One sits beside wide beach to reach horizons infinite
beyond restraints where courage faints to find mind wings for flight
which soar beyond poor petty pond to ponder second state
where cares today may melt away as hope can conjugate
eternity in sandy grain, see beauty shining bright
as time and tide are put aside and never know goodnight.
One sits beside tide beach, perceives each sandy grain was rock
which once stood out without a doubt, and proudly thought to mock
sun, wind and rain - soon Time would [st]rain and slowly infiltrate
the nooks and crannies summer heat expanded at a rate
which seemed so slow, - years ebb and flow, - when measured by the clock
whose hands crept fast as seasons passed relentlessly, tick-tock...
One sits upon sift sand at hand, and silently takes stock
of passing time which in this rhyme stands out and, with a shock,
one asks oneself how fame, vain gain, can matter for their weight
is blown away within flown day by tidal fingered Fate.
Still soul thinks links at water’s brink till suddenly vane cock
begins to crow, ‘tis time to go - what key can Time unlock ?
Time's skein unwinds as mind's refrain finds harmony and peace
keys into tunes which cue to runes foretelling free release...
Author notes
pic : Time's Eye Ian Foss
http://flickr.com/photos/badboy69/2333409688/
Pre-Existence
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown
Played with the pebbles grey;
The waves came up, the waves went down,
Must thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round
And warm upon my hands,
Like little people I had found
Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sand so shining-small
Soft through my fingers ran;
The sun shone down upon it all,
And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before:
How ages far away
I lay on some forgotten shore
As here I lie today.
The waves came shining up the sands,
As here today they shine;
And in my pre-Pelasgian hands
The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came,
Or what my home might be,
Or by what strange and savage name
I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down
As still it shines today,
And in my fingers long and brown
The little pebbles lay.
Bryan W PROCTER – sometimes attributed to Frances CORNFORD
I Sit and Think
I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall never see.
For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.
J.R.R. TOLKIEN Parody Bryan PROCTER - Pre-Existence
LOTR, Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, Chapter 3
The Old Swimmer
I often wander on the beach
Where once, so brown of limb,
The biting air, the roaring surf
Summoned me to swim.
I see my old abundant youth
Whee combers lean and spill,
And though I taste the foam no more
Other swimmers will.
Oh, good exultant strength to meet
The arching wall of green,
To break the crystal, swirl, emerge
Dripping, taut, and clean.
To climb the moving hilly blue,
To dive in ecstasy
And feel the salty chill embrace
Arm and rib and knee.
What brave and vanished laughter then
And tingling thighs to run,
What warm and comfortable sands
Dreaming in the sun.
The crumbling water spreads in snow,
The surf is hissing still,
And though I kiss the salt no more,
Other swimmers will.
Author unknown
Parody Bryan PROCTER - Pre-Existence
The Fish
I sit beside the spring and wish
I had a silver tail,
so down the stream my trail could swish,
sunlight upon each scale,
till by some bay my school of fish
might spot a trawler’s trail,
which, followed, must tense anguish net -
woe to temptation’s sail!
Who would provide a tasty dish
one morn at market sale,
fed as fritters - perish first
scales weighed upon some scale –
no dawn to spawn or to cherish ?
I blubber like a whale...
the thought sends shivers, - feverish
from seashore I turn tail
such crass ambitions vanish swift -
so here I leave my tale!
© Jonathan Robin after Bryan PROCTER - Pre-Existence
Night knew no day, new day no night
I sat me down before the screen
reflecting on Fate’s twist,
on how my scope was narrow, mean
when web did not exist.
Regretted Internet has been
temptation to resist
held by Reps who feel safe unseen
exploring pages kissed.
My nervous fingers went to town,
played with the keyboard grey;
the links came up, P.C. crashed down,
‘sufficient to the day’!
Astute reboot – no study brown -
restored the online stay
as resolute I’d click and clown
from Google to E-Bay.
Spam, email, chased each other round
the inbox as my hands
clicked onto favorites I’d found
in broadband searching scanned.
Wi-Max mocks concepts of firm ground
as mobile grids are grand,
when content filters we confound
there’s nothing underhand.
The urls with font so small
describe so many things, -
sharp, in such swift succession call
ships, cabbages and kings.
See super ceiling sealing wax
ads answer to our pings,
regretting neither telex, fax,
I think pink pigs have wings!
Sites swum in sight without respite,
dot com, dot org, dot net,
night knew no day, new day no night,
imagination whet
enthusiastic as delight
drowned Time – which we forget –
as zapping here, there mapping, quite
in tune with netiquette.
I sat beside the fire to think,
reflecting, for my sins,
on how our world would look if link
with angels danced on pins,
if CERN’s discernment on the brink
of ARPANET linchpins
no old cold war concerns had met
Cerf’s surf … the dream begins …
I dreamed instead of Internet
telepathy prevailed,
implants bionic held best bet,
ubiquity well scaled.
That bribery men could forget,
corruption unbewailed
could self-destruct, and, better yet,
no freedoms were curtailed.
I dreamed that every country’s laws
protected privacy,
it seemed priority because
there was no piracy.
That poverty had marked a pause
through true prosperity
which banished greed and need for wars,
all life’s asperity.
I dreamed the digital divide
from palm to fingertip
just measured, nothing else beside
the rule of thumb and grip.
That those with special needs inside
could use implanted chip
for opportunities denied
today to see, hear, skip.
I dreamed the gift of second-sight
quite disregarding station
could bless decisions made despite
historical frustration.
Both copyleft and copyright
respected duplication
for non-commercial motives right
for friends and education.
I dreamed that bank accounts were free
from close examination,
that schemes to steal identity
were banned by every nation.
that C.C.T.V. scrutiny
in street or metro station
belonged to Orwell’s fantasy,
that all communication
of private nature had to be
the rule, not abberation.
I dreamed that Internet domains
were free from State control,
that ethical constraint restrains
the private sector’s role,
that individual remains
priority, hope whole,
that rising generation trains
itself to ‘truth’ extoll.
I dreamed the right to difference
respected could remain,
that compromise, intolerance
were held improper stain,
that lifelong learning implements
could conquer greed for gain,
replacing that with common sense,
that health could conquer pain.
I dreamed so many things that verse
would be hard pushed to stretch
into ten thousand stanzas, curse
the fact to finely etch
intense impressions and rehearse
desires becoming, fetch
apt images from source diverse
is past my art to sketch.
I have forgotten whence I came,
or what my goal might be,
or by what strange and savage name
to spell with clarity
technologies’ emerging claim
to right wrongs which we
have self inflicted as life’s game
unrolls through history.
I muse – has all this been before
in ages far away,
in some far galaxy whose core
is burning Bush today.
Was there some strange forgotten Gore
whose warnings on doomsday
his world did not deny, ignore,
or challenge blind display?
I wake to packets passing through
my poor, befuddled, brain,
I search the net for answers true,
I search, and search again,
until, dear reader, ‘tis to you
I turn with rhymed refrain
for insight, inspiration’s cue, -
pray, it won’t be in vain!
© Jonathan Robin after Bryan PROCTER - Pre-Existence
In a list
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
1 - 10 of 10
Adding your comment:
Magnificent. But of course. 
