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golden leaves —
spinning uselessly
in vain
a bell sounds again
the autumn thrill

tanka by Emilia Dumitrescu from Albatross (2005), translated by Alexandra Flora Munteanu
Added by Dan Costinaş
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The Scripture of the Golden Eternity

1
Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I wouldnt have said 'Sky'-That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us here, reader and writer, but one, one golden eternity, One-Which-It-Is, That-Which- Everything-Is.

2
The awakened Buddha to show the way, the chosen Messiah to die in the degradation of sentience, is the golden eternity. One that is what is, the golden eternity, or, God, or, Tathagata-the name. The Named One. The human God. Sentient Godhood. Animate Divine. The Deified One. The Verified One. The Free One. The Liberator. The Still One. The settled One. The Established One. Golden Eternity. All is Well. The Empty One. The Ready One. The Quitter. The Sitter. The Justified One. The Happy One.

3
That sky, if it was anything other than an illusion of my mortal mind I wouldnt have said 'that sky.' Thus I made that sky, I am the golden eternity. I am Mortal Golden Eternity.

4
I was awakened to show the way, chosen to die in the degradation of life, because I am Mortal Golden Eternity.

5
I am the golden eternity in mortal animate form.

6
Strictly speaking, there is no me, because all is emptiness. I am empty, I am non-existent. All is bliss.

7
This truth law has no more reality than the world.

8
You are the golden eternity because there is no me and no you, only one golden eternity.

9
The Realizer. Entertain no imaginations whatever, for the thing is a no-thing. Knowing this then is Human Godhood.

10
This world is the movie of what everything is, it is one movie, made of the same stuff throughout, belonging to nobody, which is what everything is.

11
If we were not all the golden eternity we wouldnt be here. Because we are here we cant help being pure. To tell man to be pure on account of the punishing angel that punishes the bad and the rewarding angel that rewards the good would be like telling the water 'Be Wet'-Never the less, all things depend on supreme reality, which is already established as the record of Karma earned-fate.

12
God is not outside us but is just us, the living and the dead, the never-lived and never-died. That we should learn it only now, is supreme reality, it was written a long time ago in the archives of universal mind, it is already done, there's no more to do.

13
This is the knowledge that sees the golden eternity in all things, which is us, you, me, and which is no longer us, you, me.

14
What name shall we give it which hath no name, the common eternal matter of the mind? If we were to call it essence, some might think it meant perfume, or gold, or honey. It is not even mind. It is not even discussible, groupable into words; it is not even endless, in fact it is not even mysterious or inscrutably inexplicable; it is what is; it is that; it is this. We could easily call the golden eternity 'This.' But 'what's in a name?' asked Shakespeare. The golden eternity by another name would be as sweet. A Tathagata, a God, a Buddha by another name, an Allah, a Sri Krishna, a Coyote, a Brahma, a Mazda, a Messiah, an Amida, an Aremedeia, a Maitreya, a Palalakonuh, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 would be as sweet. The golden eternity is X, the golden eternity is A, the golden eternity is /\, the golden eternity is O, the golden eternity is [ ], the golden eternity is t-h-e-g-o-l-d-e-n-e-t-e-r- n-i-t-y. In the beginning was the word; before the beginning, in the beginningless infinite neverendingness, was the essence. Both the word 'god' and the essence of the word, are emptiness. The form of emptiness which is emptiness having taken the form of form, is what you see and hear and feel right now, and what you taste and smell and think as you read this. Wait awhile, close your eyes, let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden eternity. This is the lesson you forgot.

15
The lesson was taught long ago in the other world systems that have naturally changed into the empty and awake, and are here now smiling in our smile and scowling in our scowl. It is only like the golden eternity pretending to be smiling and scowling to itself; like a ripple on the smooth ocean of knowing. The fate of humanity is to vanish into the golden eternity, return pouring into its hands which are not hands. The navel shall receive, invert, and take back what'd issued forth; the ring of flesh shall close; the personalities of long dead heroes are blank dirt.

16
The point is we're waiting, not how comfortable we are while waiting. Paleolithic man waited by caves for the realization of why he was there, and hunted; modern men wait in beautified homes and try to forget death and birth. We're waiting for the realization that this is the golden eternity.

