Citatepedia^®.com

Suspendancy

Suspendancy

Pendant pictures often hang askew
as if, personnified, they knew
most artists’ channelled tunnel view
is t[a]inted travesty seen through
perspectives missing rendez-vous
currrent observers’ key into.
Art is becoming ambigu,
bears tenuous relation to
contemporary contexts – true
and false corkscrew as red, green, blue,
suffice no longer, out of cue
compared to wave-length capture new
afforded by enhanced retinal cones
to ultra-violet spectrum sensor zones

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures

Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and spray
From waves of ocean, eater-out of walls
Around the coasts. Nor ever cease to flit
The varied voices, sounds athrough the air.
Then too there comes into the mouth at times
The wet of a salt taste, when by the sea
We roam about; and so, whene'er we watch
The wormword being mixed, its bitter stings.
To such degree from all things is each thing
Borne streamingly along, and sent about
To every region round; and Nature grants
Nor rest nor respite of the onward flow,
Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,
And all the time are suffered to descry
And smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Besides, since shape examined by our hands
Within the dark is known to be the same
As that by eyes perceived within the light

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Daily Act of Presence

Eight hours at work, commuting sometimes two,
the daily act of presence is assigned
its p[l]ace, weak celebration paid in kind,
traced race to waste bereft, much left to do.

Eight hours abed, at table almost two,
the daily act of presence, daily grind,
few dare opt out of as life's clocks unwind, -
such haste to conquer Time, whose ride’s askew.

Three hours of leisure, then, without ado,
day's drive departs, leaves most deprived of breath.
Who'd buck luck's trend bends in the end to Death
whose lock mocks motto 'to thyself be true! '

Three hours for chat, sex, net or television,
no wonder Man’s case-study for derision.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Empowerment

Times of trouble sponge solutions new,
Insight inks page which once seemed whitewash blank.
Grief is patient. Joy greets the dawn to thank
Hope for fresh sparks where all once seemed askew.
The challenge unchains energy that through
Creative actions borrow from the bank
Of inner strength, experiences drank
Retained in brain, regurgitate on cue -
New inklings spliced with instincts tried and true.
Errors past forge future force if frank,
Reproachless one remains, nor closed, nor crank.
Sincerity succeeds if luck smiles too.
Turned, tight corners open vistas which
Empower options sure solutions stitch.

© Jonathan ROBIN 20 August 1992 robi3_0596_robi3_0000 revised 24 June 2007
acrostic sonnet - Tight Corners Turned Empower for previous version see below

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sea Dreams

A city clerk, but gently born and bred;
His wife, an unknown artist's orphan child--
One babe was theirs, a Margaret, three years old:
They, thinking that her clear germander eye
Droopt in the giant-factoried city-gloom,
Came, with a month's leave given them, to the sea:
For which his gains were dock'd, however small:
Small were his gains, and hard his work; besides,
Their slender household fortunes (for the man
Had risk'd his little) like the little thrift,
Trembled in perilous places o'er a deep:
And oft, when sitting all alone, his face
Would darken, as he cursed his credulousness,
And that one unctuous mount which lured him, rogue,
To buy strange shares in some Peruvian mine.
Now seaward-bound for health they gain'd a coast,
All sand and cliff and deep-inrunning cave,
At close of day; slept, woke, and went the next,
The Sabbath, pious variers from the church,
To chapel; where a heated pulpiteer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible; Shakespeare's plays, for instance, seem to hang there complete by themselves. But when the web is pulled askew, hooked up at the edge, torn in the middle, one remembers that these webs are not spun in midair by incorporeal creatures, but are the work of suffering human beings, and are attached to the grossly material things, like health and money and the houses we live in.

classic quote by Virginia Woolf
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

We must stop talking about the American dream and start listening to the dreams of Americans.

quote by Reubin Askew
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Beware thoughts that come in the night. They aren't turned properly; they come in askew, free of sense and restriction, deriving from the most remote of sources.

quote by William Trogdon
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I have a similar issue with people who hire me as I do with women. 'You have to have a particular taste to want to be around me. I have a slightly askew view.

quote by Jason Segel
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Heavy Sweat

My thimble I canna find
tinker fell down
lid is askew you knew
where to find me
my wad I blew
funeral went bad
another hole filled in
sweat on my palms.

poem by Is It Poetry
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!