh flake again,
unfettered spark, from wake wake, cry_oh_gain! ?
© Jonathan Robin – sonnet robi3_0612 written 17 January 2001 revised 11 April 2008
previous title - Into Dust Dissolve
cry_oh_gain... cryogen
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Homerun - 1060
From dark to light one cry.
cot, tot, fine whine, youth tries
to rise, outshine, strength vies
to test itself far, nigh,
will ever improvise,
wings spread ahead would fly
beyond the common sty.
Ends, means, some justify
as tools to fool, win prize
refusing to downsize
goals which new goals supply,
to grow, while enterprise
won't sit, knit idly by
would flow to know, apply.
See sun at zenith high
where fair sweep cloudless skies,
fragility belies.
Self on self will rely
And thus we compromise
ourselves, each hour thereby
prepares grief leaf's demise.
Men, weak 'how, what, when, why'
seek to deny, despise
as limits while each eyes
ambitions run awry.
Most fail to realize
fame's flame soon sinks, falls shy
of promise time can't buy.
Stagnation by and by
sets in, transforms to ties
what once soared free, - denies
rights others seek would lie,
Inventing alibis
inverting truth stain, dye,
strain, pain, until sparks die.
Still time will onward fly!
Few care to recognize
sunset whet hopes defies,
dare not, with rules comply,
scope set cut down to size.
With humour grim and wry
Fate on each whim may spy.
Life's voyage does imply
page after page time tries
to crop or circumsize,
each stage a wager sly
as cause, effect, in guise
of free choice voice deny
to unborn options! Why?
Tide turns, Time's spring runs dry.
The candle burns. The wise,
the fool, fourscore, fade, rise
no more, till final cry
whose sense none can disguise.
No echo, no reply.
from light to dark, sole sigh.
(9 February 2005)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember the Seasons
'Gladness of life in blossom, will to wend
its way as if instead
of deathwards, voyage led
to timeless bliss ahead,
to ease unlimited.
Madness of life to dissipation friend -
unheedful, as we said,
that mortal trap is spread -
where one on mischance has fed
Time's hydra head.
Sadness of life left little to defend,
as palsied hairs are shed
and heart thumps at the tread
announcing that the thread
shall snap - too soon to bed!
Sadness of life on knife edge of its end,
all former fortune fled,
to Lethe's waters wed -
last leaf which hangs in dread
of Fate, of Time, soon dead.
Is stonewall all our trend?
Beyond perceptions bread
and butter life lends bred
by hopes and fears unread
perhaps we'll find instead
the seasons' reasons end
come clear as round life's bend
we travel onwards, send
our children hope, extend
trust, understanding blend,
man's misconceptions mend.
(7 July 1990 revised 13 April 2008 robi03_0324_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Downfall - 1053 - Current Version of Fallen is Star
Fallen is star which once brightly,
there clear in fair firmament shone,
no trace now remains as Time lightly
grieves sleeves, life's sheeved leaves ever gone.
Love's star which once seemed infinitely
to bloom beyond tomb meets doom, dumb,
as sentiments sent expeditely
to Lethe mock joyride's vain sum.
Dreams' themes lie unechoed, contritely
one wonders what might have become
if fate had dealt less reconditely
ere great expectations succumb.
Whosoever would compromise slightly
with principles life's staff has spun
must offer impression unsightly
some pity, some spurn, and most shun.
Ideals threading vision so knightly
no gleam still retain - what begun
in trust unembellished rusts, rightly
forgotten, ignored or undone.
No point in requesting politely
what became of game, quest, aim, fête's fun;
in tatters Fate scatters forthrightly
all trace of race no-one has won.
Though today some may say hale and sprightly
‘tomorrow holds promise' - yet none
would relinquish life's tether held tightly,
soon Time spills, boon numbed, still, distance run.
(1 February 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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After the Carnival - Apres la Fete
The carnival of carefree play
too long has tripped its careless way,
clowned senseless as an ass's bray
while flesh from flesh Time stripped away.
Once sun strong shone, when one made hay
cicada-like, would spend the day
in hasting-wasting, - led astray
by vain beliefs the day to pay
would never come. But hopes decay,
the ostrich-innings stumped. Today,
momentum lost, depressed dismay
notes there's no energy to pray.
Illusions fade, blue skies turn grey,
what once seemed certain from life's fray
has dropped defeated, options fray.
Careless of creed, one must obey
dread summons which to night turns day.
That one's posterity will stay
when life's departed holds at bay
a sense of impotence and may
part justify the role to play.
The carnival is over, May
to Winter bows, Spring may not stay -
its darling buds in blossom, gay,
tomorrow must return to clay.
For previous version revised 21 May 2005 see below
Life's Carnival swift sinks soon drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to life's ground rules lain,
clowns stride stage, pine, pain, soon lie slain.
Though some may for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures' knives -
which often with ‘success' connive.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain's then proved vain
when gain proves dross, and loss insane.
Dunce bee, once drawn to wicket flame,
no curtain call can still sustain, -
another worker t[r]icked from hive
which will remain no less alive.
For previous version revised 29 April 2005 see below
The Carnival is over. Drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
Who have the strength to goals attain
with principles intact remain
exceptions to the ground rules lain.
Although some for a time contrive
to fool themselves, they steeper dive
when time in pawn takes pawn alive,
soon sacrificed to failures' knives -
which often with ‘success' connive.
Illusions lost, we find with pain,
are seldom truly gained again -
what once seemed certain's then proved vain.