17
It came on time.

[...] Read more

poem by Jack Kerouac
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Dinner Bell

Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
Experimental dog*
Salivating dog
Good dog
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
I dont want a pizza, I dont want a piece of (experimental dog)
Peanut brittle, I dont want a pear.
I dont want a bagel I dont want a bean I wouldnt like (salivating dog)
A bag of beef or a beer or a
Cup of chowder, corn, cake, or creamed cauliflower cause Im (good dog)
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Shoulder, bicep, elbow, arm
Forearm, thumb, wrist, knuckle, palm
Middle, pinky, index, ring
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
I dont know whether Id rather be having a bottle of vinegar (experimental dog)
I dont know whether Id rather be having an egg.
I dont know whether Id rather be having an order of bacon (salivating dog)
Or whether Id rather be having a basket of garlic bread.
I dont know whether Id rather be having some pie or (good dog)
Saving my appetite cause im
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things (Ive been leaving on)
So in the morning when the morning bird sings (the morning)
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket (on my)
til the dinner bell does the bell thing
Dinner bell dinner bell do the bell thing
Im waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Head Is Spinning

(lowe/tennant)
----------------------
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Autumn-Spirit.

Now the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth, bedecked with symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign,
Makes us think about the season of the flowers with a sigh,
When life was lush in every tree-love laughed in every eye,
Whilst her lineaments of beauty were imprinted on the sod,
When the Spring with Winter wrestled, on that gala-day of God!
But the Spring is dead and buried, and the Summer's vital fire,
Like a heap of sullen embers, smoulders ready to expire;
For the Autumn-Spirit, reigning over mountain, vale and plain,
Robes the Earth in royal symbols emblematic of his reign!

Hark! a singing train of seraphim doth o'er its surface pass!
Mark! their flowing robes of flame have singed the green and speary grass!
Witness! every tender blade appeareth tipped and tinged with brown,
And the hedge is hemmed with rose-leaves, which their wings have shaken down,
Though the hind but hears the whirring of ten thousand pinions beat,
Sees a cloud of birds of passage trail its shadow by his feet,
For the pageantry of Heaven hath escaped his optics dim,
And he sees but birds of passage in the God-sent seraphim,
While the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

While his tread is on the mountain, through the valley and the plain,
Like some Fate-commissioned angel, Desolation tracks his train,
And the glory of the Summer and the beauty of the Spring
Form a carpet for his feet, a fading, weird, and worn-out thing!
And his wings distil an odour, as of corpses in perfume,
Warbled through his ghastly whispers sound the sighs of buried bloom,
And his accents are dim echoes from the hollow caves of Death,
And the wailing woods are withered by his cold and crisping breath,
For the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-spirit's reign!

Where the Poet loves to saunter in some unfrequented nook,
Or to sit and learn the language of the ever-babbling brook,
While its glassy surface mirrors the deep gulf of Heaven's blue,
Where the sunny cloud-ships, sailing, point to vapour lands in view,
There the river's creeks are mantled with red leaves and yellow foam,
And its broken banks are scattered with dead branches dipped in loam,
And a wail of desolation through the fading forest hums,
And the Winds grow chill by thinking of the Winter ere it comes,
While the Autumn-Spirit reigneth over mountain, vale and plain,
And the Earth is robed in symbols of the Autumn-Spirit's reign!

Where the lily of the valley and the violet of the copse
Looked like Thoughts incorporated-like embodied youthful Hopes!
Where the golden-tubëd honeysuckle's pipes were interwound
With the ruddy-tinted roses breathing scented music round,
In the field or the forest, by the verdure-sheltered rills,
Where, in green and golden garments, Summer sate among the hills,

[...] Read more

poem by William Billington
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Pirouetting Autumn

The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER

Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.

AUTUMN WINTER

Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Golden Age

Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.

Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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Bell's Palsy I Penned stroke on stroke penned - Optimistic In...Sight

Bell's Palsy I

December turns November's page.
Assumptions artificial,
priorities age must regauge
of ease so superficial
the tenets, try to disengage
from palsy interstitial,
periphery extend sans rage
ineptly hit-and-missile.
Paralysis as passing stage
perceived though prejudicial
as challenge met we trust will wage
war on clock lock official,
ensuring both for sot and sage
return to strength initial...

