Wainwright’s Wheel’s Weal Rights Wane
WAINWRIGHT'S WEAL RIGHTS WANE
Though tales turn legends over time,
and myths begin when legends fade,
what part of myth with truth may rhyme,
what soul against sole feather weighed
may find past actions well repaid ?
When all’s said, done, deeds scarce sublime.
Life desert seems till time to go
with post deserted on the job,
far from youth's spinning vertigo
age makes do with conditioned lob,
cobber clobbered ends as slob
beneath Time's sands, tune dune blown woe.
Strife's tragedy, life's glory's reign,
dust rust as fractious fractal sand,
at dusk Time's Wheel still turns, refrain
falls dumb, numbs mice and mens' vain plan
to cheat Fate which, impassive, gain
and loss ignores for also-ran.
Those who chased harvest grains of gold,
and those who flung them on wold, waste
alike forgotten lie, tale told,
rot, bolt shot, sot and sage misplaced.
Six feet by four where two feet raced
through space unlimited: all cold.
Time's spinning wheel steals, never still,
while mortal pawns from stem to stern
turn through warp, weft, whose pattern will
gainsay those praying for return,
for second innings while they spurn
hands begging alms, yet rob the till.
Some find fame’s flame, some, lame, are lost
some simply tack or take up slack,
few certain feel, far more count cost
of one-way track, no looking back,
prepare for probate and attack
all who dare care for coming frost.
Unkind is almanack which notes
ephemera most prize a while:
birth, spousal celebration, oats
sown wisely, rashly, reconcile
to soujourner such short shrift trial
as Chance doles out before Death votes.
What beauty spot, forget-me-not,
thrive to survive beyond the grave ?
What tiny tot by love begot
recalls love’s thrall, may keepsake save
when Charon tall and short cross wave
has ferried sad or happy lot?
Care wears down, frown knows no soft down,
once zenith’s passed upon the way,
ahead, head proud, from loud crowd crown
in vain seeks, weakness follows play -
where are the snows of yesterday
when season terminates countdown?
Who flutters by in merry mood
soon food for worms squirms – early, late,
mean little to Fate’s scales. Reviewed,
days sentient seldom senses sate
while those incontinent berate
extensions often hard pursued.
Life’s causal chain again, again,
wheels out reel’s fitful roundabout,
redemption justified by pain
non sequitur seems, soul without
a leg to stand on’s found where doubt
is sold on one-way wagon train.
Wainwright’s weal wanes as dawn turns dusk,
from lease released, renewal’s tease,
recycling readies empty husk -
to devil sent priorities -
nor beads, sect screeds, nor title deeds
prolong life’s hymn for further busk.
26 February 2010
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Wainwright’s Wheel’s Weal Rights Wane poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
From Crown to Downhill Flight 1930
Uneasy lies ahead, head wearing clown
stems stillborn tears, while smile disguises frown
too well aware of faults that others wear,
weary of his own that must prepare
for page where stage is empty of both smile
and frown, both tragic rage, dramatic style.
Ill begotten pair, forgotten soon,
as bust boom follows, dust fate's finger doom.
Catch twenty-two, eternal double-bind
to whom dark doubts would flout, preserving mind
from limits mere mortality imposes,
wit providing witness wherewithal
to conquer temporal restraints, dread call.
Yet neither sage nor sot one whit proposes
allowing never-ending bed of roses
without death's thorn and all it interposes
between taut tightrope shared for stretch extended,
and that whose short days fray, tort stay soon ended.
Heroic couplets cover shady acts,
as line line links, entwines, enchains, both facts
and fancy in scales' balance count as naught -
synaptic leap upon sleep's breeze net caught,
counts sheep while at deep discounts keep is sold
for naught persists caught by death's stranglehold.
Tale told what stays? Play's days of coward, brave,
young, old, rich, poor, submerged beneath time's wave.
Short sneeze, brief moment seized, tree's leaf falls numb,
swept from strife's maps, life taps new shoot soon dumb.
From entrance until exit cycle turns
life's candle, merry, sad, at both ends burns.
Uneasy lies clown's head, for tumbling crown
usurped, tossed, lost again, pride's ride must drown.
From crown to downhill flight, from light till dark,
all passes, swift gift over, this too, stark.
