Submissions by Sonneteer (Lewis Robinson)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I have long been fascinated by the sonnet. This form, which I remain fixated by, uses the power of rhyme and iambic pentameter, when well structured, to express a story in a mere fourteen lines.
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
9th Nov 2024 7:44pm
9th Nov 2024 7:44pm
Aphorisms on John - New Testament -- The Holy Bible
1:3 — “him”
ambiguity; “the Word” or “God”
1:21 — “I am not.”
ambiguity; need Elijah lie?
1:26 — Evasion?
1:45 — “”… Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.””
adopted lineage
2:21 — “temple” <= “body”
ambiguity
3:7 — “You must be born again.”
— Jesus
3:19 — ‘Since Adam and Eve ate the apple,
man has never refrained from any
folly of which he was capable.’
— Lord Bertrand Russel
4:13 — Extacy
“”this water””;...
ambiguity; “the Word” or “God”
1:21 — “I am not.”
ambiguity; need Elijah lie?
1:26 — Evasion?
1:45 — “”… Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.””
adopted lineage
2:21 — “temple” <= “body”
ambiguity
3:7 — “You must be born again.”
— Jesus
3:19 — ‘Since Adam and Eve ate the apple,
man has never refrained from any
folly of which he was capable.’
— Lord Bertrand Russel
4:13 — Extacy
“”this water””;...
31 reads
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OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
5th Nov 2024 9:55pm
5th Nov 2024 9:55pm
Canto IV
If glancing round, this World is wild,
choose not to kill your inner child,
find what is good within your sight,
create a garden of delight.
The opposite, to learn from ill
and let no deed your cold blood chill;
rehearse the seven deadly sins,
as climbing greasy pole begins.
So often on detecting wiles
the simpleton, he apes, then smiles,
akin to playing Death at chess,
the Master more, the World has less.
And so it is with language games
which hold the World within their frames;
the English English labyrinth
so chains...
choose not to kill your inner child,
find what is good within your sight,
create a garden of delight.
The opposite, to learn from ill
and let no deed your cold blood chill;
rehearse the seven deadly sins,
as climbing greasy pole begins.
So often on detecting wiles
the simpleton, he apes, then smiles,
akin to playing Death at chess,
the Master more, the World has less.
And so it is with language games
which hold the World within their frames;
the English English labyrinth
so chains...
23 reads
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OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Nov 2024 11:11pm
4th Nov 2024 11:11pm
Albion - Book III
i.
We've spoke of pow'r élite and underclass,
so what of this our Nation's middle class?
The coupon clipper, so they used to be,
but now what of the service industry?
The av'rage wage, so thirty thousand pounds;
The av'rage house 300K - astounds.
Dependent middle class - so better named.
Have they an asset? Are they unashamed?
And their consumption is conspicuous,
and how they draw a line 'twixt you and us.
One would so rather turn one's eyes away,
and not inquire into which beast they flay.
In spite of class, a brethren...
We've spoke of pow'r élite and underclass,
so what of this our Nation's middle class?
The coupon clipper, so they used to be,
but now what of the service industry?
The av'rage wage, so thirty thousand pounds;
The av'rage house 300K - astounds.
Dependent middle class - so better named.
Have they an asset? Are they unashamed?
And their consumption is conspicuous,
and how they draw a line 'twixt you and us.
One would so rather turn one's eyes away,
and not inquire into which beast they flay.
In spite of class, a brethren...
44 reads
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OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Nov 2024 9:05am
3rd Nov 2024 9:05am
Albion - Book II
i.
So where and how, to find reality?
For certain not discover'd on TV.
Some travel in the taxi, or the cab,
assumed with wealth, if they can match the tab.
The more adventurous, the tube, the bus,
but in between the stops, assumed a fuss.
The Capital, to walk the streets at night,
requires an attitude, one's fears to smite.
This needs dress code, to be male in gender,
before all else, lack'ing slightest splendor.
Then one discovers, cont'ry to what's told,
there's few the wolf within our city's fold.
So few...
So where and how, to find reality?
For certain not discover'd on TV.
Some travel in the taxi, or the cab,
assumed with wealth, if they can match the tab.
The more adventurous, the tube, the bus,
but in between the stops, assumed a fuss.
