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I'm not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it.

quote by Niccolo Machiavelli
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cleanness

Clannesse who so kyndly cowþe comende
& rekken vp alle þe resounz þat ho by ri3t askez,
Fayre formez my3t he fynde in for[þ]ering his speche
& in þe contrare kark & combraunce huge.
For wonder wroth is þe Wy3þat wro3t alle þinges
Wyth þe freke þat in fylþe fol3es Hym after,
As renkez of relygioun þat reden & syngen
& aprochen to hys presens & prestez arn called;
Thay teen vnto his temmple & temen to hym seluen,
Reken with reuerence þay rychen His auter;
Þay hondel þer his aune body & vsen hit boþe.
If þay in clannes be clos þay cleche gret mede;
Bot if þay conterfete crafte & cortaysye wont,
As be honest vtwyth & inwith alle fylþez,
Þen ar þay synful hemself & sulped altogeder
Boþe God & His gere, & hym to greme cachen.
He is so clene in His courte, þe Kyng þat al weldez,
& honeste in His housholde & hagherlych serued
With angelez enourled in alle þat is clene,
Boþ withine & withouten in wedez ful bry3t;
Nif he nere scoymus & skyg & non scaþe louied,
Hit were a meruayl to much, hit mo3t not falle.
Kryst kydde hit Hymself in a carp onez,
Þeras He heuened a3t happez & hy3t hem her medez.
Me mynez on one amonge oþer, as Maþew recordez,
Þat þus clanness vnclosez a ful cler speche:
Þe haþel clene of his hert hapenez ful fayre,
For he schal loke on oure Lorde with a bone chere';
As so saytz, to þat sy3t seche schal he neuer
Þat any vnclannesse hatz on, auwhere abowte;
For He þat flemus vch fylþe fer fro His hert
May not byde þat burre þat hit His body ne3en.
Forþy hy3not to heuen in haterez totorne,
Ne in þe harlatez hod, & handez vnwaschen.
For what vrþly haþel þat hy3honour haldez
Wolde lyke if a ladde com lyþerly attyred,
When he were sette solempnely in a sete ryche,
Abof dukez on dece, with dayntys serued?
Þen þe harlot with haste helded to þe table,
With rent cokrez at þe kne & his clutte traschez,
& his tabarde totorne, & his totez oute,
Oþer ani on of alle þyse, he schulde be halden vtter,
With mony blame ful bygge, a boffet peraunter,
Hurled to þe halle dore & harde þeroute schowued,
& be forboden þat bor3e to bowe þider neuer,
On payne of enprysonment & puttyng in stokkez;
& þus schal he be schent for his schrowde feble,
Þa3neuer in talle ne in tuch he trespas more.
& if vnwelcum he were to a worþlych prynce,
3et hym is þe hy3e Kyng harder in her euen;

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Wha Is That At My Bower-Door

'Wha is that at my bower-door?'
'O wha is it but Findlay!'
'Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here:'
'Indeed maun I,' quo' Findlay;
'What mak' ye, sae like a thief?'
'O come and see,' quo' Findlay;
'Before the morn ye'll work mischief:'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.

'Gif I rise and let you in'-
'Let me in,' quo' Findlay;
'Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay;
'In my bower if ye should stay'-
'Let me stay,' quo' Findlay;
'I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.

'Here this night if ye remain'-
'I'll remain,' quo' Findlay;
'I dread ye'll learn the gate again;'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.
'What may pass within this bower'-
'Let it pass,' quo' Findlay;
'Ye maun conceal till your last hour:'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.

poem by Robert Burns
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Jock O The Side

Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid,
But I wat they had better staid at hame;
For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,
And my son Johnie is prisner tane?
With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.

For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,
Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;
And down the water wi speed she rins,
While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.

Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:
'What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?'
'Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton;
Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie.'

'Neer fear, sister Downie,' quo Mangerton;
'I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,
My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel filld,
And I'll part wi them a' ere Johnie shall die.

'Three men I'll take to set him free,
Weel harnessd a' wi best of steel;
The English rogues may hear, and drie
The weight o their braid swords to feel

'The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa,
O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!
Thy coat is blue, thou has been true,
Since England banishd thee, to me.'