II

Bell’s Palsy II – Number Seven Optic Nerve

Number seven optic nerve, now numb,
taken for granted, normally ignored,
leaves facial features slanted. Voice, not dumb,
answers questions with weak monochord.
Flesh elastic flaccid has become,
control relinquished, hanging on a word.
Vision peripheral blurred. Though rule of thumb
Provides for time-line, faculties restored,
Frustration, hope, play hide-and-seek, mind glum,
stares awry at some lop-sided smile. Record
of former glory plays back yet stays mum.
May this as an example serve, health granted
For future learning curve can’t be transplanted.

3 December 2007 revised 8 August 2008

Bell's Palsy III - Recounting Countdown

Recounting Countdown

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XIV - Dew Diligence

Bell's Palsy XIV - Dew Diligence

Dew diligence when eyelid is denied
control of wink, when blink becomes a feat
beyond the ken of mice and men, conceit
melts to humility, while cares abide.
Heartbeat accelerates to concide
with worry, movements taken for a ride
by malady haphazard striking fleet.
Fixed expression canvas could complete
as flexibility falls to one side,
focus reduced, no longer far and wide,
too close for comfort, wanders off the beat.
Pride, knocked for skittles, cannot make ends meet,
patience, once praised, stays stage-struck, sorely tried.
Fixed interest stocks soar, gilt lining’s sought
to train too slack to credit outlook taut.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XV - Dissymmetry

Confusion from confusion must adjust
to face tomorrow’s out of kilter grin
with humour ‘til the specialists non-plussed
seize on season’s reason, find win-win
solution to an accident now cussed
in no uncertain terms as worms begin
to lay their weight on current state where lust
must bridled be, - who’d seek as kith and kin
one open eye, one which retains unfussed
perspective, lacks control of muscle spin
to twin both sides in unison true, just.
Dissymmetry becomes a moral gin
and handicap self-efident, untrussed
is optic nerve from verse which would begin
to laugh at luck, continue tongue in cheek
to find new way to strength transformed from weak.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XVI - To Test Frontiers

Inertia catalyzes swift reaction

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XV - Dissymmetry

Bell's Palsy XV - Dissymmetry

Confusion from confusion must adjust
to face tomorrow’s out of kilter grin
with humour ‘til the specialists non-plussed
seize on season’s reason, find win-win
solution to an accident now cussed
in no uncertain terms as worms begin
to lay their weight on current state where lust
must bridled be, - who’d seek as kith and kin
one open eye, one which retains unfussed
perspective, lacks control of muscle spin
to twin both sides in unison true, just.
Dissymmetry becomes a moral gin
and handicap self-efident, untrussed
is optic nerve from verse which would begin
to laugh at luck, continue tongue in cheek
to find new way to strength transformed from weak.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XVI - To Test Frontiers

Inertia catalyzes swift reaction
testing limits unbeknownst before,
experienced elsewhere, though, we ignore
discomforts which might hamper freedom, action.
Impervious to muscular contraction,
left eyelid, lip, unable are to draw
lines which smile, frown designed, while vision poor
interferes, and adds unsought distraction.
In health, free from nervous petrifaction
few seek out illness, won’t by choice explore
the options close to those that chance, gene flaw
or accident are trapped, lose speech, sight, traction.
Fresh emphasis on disabilities
should top the list of our priorities.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XVII - Temptations

Blessed externals force the mind to turn

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XVI - To Test Frontiers

Bell's Palsy XVI - To Test Frontiers

Inertia catalyzes swift reaction
testing limits unbeknownst before,
experienced elsewhere, though, we ignore
discomforts which might hamper freedom, action.
Impervious to muscular contraction,
left eyelid, lip, unable are to draw
lines which smile, frown designed, while vision poor
interferes, and adds unsought distraction.
In health, free from nervous petrifaction
few seek out illness, won’t by choice explore
the options close to those that chance, gene flaw
or accident are trapped, lose speech, sight, traction.
Fresh emphasis on disabilities
should top the list of our priorities.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XVII - Temptations

Blessed externals force the mind to turn
within to test perception shared by all
who, sight curtailed, or lost beyond recall,
must grasp at straws, effect and cause discern,
too well aware temptations bridges burn.
First impressions seem attaitned, ball
‘questions aye’s and no’s’, past free-for-all
is circumcised, undertain seems return
to ‘normalcy’ which, hitherto could earn
approval’s hallmark stamp. Cramps now forestall
options infinite. Cut and dried, in thrall,
one’s tied who far and wide went, wit withdrawn
from choice unlimited as on this page
fragility highlights restictive cage.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XVIII - Fragility

