Stake Stake Stake After Tennyson Break Break Break Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

(12 November 1991 revised 30 March 2013)
Break, Break, Break,
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
the thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman’s boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,
and the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break break,
At the foot of thy crags, O sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809_1892

Parody Lord Tennyson Break, Break, Break written as below 12 November 1991 revised and expanded 27 December 2009 and 30 March 2013 as below

Stake, stake, stake,
on the green felt fabric thrown,
the croupiers, awake,
the players, weary, grown.

O well for the novice who
can cash in lucky play,
O ill for the gambler too,
rash not to end his stay

as the golden chips go on
back to stack within the till, -
but O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,
and woe for the crushing bill!

Alas for the lass whose gain
with modern climate change
melts into tearful pain,
with recoup out of range.

Alack for the black when red
is called on roulette wheel,
wits lacking, bankrupt led
self-suicidal spiel.

Ah me! for life's fickle card
beneath gilt chandeliers
deals life a lesson hard
when chip stack disappears.

Stake, stake, stake,
while a camera all can see,
records both banks which break,
and counts accounts’ red plea!

(12 November 1991 Revised 27 December 2009)

Revised 30 March 2013
Stake, stake, stake,
on life's green felt fabric thrown,
cheat croupier's awake,
weak p[l]ayer's weary, grown.

O well for spouse faithful who
can cash in lucky play,
O ill for poor gambler too
rash not to end his stay
as loves golden hopes turn chips
back-tracked by Fate's stacked till,
O for banned hand's touch which rips
banns and woe for the crushing bill!

O well for the trophy wife
who plays her hand all ways,
while that cockney 'trouble and strife'
ensures rich piper pays.

Alas for the lass whose gain
with modern climate change
melts into tearful pain,
with recoup out of range.

Alack for the black when red
is called on roulette wheel,
wits lacking, bankrupt led
self-suicidal spiel.

Ah me! for life's fickle card
beneath gilt chandeliers
deals life a lesson hard
when chip stack disappears.

Stake, stake, stake,
while a camera all can see,
records hearts, banks which break,
and counts accounts’ red plea!