Now, Hobie was an English man,
In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born;
But his misdeeds they were sae great,
They banished him neer to return.

Lord Mangerton then orders gave,--
'Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod;
Like gentlemen ye must not seem,
But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.

'Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,
Nor ance appear like men o weir;
As country lads be all arrayd,
Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare.'

Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way,
And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine,
Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind,
And on they rode for the water o Tyne.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Lang
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Kinmont Willie

O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men,
But twenty men as stout as be,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen
Wi eight score in his companie.

They band his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back;
They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro the Liddel-rack.
And also thro the Carlisle sands;
They brought him to Carlisle castell.
To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

'My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,
And whae will dare this deed avow?
Or answer by the border law?
Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?'

'Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
There's never a Scot shall set ye free:
Before ye cross my castle-yate,
I trow ye shall take farewell o me.'

'Fear na ye that, my lord,' quo Willie:
'By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,' he said,
'I never yet lodged in a hostelrie--
But I paid my lawing before I gaed.'

Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,
In Branksome Ha where that he lay,
That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,
Between the hours of night and day.

He has taen the table wi his hand,
He garrd the red wine spring on hie;
'Now Christ's curse on my head,' he said,
'But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!

'O is my basnet a widow's curch?
Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
Or my arm a lady's lilye hand,
That an English lord should lightly me?

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Lang
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Giving Up On Status

Giving up on status felt once automatic.
And representing 'bling' people use to own...
With a flaunting about and publicly shown.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
And addressing one's needs are now priorities.
As symbols of status have taken backseats.

Those days oppressing now more shoulder.
And the ones on bruised knees,
Have no egos to please.
Feeling as they do about necessities.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
And addressing one's needs are now priorities.
As symbols of status have taken backseats.

Giving up on status felt once automatic.
And representing 'bling' people use to own...
With a flaunting about and publicly shown.

Those days oppressing now more shoulder.
And addressing one's needs are now priorities.
As symbols of status have taken backseats.
And the ones on bruised knees,
Have no egos to please.
Feeling as they do about necessities.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
Felt once automatic.
But backs are turned away,
On status as a habit.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
Felt once automatic.
But backs are turned away,
On status as a habit.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
Felt once automatic.
But backs are turned away,
On status as a habit.

Nobody has to have it.
That status as a habit.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Interested

Your favorite food
What you like to do
Your favorite color
or any other
The thing on your mind
That you like to share
Cause I can stay here
And listen to every word
Because I'm interested
Can I be an instrument
For changing your life
Is that all right?
Because I'm interested
I'd rather be with you instead
Than anyone else
Cause I'm interested in your middle name
Now don't be ashamed, Naw
It's between me and you
Everything you do
Let your guard down
Because there's a new girl in town
gonna turn it around
I hope that you are down
Because I'm interested
Can I be your instrument
In changing your life
Is that allright?
Because I'm interested
I'd rather be with you instead
of anyone else
I'm wide open
No more secrets
No lie
Don't wanna live like a fool
But I will
For you
So I'll beg
I'll scream
I'll call
I'll write
If that's what it takes for you to be in my life
Because I'm interested
And I'll be an instrument
In changing your life
Is that all right?
Because I'm interested
And I rather be with you instead
Of anyone else
Oh No
Because I'm interested

[...] Read more

song performed by India Arie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cursum Perficio

Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Verbum sapienti (eo plus cupiunt)
Verbum sapienti
Quo plus habent} eo plus cupiunt
Verbum sapienti
Quo plus habent} eo plus cupiunt
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt
Quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt
Quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Iternum
Iternum
Iternum

song performed by Enya
Added by Lucian Velea
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Patience

