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Love's Unrequited Paradoxicity

Love of the unrequited type...
Ah! How paradoxical it be!
Even more paradoxical
Than that of the returned type...

return to me my boomerang
if ironic paradox be
bring on your wings an offering
return to set this captive free

Love is love whether returned or not.

It gives all meaning to life,
But when not returned
It drives us into insanity!
Constantly contemplating
Upon what may or may not be...

provide a reason, supply a rhyme
keep despair exiled forever

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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Pixel Paradox

Patterns form as piece by jigsaw piece
Inventions flash across flat mobile screen,
Xpress intrinsic profile, sensed not seen, -
Expressing change now ready for release.
LEDs [b]link then sink as stimulations cease.
Pregnant shadows presage red, blue, green,
As inset windows somewhere in between
Real and unreal, retain some skein, increase
Add on, plug in, cross-pollinate, police
Developments online. What may this mean?
One tremor more, core shakes - tsunami scene.
Xtensive, change seethes, straining surface peace,
assumptions questions, old world sweeps away.
Another rises, chained or free? Who’ll say?

(27 August 1999 revised 22 July 2007 and 30 January 2010)

for initial version see below

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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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

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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0036 National Gallery

A ‘School of..’ painting, it’s sometimes on display,
sometimes in the ‘Secondary Collection’; rather like
its subject, it’s subject to circumstances
beyond its own control. But this is no pupil’s homage
to the master; quite the contrary. He’s telling us
something very clearly – but, he’s just not telling us exactly
what he’s telling us - as might a living artist tell
for a curator’s fussy footnote; all the ‘program’;
it’s art, you have to look…

So shall we start from foreground? It’s a horizontal canvas,
a road runs straight across; in the middle of the road
a golden-haloed, blue-robed saint is being stabbed.
The helmeted pair of ruffians
are clearly sent by secular authority
to do the deed; this we may guess. The saint
at this sharp freeze-frame moment, leans slightly back –
not aback in reaction or retreat; but rather,
to make it easier for the knife to do its work.
Had the painting been two centuries later,

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poem by Michael Shepherd
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Grief Is A Paradox

GRIEF IS A PARADOX

Grief is a paradox, the presence of an ab-
sence, mushroom cloud where there once was Elugelab.

This couplet was inspired by a poem by Robert Pinsky, "Grief, " in the June 7th 2012 edition of NYR, which was printed after an amazing article by Jim Holt, reviewing Turing's Cathedral: The Origins of the Digital Universe by George Dyson:

The computer, one might well conclude, was conceived in sin. Its birth helped ratchet up, by several orders of magnitude, the destructive force available to the superpowers during the cold war. And the man most responsible for the creation of that first computer, John von Neumann, was himself among the most ardent of the cold warriors, an advocate of a preemptive military attack on the Soviet Union, and one of the models for the film character Dr. Strangelove. As George Dyson writes in his superb new history, Turing's Cathedral, "The digital universe and the hydrogen bomb were brought into existence at the same time." Von Neumann had seemingly made a deal with the devil: "The scientists would get the computers, and the military would get the bombs."…
And what was MANIAC used for, once it was up and running? Its first job was to do the calculations necessary to engineer the prototype of the hydrogen bomb. Those calculations were successful. On the morning of November 1,1952, the bomb they made possible, nicknamed "Ivy Mike, " was secretly detonated over a South Pacific island called Elugelab. The blast vaporized the entire island, along with 80 million tons of coral. One of the air force planes sent in to sample the mushroom cloud—reported to be "like the inside of a red-hot furnace"—spun out of control and crashed into the sea; the pilot's body was never found. A marine biologist on the scene recalled that a week after the H-bomb test he was still finding terns with their feathers blackened and scorched, and fish whose "skin was missing from a side as if they had been dropped in a hot pan."

GRIEF, by Robert Pinsky

I don't think anybody ever is
Really divorced, said Lenny. Also,
I don't think anybody ever is
Really married, he said. Because

English was really his second language
And because of Yiddish and its displaced
Place in the world, he never really

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poem by Gershon Hepner
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Fractal Reflections 1555

He triptoed to and fro between her energy's go glow and fractal reflections of her parallel factual reality relays in fact, fiction and fantasy, unGODlily attracted to his lily: her.

She, once torn between LIFE giving support paying lip-service to conform_I_tease rediscovers karmic context known, familiar grown, gears up to foreknown as unblown yet sown spins from Time's weave boll weevil's second take at times taking therefrom, EVIL, and adding thereto LIVE - [s]he saw the light. Errors edited out, she'll flout doubt without second thoughts. 'I can' defeats Cannae constraints as carriage receives a breath of fresh air away from day-to-day nights as knight's dreams beam team towards serendipity.