Ink flows as if it knows that tale once writ
cannot rephrase a passing phase whose light

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XVII - Temptations

Bell's Palsy XVII - Temptations

Blessed externals force the mind to turn
within to test perception shared by all
who, sight curtailed, or lost beyond recall,
must grasp at straws, effect and cause discern,
too well aware temptations bridges burn.
First impressions seem attaitned, ball
‘questions aye’s and no’s’, past free-for-all
is circumcised, undertain seems return
to ‘normalcy’ which, hitherto could earn
approval’s hallmark stamp. Cramps now forestall
options infinite. Cut and dried, in thrall,
one’s tied who far and wide went, wit withdrawn
from choice unlimited as on this page
fragility highlights restictive cage.

5 December 2007

Bell's Palsy XVIII - Fragility

Ink flows as if it knows that tale once writ
cannot rephrase a passing phase whose light
too soon extinguished must merge into night
where sot or sage blot page, through age unfit.
We’re puppets strung, hands wrung won’t change a bit
repeated role enforced by karmic spite.
If free-will reigns, there’s no pre-destined right
or wrong, no rung to heav’n, no roasting spit.
Through ‘accident’ or ‘fate’ fragility
in spotlight’s thrown, ‘to be, or not to be’
depends upon coincidence where rules
few follow with prescient authority.
Manage man age when palsied dry eye’s numb
is out of reach with speech deformed, near dumb.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2008

Bell's Palsy XIX - Moving Finger Writes

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XX - Infinite Designs

Bell's Palsy XX - Infinite Designs

Comparisons with hindsight simple seem
when fateful footfall flays ‘unkindest cut’
to sever fancy, fact, where yawns redeem
no nightmare fears when eyelid cannot shut.
No need to add to those prose screeds which teem
prolific on life’s rhymeless time climb, but
terse verse may show dimensions unforeseen,
alternate aspects of ill health’s dark rut,
reflections which on higher plane help gleam
hope’s beacon ‘fore life’s final uppercut
replacing frown with fixed grin, skinless cut
from niche so ‘indispensable’ on team.
Palsy surprises, stimulating lines
upon creation’s infinite designs.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2009

Bell's Palsy XXI - Lopsided

Sore cornea, slack lip, mind grind uncheered
are juxtaposed within this swift spun sonnet
as optic nerve’s observed when crookèd, sheared,
recuperation’s odds: few bet upon it.
Partnering frustration has appeared
unbridled spleen, an angry bee in bonnet,
weighing all options with perception cleared
of wishful thinking, been and gone and done it.
Paralysis shows fall from grace, grown beard
can’t mask misfortune though mind tries to con it
committing rambling thoughts to paper smeared
with words erased, replaced, blue blot spots on it.
Lopsided outlook focus finds for mind
assailed by palsy it would leave behind.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2009

Bell's Palsy XXII – Match Met

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XXI - Lopsided

Bell's Palsy XXI - Lopsided

Sore cornea, slack lip, mind grind uncheered
are juxtaposed within this swift spun sonnet
as optic nerve’s observed when crookèd, sheared,
recuperation’s odds: few bet upon it.
Partnering frustration has appeared
unbridled spleen, an angry bee in bonnet,
weighing all options with perception cleared
of wishful thinking, been and gone and done it.
Paralysis shows fall from grace, grown beard
can’t mask misfortune though mind tries to con it
committing rambling thoughts to paper smeared
with words erased, replaced, blue blot spots on it.
Lopsided outlook focus finds for mind
assailed by palsy it would leave behind.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2009

Bell's Palsy XXII – Match Met

Through metaphors one strikes symphonic chords,
sonnet metamorphosis complete,
one mirror image more before towards
tossed sleep’s return’s embossed on crinkled sheet.
One little cares for life’s snares, strife filled street,
when sense of humour, dream denied, affords
itself the luxury of lines to beat
eternity’s sharp introspective swords
to ploughshares. Match met, mighty pen would treat
itself to compensation’s grained awards,
rewards grasped unexpected from defeat
when unresponsive jaws snatch victory
day, night, writes words dry eye can hardly see.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2009

