One Four Square Sonnet - Parody Shakespeare Sonnet CXVI
ONE FOUR SQUARE SONNET
Let's not into true marriage of two minds
Admit expedience. Love wears no kid glove
Which falters where fits, altercations, finds
Or ends when dumb observer would remove.
For lo! that marks stark feckless leaver, hark!
Tempest cooks cat's books, stands sturdy shaken,
Here, wild oats sown, dog-star to wandering bark,
Its birth unknown although its bow save bacon.
Since Love fools Time, lip-service cheeky rhyme
Within big spending tickle’s compass come,
O'er years piques havoc wreak, strange phantom mime,
Remaining edgy till wan wedge of doom,
Let be, if error writ, and on me proved,
Dumb see my wit, for no man clever loved.
30 October 1991 revised 14 July 2007 and 1 May 2010
robi03_0467_shak01_0022 PAS_LZX
Parody William SHAKESPEARE 1564_1616 Sonnet CXVI
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Will anybody care? - April 2012 Version
Hurt heart thumps through stark torrent's spew, pain's veins pump vain despair,
why wishing-well what world would do when one's no longer there?
Why worry who will bed or woo, misled wed base affair,
each age sends stage page scene anew, pent rage vents spleen, sad snare.
Once wraith what faith may comfort, who contentment finds? Aware
are all their nightmare fall supplies no paradise, skies fair.
Dank dark doom leaves grieve hung with dew, shaved, stumpy trees stripped bare,
gibbering ghosts, grey-greenish hue shade shiver in sharp air.
Life's dream team options, once bright blue, tarnish too soon, to wear
down most, ghost host, who must crust rust, while few pad out lust's lair
beyond the seemy rhyming schemes of blushing Baudelaire -
whored guilty conscience safely stored, bribes poured for greased palm tare.
Burnt bridge of sighs quite cuts in two split city's spirit spare,
and therefore, by extension, too, links life to - God knows where.
Wan lie acquaintanceships one knew, affection two should share,
while once exciting avenue of life seems impasse where
old vaunted haunts time's rimed review now daunts. For void prepare.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Carpe Diem 1234 Current Version
Inspiration's spent cartridge, having shot its insight bolt from out of the blue out of sight, hangs, bridge ridge ego echo kidding between indifferent and indignant, apparently almost borderline indigent in suspended animation, arrested as if Time and Space had conspired to offset kinetic energy oversight aspiring to fire the Ages, to dissolve need for conceptual anchors and thereby solve descriptions of descriptions of inside/outside interdependant fractal interface tracings pacing the space outline of straight line meta-mode mind-sets while awaiting the meeting mutating mate to mating with itself.
Pivot and pillow wo[l]rd challenge tenets of Ti[m]e and P[l]ace, ful[l]crum[b]s of the soul's immortality, seeking to block the spirit's fleeting winking inking thinking linking greeting shrinking within itself.
A state me[a]ntal line, desperate to [t]race light, as if its existence depended upon its s[p]eed, soars, curving, arching through the marching universe attempting to reach, underscore, and underline itself. Light quark sparks affect all levels of cosmic consciousness until the circle reforms an image impression expression of universal harmony.
Emotions long to [l]ink the pages of the Present, intertwining Past and Future, and, in letters large as life, decipher themselves, decode the genius or gene I us emoticons so near, and yet so far. The door of insight and enlightenment is ever ajar, although it often seems too narrow to those who ephemerally flicker through their three score years and ten.
Up and over, to where, hitting, the lead layers of primary consciousness, 'wait' changed state as weight dissolved, and led away from the temptation of falling back on the memory's backwash flashback switchbacking and side tracking up and down upon a semi colon black background, back to and from basics, a-muse-sing contradiction in terms, as the bridge between Whence and Wither, Cause and Effect suddenly spanned the echo relay race of Eternity's comings and goings, ebbings and flowings, knowing and unknowing as the cycle geared up and peered/appeared over hair-splitting layers of primary unconsciousness.
The sleeper seeks to wake, awakening unlooked for in this temporal continuum. Fake break takes time out for its own sake without making flaking rhyme. The chronological water shed the logical and fed from Chronos' legendary meal, taking from the Gods from which he himself once partook while spinning topsy-turvy among the blue and green rings around Saturn's void.
Kernel, unrooted from the inner recesses of the mind, that dark fertile area where creativity restlessly and relentlessly anticipates release, bursts into nut gut activity. Nevertheless, innovation is considered cancerous by those who their inner selves refute, or fear to know.
The universal soul awaits inspiration to send sap soaring, outpouring from core ring at all levels. Tendrils tentatively touch, tenderly tease to deracinate, sensate and sate the tortured synapses of the spirit. Explosion of consciousness calls all, especially itself, into question.
Warp and weft, bereft of references, dance a double helix under the sum of understanding, st[r]anding both apart from and a part of the hole that leads the whole into and out from itself.
Truth's essential essence reflects prismatically and chromatically upon all aspects of awareness, the soul works on the Will to redefine the Way as harmony and chaos complete each other as cosmic and karmic interplay evolve revolving around each other.
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Sprinkle drinkle in the bar
Sprinkle drinkle in the bar
how I wonder what side car
I’ll rush into as some knight
whets my blurry appetite.
Drinkle, twinkle, little bar –
only hope you’re up to par!
When to blazes one is gone
ten more line up for the fun,
can I, canned, quite see the light,
can I dream of selenite?