(15 October 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time and Distance
Inspiration outward bound
to sleep surrenders when the wheel
of fate turns luckless, still will reel,
like film slow motion stripped of sound,
as spirit tries to hold its ground.
Time and distance some say heal
aching heart with silent seal.
Distance, time, retain rebound
when someone else’s acts are found
too harsh. Time rarely will reveal
true cure for pain till Death’s cards deal
a last laugh rictus to confound
harsh stricture structures most invent
to soften life’s predicament.
What first seemed wonder hazy turned
as generations went their way,
while meanings lost through time, decay,
wheeled to new weal to wield well earned
admiration seldom spurned.
Revered turns dog-eared, what seemed ray
divine's soon tarnished, as men say
'has had it's day', to dust returned.
Thus time and distance cycles churned
amaze then maze, truth seldom stays
in clear perspective, interplays
'O tempora, O mores' - urned.
Rumble crumbles humbled by
R.I.P. bye line: Time does fly!
'O tempora, O mores' Cicero's First Oration against Catiline... mores pronounced with two syllables O what times! Oh what customs!
bye line: bye bye byline
1 June 2000 slightly revised with second sonnet added 12 August 2009
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for previous version see below
Time and Distance
Inspiration outward bound
to sleep surrenders when the wheel
of fate turns luckless, still will reel,
like film slow motion stripped of sound,
as spirit tries to hold its ground.
Time and distance some say heal
aching heart with silent seal.
Distance, time, retain rebound
when someone else’s acts are found
too harsh. Time rarely will reveal
true cure for pain till Death’s cards deal
a last laugh rictus to confound
the stricture structures most invent
to soften life’s predicament...
1 June 2000
Time and Distance Poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Homerun
HOMERUN
From dark to light – one cry.
cot, tot, fine whine, youth tries
to rise, outshine, – strength vies
to test itself far, nigh,
will ever improvise,
wings spread ahead would fly
beyond the common sty.
Ends, means, some justify
as tools to fool, win prize
refusing to downsize
goals which new goals supply,
to grow, while enterprise
won’t sit, knit idly by
would flow to know, apply.
See sun at zenith high
where fair sweep cloudless skies,
fragility belies.
Self on self will rely
And thus we compromise
ourselves – each hour thereby
prepares grief leaf’s demise.
Men, weak “how, what, when, why”
seek to deny, despise
as limits while each eyes
ambitions run awry.
Most fail to realize
fame’s flame soon sinks, falls shy
of promise time can’t buy.
Stagnation by and by
sets in, transforms to ties
what once soared free, - denies
rights others seek would lie,
Inventing alibis
inverting truth stain, dye,
strain, pain, until sparks die.
Still time will onward fly!
Few care to recognize
sunset whet hopes defies, -
dare not, with rules comply, -
scope set cut down to size.
With humour grim and wry
Fate on each whim may spy.
Life’s voyage does imply
page after page time tries
to crop or circumsize -
each stage a wager sly
as cause, effect, in guise
of free choice voice deny
to unborn options! ... Why?
Tide turns, Time’s spring runs dry.
The candle burns. The wise,
the fool, fourscore, fade, - rise
no more, till final cry
whose sense none can disguise.
No echo, no reply...
from light to dark, sole sigh.
9 February 2005
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Homerun Poem © Jonathan Robin
see also Homespun
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HOMESPUNBirth Mirth Worth Girth Dearth Earth Berth
From dark to light – one cry, homespun.
Cot, tot, fine whine, youth vies at last
to rise, to shine, – strength tries so fast
to test itself far, nigh, to run
above the common sty or scrum,
tries stratagems devised to cast,
with sun at zenith high, shade vast, ...
ignores Time fleeting by. The sum?
Who fools are, who are wise, succumb.
Who true, who in disguise, outlast
the dreaded drum’s surprise, stand fast
can further innings try? Soon dumb!
Come night, tomb stark, done, lie forgot, – time spun
From light doom dark one sigh, poor lot, – rhyme done!
20 January 2005
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see also Homerun
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Homes pun Poem © Jonathan Robin
:)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wasted Breath Ceases
WASTED BREATH CEASES
Who seemed to smile
A little while
Showed promise now proved vain,
Time's heartless trial
Ends, closing file...
Dare others shoulder pain?