Bell's Palsy XXIII – Ta[l]king for Granted

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XXII – Match Met

Bell's Palsy XXII – Match Met

Through metaphors one strikes symphonic chords,
sonnet metamorphosis complete,
one mirror image more before towards
tossed sleep’s return’s embossed on crinkled sheet.
One little cares for life’s snares, strife filled street,
when sense of humour, dream denied, affords
itself the luxury of lines to beat
eternity’s sharp introspective swords
to ploughshares. Match met, mighty pen would treat
itself to compensation’s grained awards,
rewards grasped unexpected from defeat
when unresponsive jaws snatch victory
day, night, writes words dry eye can hardly see.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2009

Bell's Palsy XXIII – Ta[l]king for Granted

On palsy’s cause no recitation
consensual has been agreed,
in any case fear, greed, elation,
soon sink however great the need
perceived to safeguard life’s rank station
for illness executes trust deed.
What’s blasphemy? what’s profanation?
what prayer path may be decreed
when out of sight slips pagination?
Re-education may succeed
yet there’s no fail-safe medication
providing progress guaranteed
to soothe uncalled for inflamation.

Who takes for granted daily feed
on dainties drawn from every nation,
gaily ignoring [s]he should heed
each morning’s warning present station,
may t[r]ail to full stop won’t succeed
in meeting deadlines, consternation
in turn encounters end indeed,
wormed, urned, CO² cremation.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bell's Palsy XXIII – Ta[l]king for Granted

Bell's Palsy XXIII – Ta[l]king for Granted

On palsy’s cause no recitation
consensual has been agreed,
in any case fear, greed, elation,
soon sink however great the need
perceived to safeguard life’s rank station
for illness executes trust deed.
What’s blasphemy? what’s profanation?
what prayer path may be decreed
when out of sight slips pagination?
Re-education may succeed
yet there’s no fail-safe medication
providing progress guaranteed
to soothe uncalled for inflamation.

Who takes for granted daily feed
on dainties drawn from every nation,
gaily ignoring [s]he should heed
each morning’s warning present station,
may t[r]ail to full stop won’t succeed
in meeting deadlines, consternation
in turn encounters end indeed,
wormed, urned, CO² cremation.

Objections Death will supercede,
replaced by funeral oration.
No moral’s offered. Rose and weed
first struggle, then succumb, vocation
shared by all flora, fauna, lead
reduced to naught ‘spite invocation
to greedy gods, bead creed, to speed
from illness into true salvation
redemption grant, emancipation.

5 December 2007 revised 17 January 2009

Bell's Palsy I

December turns November's page.
Assumptions artificial,
priorities age must regauge
of ease so superficial
the tenets, try to disengage
from palsy interstitial,
periphery extend sans rage

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Creeds Of The Bells

How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells!
Each one its creed in music tells
In tones that float upon the air
As soft as song, as sweet as prayer,
And I will put in simple rhyme
The language of the golden chime.
My happy heart with rapture swells
Responsive to the bells, sweet bells.
'Ye purifying waters swell!'
In mellow tones rang out a bell;
'Though faith alone in Christ can save,
Man must be plunged beneath the wave,
To show the world unfaltering faith
In what the Sacred Scripture saith;
Oh, well! ye rising water, swell!'
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell.
'O, heed the ancient landmarks well!'
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell.
'No progress made by mortal man
Can change the just, eternal plan;
With God there can be nothing new;
Ignore the false, embrace the true,
While all is well! is well! is well!'
Pealed out the good old Dutch church bell.
'In deeds of love excel! excel!'
Chimed out from ivied towers a bell.
'This is the church not built on sands,
Emblem of one not built with hands;
Its forms and sacred rites revere -
Come worship here! come worship here!
Its rituals and faith excel!'
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell.
'No faith alone, but works as well,
Must test the soul!' said a soft bell.
'Come here and cast aside your load!
And work your way along the road
With faith in God and faith in man,
And hope in Christ, where hope began.
Do well! do well! do well! do well!'
Rang out the Unitarian bell.
'To all the truth we tell, we tell!'
Shouted in ecstacies, a bell.
'Come all ye weary wanders, see!
Our Lord has made salvation free!
Repent, believe, have faith, and then
Be saved! and praise the Lord! Amen!
Salvation’s free! we tell! we tell!'
Shouted the Methodistic bell.
'Farewell! farewell! base world, farewell!'
In touching tones exclaimed a bell.

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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