The Capital, to walk the streets at night,
requires an attitude, one's fears to smite.
This needs dress code, to be male in gender,
before all else, lack'ing slightest splendor.
Then one discovers, cont'ry to what's told,
there's few the wolf within our city's fold.
So few...
39 reads
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OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Nov 2024 9:37pm
2nd Nov 2024 9:37pm
Albion - Book I
i.
Proud Albion has dress'd herself in rags
and Her sage freedoms through the dust She drags.
And She has brought disgrace upon Herself
akin to suicide's attempt on health.
All communication's intercepted,
the privacy of Kings, not respected.
So can one take but one suburban step
without the knowledge of a knowing rep?
Perhaps with this as how the subjects fare,
our Governments sure prejudice prepare?
Short sighted xenophobes seem rule The Land,
when once, an aid to exiles She did stand.
Her thoughts and attitudes -...
Proud Albion has dress'd herself in rags
and Her sage freedoms through the dust She drags.
And She has brought disgrace upon Herself
akin to suicide's attempt on health.
All communication's intercepted,
the privacy of Kings, not respected.
So can one take but one suburban step
without the knowledge of a knowing rep?
Perhaps with this as how the subjects fare,
our Governments sure prejudice prepare?
Short sighted xenophobes seem rule The Land,
when once, an aid to exiles She did stand.
Her thoughts and attitudes -...
45 reads
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SELF POEM
Published
27th Oct 2024 2:10pm
27th Oct 2024 2:10pm
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Epilogue
This self that I described, as close can be
To what I am: model of my inscape,
That I have built and shaped to verse's scale
Whose truth I measure using what I know.
My thoughts are scraps of rag, but can combine
(If handled with a skill) and make a quilt:
A raw material that few would want,
Refined to decoration and a use.
And thus if I don't daily work my thought
It turns to negatives, would make me drink,
Whereas if I invest in thinking well
My thought encourages sobriety.
This self is self, which I in part control,
(Though...
To what I am: model of my inscape,
That I have built and shaped to verse's scale
Whose truth I measure using what I know.
My thoughts are scraps of rag, but can combine
(If handled with a skill) and make a quilt:
A raw material that few would want,
Refined to decoration and a use.
And thus if I don't daily work my thought
It turns to negatives, would make me drink,
Whereas if I invest in thinking well
My thought encourages sobriety.
This self is self, which I in part control,
(Though...
38 reads
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SELF POEM
Published
24th Oct 2024 9:03pm
24th Oct 2024 9:03pm
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book XII - Psychiatric diagnosis
Although the label's changed with changing years
It's now schizoaffective disorder :
This half new term should mean something to shrinks,
By God, it does to most the rest of you!
This diagnosis is debatable:
It represents a mixture of disease
From different camps - and that which doesn't fit
Is reassessed and joined by but a name.
To classify as either 'thought' or 'mood'
Is superseded using this new term,
Before the cause was one or other (choice),
Now nothing's said by simply choosing both.
And too, I may not meet conditions set ...
It's now schizoaffective disorder :
This half new term should mean something to shrinks,
By God, it does to most the rest of you!
This diagnosis is debatable:
It represents a mixture of disease
From different camps - and that which doesn't fit
Is reassessed and joined by but a name.
To classify as either 'thought' or 'mood'
Is superseded using this new term,
Before the cause was one or other (choice),
Now nothing's said by simply choosing both.
And too, I may not meet conditions set ...
45 reads
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SELF POEM
Published
23rd Oct 2024 11:52pm
23rd Oct 2024 11:52pm
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book XI - Complexities of family
These are difficulties with family,
I criticise in way that I see fair,
I wish to know through this just what went wrong
And then to compensate the best I can.
In most my family (and most is good)
I would not see real failings (falls from grace)
And these have been, not always, but at times,
A beneficial influence on me.
My mother saw to bring me to this world
What greater gift is granted anyone;
These people served to form me in my youth
To most of them I owe a gratitude.
As I grow older now their mould recedes
But still I see...
I criticise in way that I see fair,
I wish to know through this just what went wrong
And then to compensate the best I can.
In most my family (and most is good)
I would not see real failings (falls from grace)
And these have been, not always, but at times,
A beneficial influence on me.
