Jonathan ROBIN Poems

Stop, look, and listen, imprint glistens, see
words wire taut, well caught, of themselves require
standards unset, spontaneous, to be:
though goal unsought, far from the crowd's mud mire.
...

From dark to light, one cry, homespun.
Cot, tot, fine whine, youth vies at last
To rise, to shine, strength tries so fast
To test itself far, nigh, to run
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Should in the chronicles of wasted time
A line be writ to underline this jest,
No explanations for this pantomime
Deserve a space within your treasure chest.
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Triumphant cries, thighs quivering, maid Sets
Instincts free, sheds walls, lips wed lips. Ace,
M. thus finds lust must undermine mind’s Lace
Enchantment’s state of grace thus soon Abets
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Squire Squint, banging at a pheasant,
pranged, instead, a sitting duck,
Said he, 'It is a bit unpleasant
for hitting peasant to come unstuck! '
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Late autumn's hazy mists and heavy rain
replenish water tables and prepare
through winter's hibernation drab and bare,
for spring, rebirth, fertility, flush plain
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Trip's rune tune drips, pain grips gain's grain, sands slip
indifferent to applause or tribulation:
as centuries dissolve, full meaning's chime
to tocsin turns from tintinnabulation.
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If, reader, brave, your stave taps this grave verse
unable to wave back Death's sable veil,
my phantom name don't pantomime, rehearse,
resign to Time that which beneath blade flail
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If you, perchance, should glance upon this verse
discarding chance to dance behind dark veil,
force no false thought, distraught remorse rehearse,
advance to Time that which beneath his flail
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From door once shown
to heart regrown
joy's causal dice are cast
as flesh and bone
...