Blame seems servile,
Reaction's rile;
Exit well trodden lane
As life's exile
To worm from wile,
Hear now... what moral gain?
Can mortal bile
E'er reconcile
A life of strife when wane
Sinks fast, stills guile,
Expels time's dial,
Split seconds, death's disdain.
5 September 2009
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Acrostic WASTED BREATH CEASES
Previous title Wasted
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Life Is Too Short
life is too short
Music: rudolf schenker
Lyrics: klaus meine
Have you ever seen the morning?
When the sun comes up the shore
And the silence teach the beauty for the sound
Have you ever set there waiting?
For the time to stand still
For all the worlds and stars
From turning around
And you run
'cause life is too short
And you run
'cause life is too short
Have you ever seen the glory?
When the moon is on the rise
And the dreams are close
To the ones that we love
Have you ever set there waiting?
For heaven to give a sign
So we could find the place
Where angels come from
And you run (and you run)
'cause life is too short
And you run (and you run)
'cause life is too short
There's a time that turns
Turn back time
But i don't see i can
It only works
If you believe in the truth
But there's a time to live
And a time to cry
But if you're by my side
I will try to catch a star
I'll try to catch a star
Just for you
And i run
'cause life is too short
And i run (and i run)
'cause life is too short
And i run and i run and i run and i run and i run
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Stonewalling Rhyme
One sits beside the sea to see each sandy grain was rock
which once stood out without a doubt, and proudly thought to block
sun, wind and rain - soon Time would [st]rain and slowly infiltrate
the nooks 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 stony s[tr]and at hand, to silently take stock
of passing time which in this rhyme stands out and, with a shock,
one asks oneself how fame or gain can matter for their weight
is blown away within a day by the high tide of Fate.
Withstand, eternity on hand, Time's trials where age could lock
till aeons' end would see change strange blend matter, mind, man mock.
Beneath sun, moon, by dune lagoonn one muses on time-lock,
life's pages turned, millenia burned, churned evolution's croc
to lizard turns, and then returns from down-sized newt to great
Terminonaris - terminus till Nature's genes inflate
all that on earth, in sadness, mirth, fills food chain chockablock:
one can't care, dare, to linger there till new big bang will knock!
Final eight lines added 24 February 2012
(7 February 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song
(Written By Saleem Mirza Translated By Muhammad shanazar)
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
This spacious yard and home of yours,
And all your delicacies are borrowed,
Your youth and beauties are to decay.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
Get rid of all misdeeds and profanities,
Fill your basket with scented flowers,
And add good acts in the scroll of deeds.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
Adopt the straight path of piety,
Recall the name of True Master, Almighty
And complain not speaking blasphemes.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again,
Be not proud of this breathing hut,
False it is to trust in the house of self,
On a certain day the roof will collapse.
Awake lass!
Move around the spinning wheel,
The time will never come back again.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stranger
Dont spend your life like a dime
I thought you are not for hire
Stand for your rights - dont look at the past
I dont know - I dont care - my brains
Spinning round like a wheel
Dont feel like a stranger
Dont feel like a stranger
So turn around leave your feelings behind
Just calm down keep the devil inside
Its like a stone lying in your head
You never know - this time it could be real
And then youll realize
Maybe youre wrong this time
Do something in your life
And then itll work out
Dont feel like a stranger
Everything can be real
Dont feel like a stranger
Move on like a wheel
So you dont know - what is the reason
Its up to you to sell your life so easy
I thought you were learning from the past
Cant you feel deep inside when youre breaking the chains
And then youll realize
Maybe youre wrong this time
Do something in your life
And then itll work out
Dont feel like a stranger
Everything can be real
Dont you know youre in danger
Move on like a wheel
And when it works out
Dont turn around
Something is in your heart
So let it free - oh yeah
Oh yeah
Dont feel like a stranger
Listen to me - everything can be real
Dont feel like a stranger
Move on like a wheel
Dont feel like a stranger
Everything can be so real
Dont you know youre in danger
Move on like a wheel
Dont feel like a stranger...
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nel Mezzo Del Cammin - 1909 - after Dante Inferno
With glass half-full, half-empty questions put
outweigh the answers touching mind or heart,
whether silver spoon boon born, on foot,
each must make peace before release may start.
Who clearly sees through dark glass, darker wood,
would doubtless doubt's dark [t]errors deep repeat,
though hindsight mutters 'should things change, I could! '
Time turns to mock those causal locks would cheat.
