Jonathan ROBIN

Freshman - 581 Points (22 September / London)

The Spring Market’s Worn - Or - 'sell In May And Go Away' - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

The spring market’s worn,
intraday charts hearts warn;
by evening at seven
all margin’s in pawn.

The lark’s lost its (s) wing
though some siren still sing, -
no God and no heaven -
all's wrong, buyers mourn!

The worm’s in the bud,
the spring sees fall’s thud,
cheek earns cheeks too dew-pearl’d,
earns gold turned to mud.

Rosy tassels are torn,
nosy hassles are born,
thorny protests are hurled,
cosy nest-eggs o’er-drawn.

Markdown sours everything -
triple witching hour’s sting -
stockmarket wrings hands
hope at bell’s ring disbands.

Bears fête, bulls foresworn,
short sale corners scorn,
the blue flags are furled -
all’s red with the world!

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, August 5, 2006

Poem Edited: Monday, August 23, 2010


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