Jonathan ROBIN Poems

Strange seems it that although no mind may fit
another’s unique copybook there’s space
to think that two can interlink, true trace
patterns which, uniting warmth and wit,
...

I

I was at ease. Now, pinched, in pain,
burdened beyond the years I bear.
...

Churning ashen aspirations in hot disbelief
...

Trees bend, thanking breeze
for empowering pollen’s
opportunities
...

Do rhyme and structure strangle sense,
Or emphasize emotions which
Eclectic rhythms render rich?
Stress reinforces verse, intense
...

SYLLABLE HARVEST

Syllable harvest -
like monsoon f[l]oods - inundates
...

A wooden boat upon a sea of sand
stands beached, unfathomed by the fiercest storm,
beside toy train, beneath free bees that swarm
furled flaglike round a Cherry close at hand
...

For nine months
[s]he breasted the tide
...