More than life's ending, status symbol clash,
despite cards held is how the game is played,
what boots haste win through bluff unthinking, brash,
it loss waste follows, squandered luck displayed.
Can compromise for ethics compensate
when all is said and done upon due date?
With only faith to guide one through d[r]ead door
all outlooks hang uncertainly, life's trip
need not require that there be 'something more'
for all important's life before unzip.
Dawn rose, rose bloomed, before fate's date of birth,
lie still returns to berth will still remains,
while through life's dream theme round horizon's girth
all is in all, pride, fall, ride high, sigh, wanes.
All doors perception senses should be tried,
fears swept aside, have fun along the Way,
faith seems pale wraith when logic is applied
to sojourn's play, what need remains to pray?
From past to future there's a quantum leap,
why care? Joys share, and then prepare to sleep.
'There is a tide in the affairs of men
which taken at the flood' to fortune leads,
omitted all the voyage that they pen
is bound in shallows, fresh misfortunes feeds.
Yet right and wrong, long, short, like yang and yin,
stay sides of one soul's coin, life's fingerprint
expressed, impressed upon life's press, begin
and end bend through one straight and narrow sprint.
Track lost no cost incurs when path is found
through loss of self which self soon rediscovers
through new tack where attack proves fruitless ground,
is grounded till bright insight Way recovers.
'Nel mezzo del cammin' each trip appears
however short the day or long the years.
Dante Inferno
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi retrovai per una selva oscura,
che la diritta via era smarrita.
In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself in a dark wood,
for the straight way was lost.
(7 September 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: The Wheel of Life
The Wheel of Life has Time placed in its hub,
Rotating from joyful state to sorrow;
Learns man to live with hope for the morrow,
Happy today that he can get his grub.
The Wheel of Fate turns at its own queer speed,
Yet, man can alter it using his skill;
Joys and sorrows sequentially fill;
Life on earth seems worthless to some indeed.
But any wheel will turn again, again;
And every state of life will have its end;
This life on earth can be a boon or bane,
Which on the person only will depend.
You turn the Wheel of Life at your own Will,
And much better with Almighty’s help, still.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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[H]our Glass - 1899 - after Richard Seymour - The Hour Glass
Toon's climb, boon's dread, boom's rhyme soon sped,
life's little dream theme tale
dew's wed with glue wed to cue clue thread -
though seeming strong, so frail.
Till naught's in store to add to more,
Time's ebbing sands fall fast;
Fate syphons for_age metaphor,
forgotten mirage past.
Billed for arrears, filled, empty years,
emotions' vain commotion,
birth earthed blame's biers; berthed fame's career's
proverbial dropp in ocean.
With wave goodbye, grave severed tie
hung on some sunbeam stalling
beyond last sigh what stays? Vain cry,
culled empty echo calling.
Love lost, love won with one-to one,
true faithfulness through trust,
find once begun through time have run
to often turn rust dust.
Nor fears, nor tears, resist Time's shears,
nor all we hope and dream
remains, soon unstained mirror clears,
wipes slate of great, small, steam.
As variation on a theme
some karmic call, some mortal,
rum sliver stream glum shivers - gleam
in void, avoid death's portal.
What's life? ‘brief candle', shadow mocked,
from infant's first cry, chortle,
through code adopt to blocks unlock,
to last laugh coda shortfall.
For age or forage
The Hour Glass
Of hours to come and hours long sped
The never-ending tale
Hangs on a slender running thread -
So strong and yet so frail.
The less is added to the more,
The ebbing sands run fast;
Time drains the future's dwindling store
And gives it to the past.
Not all our tears and prayers, alas!
Not all we hope and dream
Shall e'er invert that measured glass
And turn the golden stream.
Richard Surgis Seymour
(28 August 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take Time
You can have it if you really want
You can grasp it if you have the thought
Feel your power that is deep within
Are you ready ?
On your mark begin
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
We should take time out to really love
Do you feel your life's a big mistake ?
Don't you hate the way it's all so fake ?
All I wanna do is just be real
And get off of the spinning wheel
All they sell us is a pack of lies
And we're buying one in every size
Can't you see it in the children's eyes ?