They flowed on SHarEd pixels, photon win/win spin spilling from illusion or self-delusion confusion to fusion's conclusion. Try angles not angels said Pope Gregory formulating information for unformed nation to be strung on Time's beads. Rose awry awaits bloom, disregards doom tomb's drum boom, as some prime[aval] sum snaps hibernation's suspended animation causal chain. Pinch of salt 'collideoscopic' sand mandela bröt grains interweave fractal anima without animus outside time line rhyme's selenite rosary.

Chance ON OM dance advances shedding shells from Chelles to Eternity, from 'here' to eternity. Eagle eyed MOON extends sing-song shadow patterns, warp wefts between real-I-tease, unpeels seals, peals without paling beyond the pale, reels round each successive buy line lass_who woo. Poets self heal, as sin is spin - moral gin VERityMOUTH. Frustration fades as empathy catalyzes vision mission clarity, fords and affords humorous humerus interplay's funny-bone facettes. FIRE supercedes IRE, irony PURifiEd.

Free verse talk walk waves along Way side sways, prays, preys from slay oblivion to play rev_elation - revel in pointed yin yang contradictions, in situ 'sit I zen' situation standpoints. Sinuous insinuations blow-throw topsy-turvy glow flow through Sphinx's choice voice rejoicing in labyrinthine closed or close woven pattern play pinpoint ME-anderings. Dazzle dizzy crazy-paving pictogram universe pyramid's crater creator kids parallel kabbalistic code modes few decipher or deem dream-theme schemes accessible. Hope gropes scope in enigmatic holy gram, reacts to wavelength relays clicking on subconscious screens, attempting to avoid cacheless society's disk risk oblivion.

Imagination is life's architect, being the finite sum of infinite opportunities, attracted to or defracted from protracted links between expectation and reality contract - as contacts contract probabilites, soul re_mainS[T]AYing whole, intact, as tact and tactility tease subcontracted substance with DIStracted EASE dissolving disease often leading through convention to misguided conviction.

Reality remains conundrum, paradox docks parade, if choice is pre-ordained. Thus meted meter met her matter matters little if perceptions are immortal streamlined spotlights echoed as idea[l]s tune-tweak leak spheres' muse music, reaping energy, leaping beyond heated arguments. Current or recurrent pluridimensional parallel cycles, pixel paradox, spirals curlicue ad infinitum.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Beauty And Doubt

Beauty should be cause of doubt,
remaining as a paradox
within a fog that, with lights-out,
become its combination locks
which only should be opened for
the people that it may deceive
and all its images adore,
since they’re unable to believe
that lying very far beyond
the beauty that they worship lie
not icons of which they are fond
but feelings hidden from the eye,
felt only by the loving heart
that longs for union of the mind
with images that works of art
cannot portray till eyes are blind.
The image is to history
what certainty must be to doubt,
solution of a mystery
that true love can do well without.

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poem by Gershon Hepner
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PARADOX. That Fruition destroyes Love

Love is our Reasons Paradox, which still
Against the judgment doth maintain the Will:
And governs by such arbitrary laws,
It onely makes the Act our Likings cause:
We have no brave revenge, but to forgo
Our full desires, and starve the Tyrant so.
They whom the rising blood tempts not to taste,
Preserve a stock of Love can never waste;
When easie people who their wish enjoy,
Like Prodigalls at once their wealth destroy.
Adam till now had stayd in Paradise
Had his desires been bounded by his eyes.
When he did more then look, that made th' offence,
And forfeited his state of innocence.
Fruition therefore is the bane t'undoe
Both our affection and the subject too.
'Tis Love into worse language to translate,
And make it into Lust degenerate:
'Tis to De-throne, and thrust it from the heart,
To seat it grossely in the sensual part.

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poem by Henry King
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Schrödinger's dog (being an after birthday poem for Miss Ruthie)

Unlike
Schrödinger's cat

Schrödinger's dog

was always
there

under his feet

hungry for
...his Master's voice...a pat...the sound of his step...

The cat
(like anybody's cat)

couldn't give
a toss

(but that was neither

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poem by anonym
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Stranger in Strange Crowd

STRANGER IN STRANGE CROWD

Dreams stranger’s path divide
from crowd’s uneven t[h]read
who's tissue, issues poorly understood, through dread
is left behind, swirls second rate as flotsam on life's tide,
noise windmills, senses silent, life-blood sped,
bled white, so often fearing fear, by wisdom wide,
unblessed, unsteady set sights low instead.

Despite stress, sentiments denied, imagination set aside,
stranger story stores till head heeds heart, until desires well led
fire understanding rich allied with empathy sustaining ride.
Swift Pegasus is supplied
with neither saddle, A to Zed accoutrements life tears to shreds
when vested interests, motives pure collide.

Defy temptations of soft ride
along straight road which, comfort fed,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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