Pacience is a poynt, þa33e,
& quo for þro may no3t þole, þe þikker he sufferes.
&Thorn;en is better to abyde þe bur vmbestoundes
&Thorn;en ay þrow forth my þro, þa33e masse,
How Mathew melede þat his Mayster His meyny con teche.
A3t happes He hem hy3t & vcheon a mede,
Sunderlupes, for hit dissert, vpon a ser wyse:
Thay arn happen þat han in hert pouerte,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche to holde for euer;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat haunte mekenesse,
For þay schal welde þis worlde & alle her wylle haue;
Thay ar happen also þat for her harme wepes,
For þay schal comfort encroche in kythes ful mony;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat hungeres after ry3t,
For þay schal frely be refete ful of alle gode;
Thay ar happen also þat han in hert rauþe,
For mercy in alle maneres her mede schal worþe;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat arn of hert clene,
For þay her Sauyour in sete schal se with her y3en;
Thay ar happen also þat halden her pese,
For þay þe gracious Godes sunes schal godly be called;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat con her hert stere,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche, as I er sayde.
These arn þe happes alle a3t þat vus bihy3t weren,
If we þyse ladyes wolde lof in lyknyng of þewes:
Dame Pouert, Dame Pitee, Dame Penaunce þe þrydde,
Dame Mekenesse, Dame Mercy, & miry Clannesse,
& þenne Dame Pes, & Pacyence put in þerafter.
He were happen þat hade one; alle were þe better.
Bot [s]yn I am put to a poynt þat pouerte hatte,
I schal me poruay pacyence & play me with boþe,
For in þe tyxte þere þyse two arn in teme layde,
Hit arn fettled in on forme, þe forme & þe laste,
& by quest of her quoyntyse enquylen on mede.
& als, in myn vpynyoun, hit arn of on kynde:
For þeras pouert hir proferes ho nyl be put vtter,
Bot lenge wheresoeuer hir lyst, lyke oþer greme;
& þereas pouert enpresses, þa33tloker hit lyke & her lotes prayse,
&Thorn;enne wyþer wyth & be wroth & þe wers haue.
3if me be dy3t a destyne due to haue,
What dowes me þe dedayn, oþer dispit make?
Oþer 3if my lege lorde lyst on lyue me to bidde
Oþer to ryde oþer to renne to Rome in his ernde,
What grayþed me þe grychchyng bot grame more seche?
Much 3if he me ne made, maugref my chekes,
& þenne þrat moste I þole & vnþonk to mede,
&Thorn;e had bowed to his bode bongre my hyure.
Did not Jonas in Jude suche jape sumwhyle?
To sette hym to sewrte, vnsounde he hym feches.
Wyl 3e tary a lyttel tyne & tent me a whyle,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Jamie Telfer

It fell about the Martinmas tyde,
When our Border steeds get corn and hay
The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,
And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.

The first ae guide that they met wi',
It was high up Hardhaughswire;
The second guide that we met wi',
It was laigh down in Borthwick water.

'What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?'
'Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;
But, gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead,
Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see.'

And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,
Right hastily they clam the peel;
They loosed the kye out, ane and a',
And ranshackled the house right weel.

Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,
The tear aye rowing in his e'e;
He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear,
Or else revenged he wad be.

The captain turned him round and leugh;
Said--'Man, there's naething in thy house,
But ae auld sword without a sheath,
That hardly now wad fell a mouse!'

The sun was na up, but the moon was down,
It was the gryming o' a new fa'n snaw,
Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,
Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha'

And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot--
'Wha's this that brings the fraye to me?'

'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,
But a waefu' wife and bairnies three.

'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha'.
For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me.'

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Lang
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Future Watch Burma To Syria Conflicts Rising

been watching
the future today...

from past lens astray

Burma as expected
has developed
ethnic problems

with sudden absence
of strict communist
dictatorship firm leash

Burmese are no longer
all brother communists
controlled by the state

past civic grievances
rise from postmortem
state of frozen stasis

past horrors play
on revenge rabid minds
need exercising?

past spectre struggles
post World War II conflicts
leave skeletons in closets

frozen nightmares divisions
war atrocities split Yugoslavia
post familiar communist thaw

emotively haunted people
seem to need to grim settle
past trauma before each

can move on embrace
future possibilities opportunities
in free market societies

when no longer linked
in brotherhood communist
cast iron citizenships

emotively many people
seem to need to settle
the past before they can

move on

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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This Girl

