Jonathan ROBIN Poems

Each one in turn tests life’s allotted cell,
base line from which wills strive to win wide world.
On each Chance, Time, crime's partners, cast fell spell
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T ime’s pages Chance’s spendthrift hand is turning,
H ere choice is made, there other options spurned.
E arly or late see dust to dust retu[r]ning,
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Voice within responds to harmony,
as one where two divided waste away.
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The poet’s pen can clouds disguise,
As paradise project dull skies
So clearly fears fade out of place,
The Earth is painted full of grace.
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Blushingly blotches the mark
over the spot.
Itchingly wrestles the clerk,
scratching a lot.
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CIAO CEAUCESCU

Securitate's logic absolute
political ambitions can't confute:
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Observe the busy bee, my son,
which from dawn rich till day is done,
from bloom to blossom journeying,
extracts from each a different thing, -
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A secret sadness pains my heart
whenever, with a smiling face,
we meet with others, scarce apart,
in drawing-room or public place.
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Vision clears, we’re somehow made aware
A new age dawns as instincts stimulate
Longings that at last hopes liberate.
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Life's Carnival swift sinks, soon drive,
ambitions fail. What sense to strive
when dregs alone remain to drain
before forgetfulness stakes claim.
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