Jonathan ROBIN

Freshman - 581 Points (22 September / London)

On His Previous Blindness - Parody John Milton - On His Blindness - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

When I consider how my life's been spent
these whirling years in this dark world and wide,
with that one talent which my wits supplied
held in abeyance waiting for love s[c]ent
to blossom to true beauty, to present
the world with tribute due and bona fide,
I thank my stars I have not been denied
your love which none and nothing can prevent,
your love, where that of others is descent,
your love which above all on Earth I pride.
I thank 'coincidence' which did provide
the opportunity to be content.
When I consider this I understand
how two t[hr]o[ugh] one may flow, grow hand in hand!

(10 December 2001 after Jphn Milton see below for alternate version)

Time Misspent
When I consider so much time misspent
these fifty years, I've little right to guide, -
such talent slight which tired wits supplied
suspended, in abeyance, impotent.
I tried to fight conformity, present
the world a contribution bona fide, -
I failed. The spirit is dissatisfied.
Some grief I wrought, feared fraudulent intent,
felt tenderness a threat - heart discontent.
Understanding free from bias, pride,
I'm thankful for, thank life which could provide
the opportunity to learn time lent
grants space to face oneself, to understand
how two should flow together, hand in hand..

(10 December 2001 after Jphn Milton see below for alternate version)

On Our Blindness
When we consider all our freedoms lost
with HA! BE U.S.! Corpus of bush law,
black death to hide the whitewash when p'lice score
'gainst innocence ‘wrong place, wrong time' star-crossed,
One wonders, when our children count the cost
and, chiding, true account present before
Executive Privilege bolted door,
will they, when light denied, in prison tossed,
murmur "God only needs assent Orwellian bossed! "?
Man, chip embeddèd, acts recorded, sore
bearing harsh yoke, must serve where none ignore
C.C.T.V. controls come shine or frost.
They swerve too late who brake fair freedom's flow,
stand, wait, burn at State stake, want not to know …

(15 May 2007 after John MILTON 1608_1674 On His Blindness)

On his Blindness
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied? '
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: 'God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.'

John MILTON 1608_1674


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Poem Edited: Friday, February 17, 2012


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