Jonathan ROBIN Poems

New revolutions
of the world spin an old top
to fresh solutions.
...

Reason's season too few seize on
Responses fair. Reaction's treason,
Rhymed or prose, too seldom frees one
Rose thought mind's bees land with ease on.
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Hiss of sizzling log
steams ashes on crackling sparks
beneath smoky fog.
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L’écho gnomique
inspire les fées d’hiver,
lutte antinomique?
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How many more nights
shall sole sleep with sole before
wan one lonely bites.
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As another leaf
forgotten flutters forlorn,
Time smothers all grief.
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Waiting in the wings,
Depression, homeless, hovers.
Eternal, hope s[pr]ings.
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