Jonathan ROBIN

Freshman - 581 Points (22 September / London)

Phantom Fipple - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Daybreak, warmth welcomes waking world, clear sky,
green edges bustle with bright breezy sniffle.
Lake's brake-line thrills, vibrating in reply.
Screen sedges rustle, as if phantom fipple
had muted airy echoes, reedy cry
transmuting tune-true tones to whispery sigh.
Some jesting dragonflies flit down, skim shy,
quiescent waters sudden part, dance, ripple.
Ingesting fragile frame, from tail to eye,
swift freckled fish break surface, dart, prance, riffle.
In silence snow-white swans slide slowly by
for pinioned wings belie will to soar high.
As Nature, life, proud strong devour crowd weak,
while most pass silent, scared, few dare to speak.

(24 June 2009)

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Daybreak, warmth welcomes waking world, clear sky,
green edges bustle with bright breezy sniffle
that sets lake's brake-line singing in reply.
Screen sedges rustle as if phantom fipple
had muted calls unanswered, reedy cry,
transmuting tune-true tones to whispery sigh.
Some jesting dragonflies flit down, skim shy,
quiescent waters sudden part, dance, ripple.
Ingesting fragile frame, from tail to eye,
swift freckled fish break surface, dart, prance, riffle.
In silence snow-white swans slide slowly by,
their pinioned wings belie the will to fly.
As Nature, life, proud strong devour crowd weak,
while most in silence pass, too scared to speak.

(16 May 2009)

Initial Version
Daybreak. A lake. Warmth wakes the world. Blue sky.
Green edges bustle with a breezy sniffle
which sets the brake-line singing in reply.
Screen sedges rustle, as if phantom fipple
had muted both their moans and reedy cry,
transmuting tune-true tones to whispery sigh.
Some jesting dragonflies skim down, so shy,
quiescent waters sudden part, dance, ripple:
ingesting fragile golden frame and eye.
The freckled fish break surface, dart, prance, riffle.
In silence snow-white swans slide slowly by,
their pinioned wings belie the will to fly.
So, too, in life the strong devour the weak,
while most in silence pass, too scared to speak.

(12 March 1977)

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Poem Submitted: Monday, June 10, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, June 11, 2013


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