Resignation 2
To tie me to this tiresome task no reasons real remain,
save sloth, indignity, and, worse, profit from fortune's fame.
Four years, for five percent or more, of French employers' fee
I've tried my best in boursing chore, unbiased, all agree.
Now to be frank, no more for Franc I'll beat the Bourse for bores,
no more for petty Pound to pound from Terme to Cash for cash its floors
The fight against inflation here, to halt it is a cause,
that fight will fail, or I'm no seer, the die thats cast has flaws.
Here socialistic cats appear with communistic claws
well poised to spring, elections near, to crush France in their jaws.
Twixt capitals I did commute for Capital to please,
their confidence has no true root, for few or none believes
the creed that throughout history has formed the Will to try,
encouraging humanity to moon, Mars, stars and sky.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Triptych Stitch Trip III
TRIPTYCH STITCH TRIP III
StitcH Heart’S SheatH HaS StretcH
TiC CaughtT ToC, CharT TerrifiC.
I treaT ThaI, InspecT TmumulI IntacT
TsunamI, InstanT Typhoon, I ImparT TempI,
ChanT TheatriC CasT TantriC ComplimenT.
Here’S SketcH. HopeS SearcH H[e]avenS
15 December 2006
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Triptych Stitch Trip III poem © Jonathan Robin
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TRIPTYCH ST....ITCH TRIP
String on Heart’s skeinS,
Threads tie, Cast, kniT!
In time, Train I
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Triptych Stitch Trip II
TRIPTYCH ST....ITCH TRIP II
S[tr]ing...H eart’S
Thought C harT
In...........T empI
Taut.......I nstanT
Click......T antriC -
Here......S andwicH
triple acrostic
22 November 2006
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Triptych Stitch Trip II poem © Jonathan Robin
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TRIPTYCH STITCH TRIP III
StitcH Heart’S SheatH HaS StretcH
TiC CaughtT ToC, CharT TerrifiC.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Yarn
Swift spinning wheel revolves within,
revel keyed to rainbow bright,
now wing weft warps, now weaves from sight,
enters, leaves as senses spin.
What is end when things begin
from finish, swing new day from night,
wind sings chains free, both slack and tight,
yet what is joy without chagrin?
What is sense, what static din?
Some wavelengths ultraviolet light
funnel, infra-red some, - sight
depends more on expected whim
than on the rods and cones within
retinal lining - photons’ rite
when redefined as ‘wrong’ or ‘right’,
pre-expectations underpin.
Neurons nitroglycerin
polychromatic dynamite,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Après la Fête
Après la Fête
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
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Rubaiyat of Conformity
As cock crew flock knew Time prepared to turn
new leaf, grief's season comes and no return
is in the cards for, mortal, mighty man's
soon past, repast forgotten, ashes burn.
There is a door which most men never see,
and those who see may never find its key,
so stray and stumble lose their way on Way
that opens up sublime eternity.
Few differentiate 'twixt wood and trees,
won't shed their goods, good find cash chains, disease
or accident cuts umbilical cord,
Fate's sword soon severs pride ride's mirage tease.
From shaft of light to well shaft dark entombed
takes one split second splitting the well groomed
from future which they thought would greet them well,
life's book bears witness to doom catacombed.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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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.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bud Free - Anagram Acrostic
BUD FREE!
BEYOND YE BOND which terrifies
UNITE! UNTIE! shed all disguise,
DRAW joy WARD off, REEF FREE dark skies.
Knit I AM AIM to WE IS - WISE.
ROSE, SORE, RETWINS, WINTERS defies.
IN ONE I NONE FILE LIFE. Arise!
STREAM MASTER – HEART ART HE supplies
The SMILE which MILES DROPS, PRODS surprise.
Your WOLF’S growl grows FLOWS fertilize.
PART is a TRAP, - LO US! - SOUL ties
In knots HER 'MY' - in RHYME it dies.
The PAGE does GAPE? Just realize
ALL mirrors ALL in different guise
FOR TUNES trump FORTUNE’S flighty eyes.
READ, DEAR, SURE RUSE personifies
Each VERSE to SERVE sans compromise.
Each REVERSE REVERES replies,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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How doth the Bee Improve His Salary? - Parody Isaac WATTS – How doth the Bee
How doth the Bee Improve His Salary?
How doth the busy little bee
prepare for flower power,
when honey garnered, daily spree,
will wax, - no waning hour?
The answer’s plain as plain can be,
hive votes for poll_en_dower,
for feathered nests with polity
Reps wait to line their bower...
Those set up in authority
elected seem to scour,
for “cash and carry” not to be
declared, - gold’s welcome shower.
As Tweedle Dum(b) and Tweedle Dee
In, Out, Out, In, they lobby,
when crime’s unmasked, like rats we see
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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On Our Blindness - after John Milton - On His Blindness
On Our Blindness
When we consider all our freedoms lost
with HA! BE U.S.! Corpus of bush law,
black death to hide the whitewash when p’lice score
’gainst innocence ‘wrong place, wrong time’ star-crossed,
One wonders, when our children count the cost
and, chiding, true account present before
Executive Privilege bolted door,
will they, when light denied, in prison tossed,
murmur “God only needs assent Orwellian bossed! ”?
Man, chip embeddèd, acts recorded, sore
bearing harsh yoke, must serve where none ignore
C.C.T.V. controls come shine or frost.
They swerve too late who brake fair freedom’s flow,
stand, wait, burn at State stake, want not to know …
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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