Take me as I am
Though I'm good at pretending
I tire easily
And hurry to the ending
There's more than what you see
But not the way you see it
I hope you follow me
And you get the meaning
Here is where I stand
Here is who I am
And I'm not interested in
Fitting in
I only want to be
To be this girl
I'm not interested in
Giving in I only want to be
This girl
Take me as you will
Under no illusions
I offer myself whole
I give into you and I
Offer you the sky
The sun and moon and seas
But you need to know that I
Not more or less than me
Here is where I stand
Here is who I am
And I'm not interested in
Fitting in I only want to be
To be this girl
I'm not interested in
Giving in
I only want to be
This girl
I'm not interested in
Fitting in
I only want to be
To be this girl
I'm not interested in
Giving in
I only want to be
This girl

song performed by Kylie Minogue
Added by Lucian Velea
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They Time Together - 0209

Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.

Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].

Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargos
which sundry woes accumulate.

Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.

‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.

Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid_pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.

Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Stitch in Time Out - 209

Strange seems the search of maids for mates
when common cause from friends forms foe
replacing with estrangement, hates,
what once seemed blessed above, below.
Familiarity dissipates
romance, contempt breeds, lines won't toe.

Distance links lonely souls who so
imagine they anticipate
complicity which bliss could sow
once twinned together. Yet the wait
itself can contribute to grow
that rancid turns when when what seemed glow
afar fools' gold's found far too late.

Where ignorance seems bliss, minds sow
en empathy that knows no date.
Fête alters after altar's fait
accompli bares the rotten row
of base betrayal where two skate
on thin ice, gleaning harvest fallow,
can't compromise or clear the slate.

Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Is distance space defined as though
smiles miles may somehow compensate
when common cause, innate laws glow,
when minds find matter dissipates,
until 'reality's' undertow
waves goodbye when two create
a fantasy of belle and beau
that swiftly may evaporate
when faced with fact as fiction's dough
can't rise to ope occasion's gate.

Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]ow.

Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Many Seek Status

To acknowledge that I 'am'
Who I 'am' and in the 'now'
Of my life!
Is for me a major achievement.
And one I live excuse free.
One based upon truth and honesty!

Many seek status.
Like an apparatus to mask.
Perhaps with hopes,
An acceptance is passed.
Or something that is approved...
As a test or a task.

If a status is proclaimed,
With wishes to keep one connected.
The time will not be long...
Until someone comes along,
To define that status wrong!

And pursued at the expense,
On one's identity...
That is compensated usually,
To eventually dispense.

To acknowledge that I 'am'
Who I 'am' and in the 'now'
Of my life!
Is for me a major achievement.
And one I live excuse free.
With a peace of mind,
I am glad to find...
Based upon truth and honesty!

And anyone who does not see it that way...
It is okay.
I am not going to debate it!

I am not in the pursuit of status!
To attract materialistic dreams.
With shine, sheen or gleam.

As a first time passenger on my journey...
I seek only God to please.
With deeds.
And a gratefulness to do so.

Many seek status!
And perhaps,
For them...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bureaucracy defends the status quo long past the time when the quo has lost its status.

quote by Laurence J. Peter
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Ever Ready to Protect You

I will deliver you from the hands of the wicked my love,
And i will redeem you from the hands of the terrible!
Because my heart yearns for you always,
So keep in touch and let me know your status-quo! !

This is like the joy of the mind,
And like the joy of your muse in the land of beautiful flowers;
Because i am ever ready to protect you my love,
So keep in touch and let me know your status-quo.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The status quo

The wise despise the fools
And the fools ignore the wise.
Both like the status quo
For different reasons.
Man is after woman
And woman is slippery.
Both like the status quo
For different motives
09.08.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jefferson Aero Plane