My mother saw to bring me to this world
What greater gift is granted anyone;
These people served to form me in my youth
To most of them I owe a gratitude.
As I grow older now their mould recedes
But still I see...
50 reads
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SELF POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2024 9:03am
22nd Oct 2024 9:03am
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book X - Affectations of love
My love, I would not show this verse to thee,
Though not for wanting to advance my cause,
But as, all heart's wishes, bar one's, close yours,
I'd bow to you and ask my privacy.
So these, the words ne'er given you from me,
And were they sent, in modesty I'd pause,
But thus you leave me with an open clause
To praise your charms unto eternity.
So let me say that I am fond of you.
Exactly why, I neither know nor care.
Suffice to say a fondness of the heart.
Where on spectrum's fan? Platonic in hue.
Below sweet nothings is the normal...
Though not for wanting to advance my cause,
But as, all heart's wishes, bar one's, close yours,
I'd bow to you and ask my privacy.
So these, the words ne'er given you from me,
And were they sent, in modesty I'd pause,
But thus you leave me with an open clause
To praise your charms unto eternity.
So let me say that I am fond of you.
Exactly why, I neither know nor care.
Suffice to say a fondness of the heart.
Where on spectrum's fan? Platonic in hue.
Below sweet nothings is the normal...
33 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Oct 2024 6:25am
18th Oct 2024 6:25am
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book IX - Friendlessness
He didn't make connections that are clear
Between imperialism and war,
To talk to him you'd think he thought the two
Were separate entities, one justified.
I cannot understand his point of view
It seems he does not mean the things he says,
His stance is ludicrous, a source of fun
If it's indeed the case he's serious.
The only thing I think, is that he's mad,
A camel short of forming caravan,
He cannot claim a left-wing attitude
And show no opposition to the war.
It's like a green who votes for industry,
A plain hypocrisy is...
Between imperialism and war,
To talk to him you'd think he thought the two
Were separate entities, one justified.
I cannot understand his point of view
It seems he does not mean the things he says,
His stance is ludicrous, a source of fun
If it's indeed the case he's serious.
The only thing I think, is that he's mad,
A camel short of forming caravan,
He cannot claim a left-wing attitude
And show no opposition to the war.
It's like a green who votes for industry,
A plain hypocrisy is...
27 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Oct 2024 8:38am
17th Oct 2024 8:38am
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book VIII - Asocial interactions
And there was time long gone when all went well,
A time of waking growth and sense of self,
A time when childhood's blithe enchantment grew
And blossomed blossoms rare and magical.
A year's duration then, no more no less,
The time I'd grown to seven years of age,
And one of Britain's cities was my home:
Not free but ignorant of cares and woes.
The world unfurled a constant source of joy
(Not known as such because nought else was known)
And hiding as behind of each delight
Was soon revealed another equal one.
The sun was out, I'd be...
A time of waking growth and sense of self,
A time when childhood's blithe enchantment grew
And blossomed blossoms rare and magical.
A year's duration then, no more no less,
The time I'd grown to seven years of age,
And one of Britain's cities was my home:
Not free but ignorant of cares and woes.
The world unfurled a constant source of joy
(Not known as such because nought else was known)
And hiding as behind of each delight
Was soon revealed another equal one.
The sun was out, I'd be...
42 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
16th Oct 2024 6:35am
16th Oct 2024 6:35am
The Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book VII - Complexities of location
I feel that I begin to have a feel
For London's ways - although not born and bred
In this, the behemoth of towns, I've now
Lived ten years both in, and, at times, around.
Despite this past decade, I cannot claim
Familiarity - I'm worse than most
To know London in parts - and known fraction,
Small part that doesn't represent the whole.
And London seems a proud maturing oak
Which stands with roots as deep as branches tall -
I've lived in both the roots and canopy
But tend to gravitate to those things base.
In some respects...
For London's ways - although not born and bred
In this, the behemoth of towns, I've now
Lived ten years both in, and, at times, around.
Despite this past decade, I cannot claim
Familiarity - I'm worse than most
To know London in parts - and known fraction,
Small part that doesn't represent the whole.
And London seems a proud maturing oak
Which stands with roots as deep as branches tall -
I've lived in both the roots and canopy
But tend to gravitate to those things base.
In some respects...
46 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Sonneteer (Lewis Robinson)
