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Sic Transit

Sudden summer laughter wave lift-drifts. Lush vale
stirs startled, sweating afternoon. Echo's no avail,
for sounds are swiftly smothered, as if some spider’s veil
Present, Past, Hereafter, threads, cocooning mortal wail.

Slowly drifting over sun-sparkling sylvan stream’s
springs and falls, bright sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems,
that fisher’s mind recalls far larger than his life-size dreams.
Scene subtle, suddenly disturbed, is smashed to smithereens.

Beasts tied to dry land try Time’s patience, thresher’s flail,
Brash bipeds too, though new, shall pass, ~ such small detail, ~
their lice must perish too, should spiders tell spun tale?
Arachnidae survive where flies die, race over, trace trails fail.

The crush-rush mortals know no wind-blown stones record
when hush dawn’s blushing show will welcome silence sans discord...

(23 March 1975 revised 3 August 2007,27 May 2008 robi03_0053)

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Driven From The Seat

His life is a lie.
Smothered under alibis.
Tied he is to connected delusions!
Only his breathing...
Is not worth debate or denied!
Everything else should be of concern.
As he is driven from the seat,
Of every illusion he yearns!

Kept nourished he is,
To feed an ego burning...
That has marred a scarred reality.
And nothing of this he has learned...
For him to expect a respect not earned!

His life is a lie.
Smothered under alibis.
Tied he is to connected delusions!
And a dangerous mind like his,
Continues to leave behind misery!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Again

I am here as
one sweet zero
nothing stops
a hollow heart.
Nothing stops
an empty table
But the unspoken
wish to fight.
Let me fall
when I am hearing
songs unwilling
to use voice.
Muted songs
of love to keep me
too far from
the open doors.
Long ago
unloaded faults
came the time
to let them go.

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poem by Elena Sandu
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The Billionth Abortion

We are being subdued as if meant to stay silent.
The deed is done and cannot be undone.
Let's just move on, forget it ever happened.
Crush the conscience as if the child within.
Dismiss the sin, call it human error...
Or human terror...

Has it finally come to this?
Man can go to the moon...
Yet can kill his own son...
He can give him up to strangers
And stranglers...

What use is romantic love
If it can roam to death?
What use is St Valentine's Day
If the baby dies on April the first?
And what use is marriage
If it offers lifelong friendship
But ends in eternal shame?

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Smooth With Curves

She dances smooth with curves
Or could it be the ocean
I never could tell them apart
Until the jazz steps set in
But he asks her not to
Politely, or so she seems
Maintains that her spirit’s smothered
And then the bad days set in

Chorus:
Baby, step back
Just a second
Look at your feet with me
Don’t hold your head so high
When you look at me
And remember where
We used to be
Baby moves on
Don’t step back
We know we’re left

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poem by Frankie Renae
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Difficult It Is to Let Go

One can love family so much,
That a growth process becomes smothered.
And an adherence to independence,
Becomes a threat no longer welcomed...
To cross a once accepting threshold.

'If you can not obey by 'my' rules.
Get out! '

People enjoy their comforts as they are.
If stale and moldy?
The better.
And a comfort with this is shown.
As sure as everyone knows...
What is stored in the cupboards.
And who enjoys what to eat.

Difficult it is to let go!
Or even force out of the nest...
One who begins to exert an opinion,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Alix

The mare Alix breaks the world’s trotting record one day. I see her heels flash down the dust of an Illinois race track on a summer afternoon. I see the timekeepers put their heads together over stopwatches, and call to the grand stand a split second is clipped off the old world’s record and a new world’s record fixed.

I see the mare Alix led away by men in undershirts and streaked faces. Dripping Alix in foam of white on the harness and shafts. And the men in undershirts kiss her ears and rub her nose, and tie blankets on her, and take her away to have the sweat sponged.

I see the grand stand jammed with prairie people yelling themselves hoarse. Almost the grand stand and the crowd of thousands are one pair of legs and one voice standing up and yelling hurrah.

I see the driver of Alix and the owner smothered in a fury of handshakes, a mob of caresses. I see the wives of the driver and owner smothered in a crush of white summer dresses and parasols.

Hours later, at sundown, gray dew creeping on the sod and sheds, I see Alix again:
Dark, shining-velvet Alix,
Night-sky Alix in a gray blanket,
Led back and forth by a nigger.
Velvet and night-eyed Alix
With slim legs of steel.

And I want to rub my nose against the nose of the mare Alix.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Lost Kiss

I put by the half-written poem,
While the pen, idly trailed in my hand,
Writes on--, 'Had I words to complete it,
Who'd read it, or who'd understand?'
But the little bare feet on the stairway,
And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall,
And the eerie-low lisp on the silence,
Cry up to me over it all.

So I gather it up-- where was broken
The tear-faded thread of my theme,
Telling how, as one night I sat writing,
A fairy broke in on my dream,
A little inquisitive fairy--
My own little girl, with the gold
Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy
Blue eyes of the fairies of old.

'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded--
'For was it a moment like this,'

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Mores

Far spread the moorey ground a level scene
Bespread with rush and one eternal green
That never felt the rage of blundering plough
Though centurys wreathed spring's blossoms on its brow
Still meeting plains that stretched them far away
In uncheckt shadows of green brown, and grey
Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene
Nor fence of ownership crept in between
To hide the prospect of the following eye
Its only bondage was the circling sky
One mighty flat undwarfed by bush and tree
Spread its faint shadow of immensity
And lost itself, which seemed to eke its bounds
In the blue mist the horizon's edge surrounds
Now this sweet vision of my boyish hours
Free as spring clouds and wild as summer flowers
Is faded all - a hope that blossomed free,
And hath been once, no more shall ever be
Inclosure came and trampled on the grave
Of labour's rights and left the poor a slave

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poem by John Clare
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Burnt

Crawled from my hole
Covered in mud
Forced my face up
Towards the sun
Burnt
This happened to me once before
Now I make myself go back again
They've known me
Smothered me
Forget life and accept
Then I wait
I don't need you
(I don't need to know)
We'll be down here
(Live without a clue)
I don't want you
(You resist me)
Came here to exist
(I don't want all of this)
Rubbing me out

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song performed by Ultraspank
Added by Lucian Velea
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