If it hurts,
Kiss it better
You wear skirts,
I write nice letters
Never said nothing with flowers
Though we always talked for hours
And it seems to get much colder
When you cry on your own shoulder
And we know the show
Must go on
Guess I know
I guess Ill throw on
Some jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Cause when its colder
I feel much better
When I cry on my own shoulder
Ill just throw on a sweater and go
And Ill go to undergo a change of heart, a change of clothes
And when Im home, I think Ill go eat cereal and stare out the window
Ill make the calls
You cover your ears
Niagra falls
Still flows on new years
I will save
Your plunging neck-line
Kiss your face
You try to deck mine
If I behave its going to cost him
Stop the rave in downtown boston
And we know the show
Must go on
Guess I know
I guess Ill throw on
Some jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Cause when its colder
I feel much better

[...] Read more

song performed by Relient K
Added by Lucian Velea
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Reluctant

RELUCTANT

Much need to feed, reluctant to be fed,
A paradox where intellect detracts.
Unlocking former fears dulls doubt’s attacks,
Desire draws trumps, lumps crumple, heart instead
Exposes double bind behind mind led
Combatting déjà vu's stark whites and blacks.
One wonders why self-confidence she lacks
Regarding sensuality two thread -
Rough past perhaps cost counted, mirage bled.
Idyll awaits as life's flow interacts
Exchanging sentiments, repairing cracks,
Response, reactions spurned, tunes heart to head.
As nurture helps true sentiments take root,
Seed sown may blossom, fair boughs bear full fruit.

Mediocrity can’t be her cup of tea.
Alert intelligence seems well aware
Urge to expand won't simply stop and stare,
Doubts must flout through shared transparency
Exploring wave lengths to which few can key.
Control, when role-reversed helps heart prepare
Open options, sloughs defensive layer,
Refutes old walls, heeds shackled spirit’s plea.
Renascent quest for self-acceptancy
Inhibitions shed is inner prayer -
Emancipation, self-fulfilling dare -
Requires heart’s hopes stir mind’s integrity
Affording comfort outside status quo,
So happiness may shared emotions know.

21 July 2004 revised 15 October 2008
robi03_1044_robi03_0000 ASX_MXX
for previous version see below

Reluctant

Need to feed, reluctant to be fed,
Is paradox where intellect attracts.
Comb[in]ing 'cause/effect' for hidden tracks
Opens patterns which help thInk ahead.
Leaving double bind behind, mind's led

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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From Epidermal Taxidermy to Internal Epiphany

FROM EPIDERMAL TAXIDERMY TO INTERNAL EPIPHANY

Portrait of fair mind is neither, nor!
neither mastered nor in pieces shred,
displayed to touring tourists - Turrell's bore -
whose dreams no themes of genius hint ahead.
Could paint drip down to mop pain's vail of tears,
unveiling pooled oasis to exchange,
past wraith, fresh faith to grace remaining years,
then fears would fade before excitement strange.
From monochrome to rainbow glow display
“we are such stuff as dreams are made of” shows,
no lifeless stuffing, feathers drooping, fray;
vitality surpasses surface glows
to put to shame greyed taxidermist’s skills
forever fixed in time: true talent spills.

True talent overflows as curiousity
channels potential, recent acquisitions,
to harness latent energy, to free
flame burning to encounter twin shared visions.
Gold courage holds no secrets for fair muse
whose darker shades may by Miss, understood,
misunderstandings sweep away to choose
hues better read, refusing mirage wood.
If one would ink fresh portrait of fair mind
contact’s impact could do it justice true,
where words match deeds indeed, feed surge behind
layered lines to tempt that talent through.
No taxidermist’s trophy, prized possession,
pro-active win/win casts out sin, transgression.

Shared view should sunshine through tune-blended flow
to filter out, to mend, doubt’s daunting pain,
suspend in amber all imbroglio
freeing focus, tender trust sustain.
Bottled up desire too well preserves
formaldehyde-postponed screw-cap allure,
throttles interaction, tires, reserves
soul’s parking place, secure in sinecure.
Restraints life paints can’t canvas open urge,
anticipate emotions strong, long stored
in hibernation waiting to emerge,
eager for adventures unexplored.
Suspended animation soul-song cheats
with taxidermist version of heart’s beats.

Could luck alight tonight and somehow show
new way to leech frustration numbing brain,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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