It's about to get wild
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
We should take time out to really love
Ha yeah
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
We should take time out to really love
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
You can have it any way you want it
You can have it any way you want it
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
You can have it any way you want it
You can have it any way you want it
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
You can have it any way you want it
Any you want it
You can have it any way you want it
Hey hey
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
You can have it any way you want it
Any you want it
You can have it any way you want it
Hey hey
We should take time out to really love
We should find out who we really are
You can have it any way you want it
You can have it any way you want it
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from 5
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Life is Mirage - Acrostic Sonnet
As dusk to dawn succeeds, so death to birth,
Swift arcs the arrow, with the ark of man,
Lost on Time’s sea, while his allotted span
Is soon forgotten, dry-docked, - narrow berth.
For dust to dust returns, earth turns to earth;
Each sickled moon a sickly herald, wan,
Is witness to impermanence. The plan
Spins to Fate’s farce fast ending. Light and mirth
Must fade or jade before they prove their worth.
In earnest, blazing brightly, nothing can
Remain eternal, beacon Hope can’t scan,
And flame as ‘fixèd mark’ – and so its dearth,
Ghost mirage, mocks love’s life and locks life’s love -
End is in sight, flight spent, expressed above.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epitaph III - Parody Chidiock TICHBOURNE 1558_1586 Elegy and Thomas KYD
My little space no trace may leave behind,
My little base, - whose clock must soon unwind.
Why little haste? When discontented mind
reproves the race of shadow-shapes unsigned,
when worth and mirth too soon are undermined,
to earth returned, - with nobody to mind.
Our passing tresses, jesses just a while
play gesture-jester, jest at Fate’s swift trial
where sentence executionary the smile
aborts, deletes, erases: goodness, guile,
find no reprieve, with self to reconcile,
before Time tells of span unprotractile.
The sentence-execution’s always known
instinctively from crown to funny-bone.
If bridge between birth, death, we hold our own
then where lies sense, or there sense lies: once sown
the blossom sees one sunrise then is blown,
Time makes short shrift of deist cornerstone.
Today we dream we dream tomorrow’s plan,
which in and of itself mocks mortal man.
Time grates great pyramid, sand's partisan
defends ground zero status quo who’s span
prepares its own demise. Wise he who can
play for the day, unpaid life’s courtisan.
The sentence-execution’s always known
instinctively from crown to funny-bone.
If bridge between birth, death, we hold our own
then where lies sense, or there sense lies: once sown
the blossom sees one sunrise then is blown,
Time makes short shrift of deist cornerstone.
There’s no extension offered free, sublime,
no subtle lock to block the wheels of time.
We cognate are both cog and natal rhyme
as photo flash forgotten frames our grime, -
the ‘moving finger’ writes our pantomime
who’s string, who’s strung, when none can care a dime?
Our intranet is mirage-module base
to serve self image, through projection place
perspective partial playing to replace
the void within, avoiding loss of face.
Perhaps through love a moment’s state of grace
some lucky few may conjure for a space.
As flies within an amber double bind,
time’s trap some squander, others tap to find
through questions answerless with which mankind
plays games with frames of reference which, blind,
are vain reminders ‘I the undersigned’
is/was the proof Life knows no mastermind.
Today awake, tomorrow lost beneath
some sodden turf, with little left to show
for threescore years of sojourn, lacking teeth,
poor eyesight, addled brain, 'tis time to go.
'My fruit is fallen, yet'... wit weaves writ wreath,
glass full lies empty, quits, slips underneath.
'I looked for life and saw it' masquerade
of misinterpretations from the womb
until tomb's doom, where puppet man and maid
together dance suspended from chance gloom
that seldom clears the clouds of bias backed
from birth to final berth in charnel stacked.
An eyelid's twinkling, blink, our present past
becomes, numb, dumb, for coward and for brave,
most stillborn linger, finger truth aghast,
seek safety mining crass conventions' cave,
and then they die, their story stillborn too,
through mind pollution rue solutions true.
No matter what the rhyme-scheme that is used
'upon this chequer board of nights and days, '
no matter what's accepted, what's refused,
'life hither, thither, moves, and checks and slays.'
'the Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,
no tears can cancel out one word of it.'
Our Spring 'of youth is but a frost of cares, '
our fullness feast plays out, frays, 'dish of pain, '
'our crop of corn' time-worn, warns harvest dares'
glean gleams decay, stained by 'vain hope of gain.'