Drinkle drinkle nothing bar –
spare a dropp for grandmama!
When rich traveller in the dark
thanks one for the little lark
two play at in dark car park,
take him for a ride stripped stark.
One should thank that lucky star
and save a tip[ple] for mamma!
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Channel Tunnelling after Sue Morton
Some bright sparks said O Blighty!
a long long time ago
thanked icons of almighty
that they packed up to go
to France, pyjamas, nightie
silk, satin sporty show.
This gospel write rings rightly
as Western gringos know,
though ski resorts glow sprightly
with artificial snow.
For France the weekly hours
are thirty five at most
without the April showers
which reign on England's coast,
Law holidays empowers
six weeks with wine to toast,
some butter bread, some glowers
at others' flowered boast.
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In Finite Terms - 0987
When Fate's soft tick flicks safely by
when fête holds sway old Time must fly
"and not a cloud obscures the sky"
why worry, pleasure now deny?
For joys tomorrow soul soars high.
True, some are smitten, springs run dry,
yet few heed inner warning cry.
to mist dimiss, wave Time goodbye.
Fate may be written, it may lie,
behind the veil is passing sigh,
more is assumed in store so why
seek answers which no gold can buy.
For, if there's more, hope cannot die,
if nothing, then why worry, high
and low in turn their fate defy,
then wave forgot sink twixt sea, sky.
Life's transience, quite underrated,
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Mosaic - Summer's Day
Each line is a quotation from a different poem... for line number references see: http: //allpoetry.com/poem/2595760 as formatting here is inappropriate... Enjoy!
1 Mist melted from the mountain grey,
2 my road wound uphill all the way,
3 the stroll had bowled my breath away.
4 Below, beneath the rays of May, -
5 the briny beaches of the bay
6 whose level sands stretched far away.
7 I lay down in the heat of day
8 where ivy leaves curled up astray
9 ‘neath furze unprofitably gay.
10 Beyond, a sparrowed hedgerow lay
11 where patient silken spinners’ sway,
12 their multicoloured webs would play
13 with passing flies, a buzzing prey.
13A The spider weaves by night and day
13B although she’s heard a whisper say
13C a curse is on her if she stay.
13D She fears no curse, knows no dismay,
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Nerves, up to Date - after Olga Katzin Miller
Nerves, up to Date
I think I’ll call At Home, Excite,
I think my cell phone’s down,
imagine being on a flight
that struck Manhattan town.
From CNN to Internet
both buildings, markets, crash
scare fare flies fast, none know as yet,
our confidence was rash.
Rumour rampant rises high
relief seems rather slow
comparisons are sad and wry
as DJ sinks too low,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Leaflet
One hundred ten from acorn cup
my trunk, once slender, up and up
advanced to tickle sun and moon:
I versify. Life's afternoon
slips into eventide to sup
beside the golden buttercup, -
among the joyous saplings strewn
no longer hidden, bounty, boon.
From sunrise smile with dewdropp pearls
whose tears deck leaves as each uncurls,
from breath by photosynthesis
to death without a goodbye kiss,
from sapling which warm zephyr twirls
to gnarled old wood with outgrowth burls,
on how I live, on that and this,
my roots reflect before abyss
recycling swallows branch and twig.
I realize life's whirligig
spins rings concentric marking time
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Inner Liberty - 0253 - Current Version
Inspiration's spent cartridge, having out of the blue shot its insight bolt from out of sight, hangs, bridge ridge ego echo [s]kidding between indifferent and indignant, appears in suspended animation, arrested as if Time and Space had conspired to offset kinetic energy oversight aspiring to fire the Ages.
Dissolve need for conceptual anchors and, thereby, solve descriptions of descriptions of inside/outside interdependant fractal interface tracings pacing the space outline of straight line meta-mode mind-sets.
Pivot and pillow wo[l]rd challenge tenets of Ti[m]e and P[l]ace, ful[l]crum[b]s of the soul's immortality, seeking to block the spirit's fleeting winking inking thinking linking greeting shrinking within itself.
TIME AND PLACE LAND, PACE, EMIT, check balance, equilibrium equipoise, awaiting the meeting mutating mate to mating for DEEP CLAIMANT before they DECIMATE PLAN.
A state me[a]ntal line, desperate to [t]race light, as if its existence depended upon its s[p]eed, soars, curving, arching, sharching star I Ching through the marching universe, attempting to reach, underscore, and underline itself.
Standing upon no ceremony, light quark sparks affect all levels of cosmic consciousness until the circle reforms an image impression expression of universal harmony.
Emotions long to [l]ink the pages of the Present, intertwining Past and Future, and, in letters large as life, decipher themselves, decode the ingenuous genius or GENE-I-US emoticons so near, and yet so far.
The door of insight and enlightenment is ever ajar, although it often seems too narrow to those evanescent/effervescent who ephemerally flicker through their three score years and ten.
Up and over, to where, hitting, the lead layers of primary consciousness, 'wait' changed state as weight dissolved, and led away from the temptation of falling back on the memory's backwash flashback switchbacking and side tracking up and down upon a semi colon black background, back to and from basics.
A-muse-sing contradiction in terms, as the bridge between Whence and Wither, Cause and Effect suddenly spanned the echo relay race of Eternity's comings and goings, ebbings and flowings, knowing and unknowing as the cycle geared up and peered/appeared over hair-splitting layers of primary unconsciousness.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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