Bee, moth, attracted to wick'd flame,
no curtain call will long retain,
another worker ticked from hive
which still remains no less alive.
(29 December 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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More To Life
Free to turn like the wind on a Summer day
Heart worn like a ring around the moon
And your eyes are ablaze
Reflections of time passing by
That remind you there's much more to life
Than standing still
Or running from place to place in the heat of the day
Just follow your heart and you'll see ....
There's more to life
There beyond the horizon there's another day
Far above the pain and fear you feel
The power and the peace
The greatest sensation of all
There is much more to life than you'll ever know
The rise and fall, there'll always be you and me
We're moving as one
So follow your heart and you'll see ....
There's more to life
We all have our dreams
We all have our visions
But time after time we're faced with decisions
Which road to follow?
How hard to fight?
Then you wake up and see
That there's much more to life
Free in acres of sky on a Summer day
Fire that burns with hope inside your heart
We are never apart
Reflections of time passing by
That remind you there's much more to life
So just follow your heart and you'll see
If you follow your heart you'll be free
'Cos there's more to life
More to life
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New Tear's Candle
NEW TEAR'S CANDLE
Now here, now fled, bright light's soon snuffed, clock ticks,
E xistence fragile echoes with life’s play
W here visibility’s trimmed to today.
T ime up, ambitions down, as candle wicks
E xpire upon some midnight cold Fate picks.
A month or more, before horizons grey
R educe tired final flickers cinder gay, -
S pendthrift embers. Moving finger pricks
O ut bubble options, cares nor fiddlesticks
N or tinker’s curses for chance thrown away,
N or seeks reprieve for an extended stay. –
E phemeral our sojourn’s augenblicks.
T he loaf of bread, the flask of wine, boon mate,
S oon wane, recycled wax, evaporate.
1 January 2006 revised 8 September 2007
robi03_1400_robi03_0000 ASX_DEZ
Previous title New Tear's Sonnets
New Tear's Candle poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Between the Times
Braggart on Time's edge razor thin
Evolving frame by anxious frame,
Tired Man spiders fate or fame,
Weaves threads soon dewless dust - none win.
Each, casting dice - who's spun, who's spin? -
Expectant, losses would reclaim.
Now's leaves fall swift to Styx domain.
Telomeres shorten, cease to twin,
Hold all in hostage to chagrin.
Each page youth inks, seeks wings, pride flame,
Till age sooth sinks, weak wrings, ride lame, -
Insects' ambered Time-trap gin.
Maybe technology shall speed up change,
Extend short sojourn, mankind's range so strange.
6 May 2001 revised 4 May 2008
robi03_0934_robi03_0000 ASX_DJZ
for previous version see below
Between the Times
Balanced upon Time's razor thin
Edge, advancing frame by frame,
Tired Man spiders fate or fame,
Weaves threads soon dewless dust - none win.
Each throws the dice - who's spun, who's spin?
Each lost winnings would reclaim -
None independence dare proclaim.
Telomeres shorten, cease to twin,
Hold all in hostage to chagrin.
Each page youth inks, seeks wings, pride flame,
Till age sooth sinks, weak wrings, ride lame, -
Insects caught within Time's gin?
Maybe the Net shall speed up change,
Extend Man's sojourn range so strange.
6 May 2001
Between the Times poem (c) Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ire On Cross Sect_I_On Spire Pyre
Black books some find
grant ease of mind
responsibility
remove behind
dark veil and blind
bewailing liberty.
Life should be led,
shared, free from lead
respectability,
What lies ahead?
Hell? lies, instead
seems crass conformity.
Lip service paid
by man or maid
to bias, bigotry,
replace game played,
joy unafraid,
with sects that narrow be.
Turn more to hope
for increased scope
throughout life's comedy,
beware time's rope
that hangs who grope
for creeds rarely agree
on godhead fair
with love to spare,
or core divinity.
Seek self - truth's there -
'ware cupboards bare,
wraith faiths' fatuity.
23 April 2010
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Angles Of Fate
ANGLES OF FATE
Melvin Banggollay
Each one has their own fate
as destiny's will may dictate
but often, many of us believed
We make our fate as we lived.
Some may have an obtuse angles
where one can turn his fate in circles
at a degree clear of many obstacles
but sometimes we're still confused
for the more options, many to diffuse
only to got the right options to focus.
Others may have seen acute angles
with too little room to play and gamble
game of life entwined with obstacles
making our visions limited and narrow
hampering us to move for tomorrow
as trials anchored our fate with sorrow.
Yet many behold life in right angles
as they tried to meet every obstacles
with right attitude to play or gamble;
whatever that may touch one's shadow;
Whatever that may kiss one's meadow;
be it rain with laughter or sorrow;
be it shining with lot of pain or miracles,
bellowing with smiles and gifts in circles,
yet, keep holding on with faith and hope
that behind, fate may take the right slope
to open life with smiles of joy and hope
and not tied with a long rope of dope.
poem by Melvin Banggollay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is Your Life Worth Living?
Life is breathing –
I have life
My heart flutters
In its breeze,
I pile money
So my life is full of ease.
Life is working –
I have life
My heart flutters
Beneath its strain,
I work and work
So my life keeps on going.
Life is enjoying
I have life
My heart flutters
For all pleasures,
I drink and dance and eat
So my life is lounging lazily.
Life is loving –
I have life
My heart flutters
In ecstasy,
I love all
So my life is full of joy.
Life is serving –
I want more life
My heart flutters
For other’s worries,
I serve and help
So my life aims heavenly heights.
poem by Angelina Pandian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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