Jonathan ROBIN Poems

Time’s sickle descends,
ephemeral, uncertain,
sandy trickle ends.
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Tomorrow will tomorrow follow till
the timer sudden cracks, and sands outspill.
A trickle representing Life and Will
soon ceases, leaving silence. All stays still.
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Writing on emotions' motions
need apply to other eyes,
often inciting trite commotions,
seldom showing pleased surprise.
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Hip Mark Foley, oh!
'turns' the Republican page
of whip portfolio
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Sunday preferred? Absurd! Who heard such thing
Unless one feels that life is regimented
Not by bliss met, kiss met, Fate's golden ring
Daily displayed, by nights' dreams supplemented.
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Chapter and verse in sonnet setting here
have sought to recognize beyond all speech
effects and causes, time-lines over-reach,
encapsulating thoughts as they appear.
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Fake, fake, fake
on the canvas tau[gh]t I see,
while the auction records tumble,
uncounterfeited glee!
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Nature in her wisdom has created
bitch twins which war before, behind, one mind;
here, p[r]etty grace, there peerless face some find.
Few sonneteers false charms have celebrated.
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Of a kiss I’m afraid
as of bees in the skies,
suffer sleeping, awake,
neither rest find nor take:
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Dansez près du rivage,
pourquoi se soucier
du vent, des flots, ou du bruitage?
Allez vite essuyer
...