'Our day is past, ' hour one-way trip mirage,
stage tripped, page ripped, sage stripped in crypt collage.
© Jonathan Robin 23 January 2006 Parody Chidiock TICHBOURNE
..........................revised with final five verses added 2 April 2010 and verse 4 revised 15 November 2011
Elegy
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain,
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen,
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made,
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
This is the first printed version from Verses of Prayse and Joye 1586. This version differs slightly from the original text, in which the first line of the second verse reads The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung, and had various other minor textual differences.
Chidiock TICHBOURNE 1558_1586 Written in the Tower of London before his execution I. i.59
..........................
Chidiochi Tychborne
Thy prime of youth is frozen with thy faults,
thy feast of joy is finisht with thy fall:
Thy crop of corn is tares availing naughts,
thy good God knows thy hope, thy hap and all.
Short were thy days, and shadowed was thy sun,
T' obscure thy light unluckily begun.
Time trieth truth, and truth hath treason tripped;
thy faith bare fruit as thou hadst faithless been:
Thy ill spent youth thine after years hath nipped;
and God that saw thee hath preserved our Queen.
Her thread still holds, thine perished though unspun,
And she shall live when traitors lives are done.
Thou soughtst thy death, and found it in desert,
thou look'dst for life, yet lewdly forc'd it fade:
Thou trodst the earth, and now on earth thou art,
As men may wish thou never hadst been made.
Thy glory and thy glass are timeless run;
And this, O Tychborne, hath thy treason done.
Thomas KYD 1558_1595
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Time Consumed
What if imagination's wave-lengths show
man mirage mirror, wishful thinking's wings,
if 'truth' hid doubts, fear's fast consuming flow,
blot rot, not pearly gates devout scout sings?
Life's school would be in/of itself an end,
while pastures green no credency could lend.
If rite can't right 'wrong's' preying for a day
can pray repair man's puny pantomime,
if heresy today's tomorrow's lay
may hope scope draw from 'orthodox' if Time
makes crime of what, before, was held sincere,
and what held dear through time must disappear.
We birth on earth for threescore years and ten
then berth beneath the sods for auld lang syne,
Time mocks eternal second innings' yen
as much for saint as sinner, wineless whine.
When some await fair houri harem troop
may minds that stray or pray sign seraph scoop?
Though many paths are said to point the way
to paradise, or purgatory's pen,
though sects' decrees, dogma dissected, grey
from heaven's white to hell's black cannot ken.
Weak skeins knot vain, belie redemptive spin,
speak bane not reign of angels on a pin.
What peace of mind is gained when lost to life
if life itself proves hapless vale of tears,
when piece of mind resembles veil of strife,
whose knife's encountered on and off for years?
The answer may be neither here nor there,
but 'carpe diem! ' fête fate's day with flair!
J.R.4 April 2010 significantly revised 15 November 2011 with second and fourth verses added
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Universal
‘Universelle:
She is youth, she has no age.
She sees everything, she judges nothing.
She is innocent, she is powerful.
She comes from the past,
She is the future.’
Unrecognized though foreordained,
nought losing yet to all as lost,
innocent, though counting cost,
vast as the Past, as Future chained
eternally to Fate’s fire-frost
rich as we shall be we’ve remained.
Unique and common, in between
night’s sighs, dawn’s longings, scarce serene;
we float here, there, through dreams’ insight.
Although the strings stay out of sight
Chance intertwines lives, sets the scene
which spins round Time’s wheel infinite.
Game gambol gamble plays roulette
with Cause, Effect, would hedge its bet,
but all too often intervenes
the wild card held by Time who’s seen
to pull those strings till all forget,
till all’s forgotten, both ‘what was’, what might have been...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Tomorrow is another day
Whispers from misfortunes past
from time's breeze soon fade away,
regrets responding to dice cast
lost opportunities gainsay.
Tomorrow is another day
that eyes shan't see to weep or praise,
crushed, hushed, man's vanity can't play
forever, Death's cards scorn bluff raise.
Début to fin, bang to whimper,
soon last gasp clasps passed prey,
nor page heroic, caged rage, simper,
it is time to piper pay.
Debunking myth perpetuation
of harp, winged busker fey's
shell empty, husk's examination
nor sin, nor din displays.
Debutante declines, chants fades out,
eyes close, leave hair as grey
bedraggled. Phantom dreams must flout,
lust non-plussed wastes away.
Debilitation. Curled, unfurled,
from birth to berth our stay
from girlish curls, life's wayward whirls,
chance dance must soon decay.
Debonnaire brain wanes, upper hand
time gains, what's left to say?
Once lofty leaves green, browned, soft land
in mire where no choirs play.
Debased trace, memory; choice numb,
comedy's held at bay,
all's sprawl, small call, thrall palls, voice dumb,
life's raffle, baffled fray.
Debriefing's left to friends bereft,
life's strife, joys pain; dismay
drowns heroes slain unsung, warp weft
from game cleft sans replay.
(17 June 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Wheel
People have the right to fly
And will when it gets compromised
Their hearts say 'move along"
Their minds say 'gotcha heart'
'Let's move it along'
And airports see it all the time
Where someone's last goodbye
Blends in with someone's sigh
Cause someones coming home
In hand a single rose
And that's the way this wheel keeps working now
That's the way this wheel keeps working now
And I won't be the last
No I won't be the last
To love her
You can't build a house of leaves
And live like it's an evergreen
It's just a season thing
It's just this thing the seasons do
And that's the way this wheel keeps working now
That's the way this wheel keeps working now
And you won't be the first
No you won't be the first
To love me
You can find me
If you ever want again
I'll be around the bend
I'll be around the bend
I'll be around
And if you never stop when you wave goodbye
You just might find if you give it time you will wave hello again
You just might wave hello again
And that's the way this wheel keeps working now
That's the way this wheel keeps working now
You can't love too much one part of it
You can't love too much one part of it
I believe that my life's gonna see
The love I give returned to me
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slugs and Snails - Parody Robert Frost Fire and Ice
Some say our world will end with snails
some slug out blown.
With climate change, scarce dinner pails,
I'd back whales weighed upon time's scales.
Of human nature enough's known
by those who'd live to tell tales tall
to show that for destruction sown
slug outs withal
suffice - home-grown.
Two stanza word world ends at ease
in freezer stowed
both slugs and snails preserved - one sees
a micro-wave cold sale could tease
snails from their shells - Frost's poem showed
that none cold feet should entertain
when world on ice skates, atoms slowed:
Can slugs feel pain
for tea at minus forty three degrees?
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
(8 April 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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College love encounter
If you are who I think you are, your face, your name
I may be lost, not knowing, not to be who I am
Such a swift unexpected encounter to bare in my face
It brings all past passions confusions back to surface
Well at first sight I wonder how life have been with you
Are you happy? that I should thus be happy too
For still my heart regards your weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do, as always was thus its will
I am unconsciously courteous unable to suppress my brimming sighs
The piercing melting power of your eyes
A vision I always longed and dread to see
It now brings the old havoc and tremble all over me
Oh dear; let it be short, adieu I must away
While you are blest I will not repine
For near you, I still can never Longley stay
My heart would soon again crave to make you mine
For years I wondered whether time or pride
Had quenched at length the youths flame
Nor knew till this hasty random meeting on street side
My heart in all save hope and expectations the same
Yet I am calm in this ghastly encounter, I knew the time
My chest would thrill and rebel against your look
Well, well by chance we meet and not a nerve is shook
As thus love of youth frozen encapsulated in its prime
I notice the gaze upon your face
yet we meet with no confusion there
One only feeling could you trace
the sullen calmness of despair
Away, away I brush my early dream
remembrance, reminiscence sleep again never awake
Oh I bagged life not to be derailed but back to its daily routine stream
Oh foolish heart be still, stop torturing my soul, if you rebel you again break
Thus lady of past early youth love
I must view your charms no more
For as long as this encounter lingers as the heaven above
I sigh for all I felt and experience before
In short I shall be surely wise
To escape from temptation snare
Your beauty and charm with years of patina is my paradise
I cannot view you, without the wish of re dwelling there
As Adam was expelled from Eden bowers
A moment I lingered near college paradise gate
Recalling the scenes of happy vanished lost hours
And bade myself to curse my future fate
But wondering through life long years
I learnt to bare my load of grief
Just gave a sigh to my vain pangs and tears
And found to me remedy, recovery relief
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