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Season-8

Ah
Spring of love flowers
Vasant

Green
Signals to flourish
Fertile

Waltz
Around flowers
Butterflies

Buzz
Bees and beetles
Honeysucklers

Paired
Couples ring the bell
Wedlock-season

poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Independent Bee

A hive of bees, as I've heard say,
Said to their Queen one sultry day,
"Please your Majesty's high position,
The hive is full and the weather is warm,
We rather think, with a due submission,
The time has come when we ought to swarm."
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Up spake their Queen and thus spake she -
"This is a matter that rests with me,
Who dares opinions thus to form?
I'LL tell you when it is time to swarm!"
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Her Majesty wore an angry frown,
In fact, her Majesty's foot was down -
Her Majesty sulked - declined to sup -
In short, her Majesty's back was up.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Her foot was down and her back was up!

That hive contained one obstinate bee
(His name was Peter), and thus spake he -
"Though every bee has shown white feather,
To bow to tyranny I'm not prone -
Why should a hive swarm all together?
Surely a bee can swarm alone?"
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Upside down and inside out,
Backwards, forwards, round about,
Twirling here and twisting there,
Topsy turvily everywhere -
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Pitiful sight it was to see
Respectable elderly high-class bee,
Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,
Trying his best to swarm alone!
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Trying his best to swarm alone!

The hive were shocked to see their chum
(A strict teetotaller) teetotum -
The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!
It's perfectly clear to all the throng
Peter's been at the old brown sherry.
Old brown sherry is much too strong -
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Of all who thus themselves degrade,
A stern example must be made,
To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"
So off to Coventry town went he.

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Love Signals

Whoo!
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa... whoa... whoa...
There are...
So many people around the world lacking love (whoa)
So many people don't know how to love one another (whoa)
So many people walk around low self-estime (yeah)
And so many people for no reason so dog on me
Watch my feet while I step (watch me)
See my smile while I step (see my smile)
Feel my vibe while I step (and how I'm sending out those love...)
Love signals (tell me can you feel my)
Love signals (now you send out your)
Love signals (now the room is filled with)
Love signals (love signals)
Now there's... (whoo)
So many of us have little faith and insecurities (I love you Mother)
And so many of us so easy to give up on our dreams (I love you Mother)
There's so many of us that's quick to say let's go war (I love you Mother)
And so many of us that's raising our hands and saying war no more
Watch my feet while I step (watch my feet)
See my smile while I step (see my smile, yeah)
Feel my vibe while I step (yeah, I'm sending out those love signals)
Love signals (hoping you can feel it, yeah, yeah)
Love signals (now send it right back to me)
Love signals (ooh, now this place is filled with)
Love signals
(May I) I just wanna touch your soul
(May I) let me pour into you
(May I) fill you with my joy
(Mmm, may I) and make you feel brand new
(May I) stepping is therapy
(May I) healing both you and me
(May I) that's why I'm sending
(Mmm, may I) out love signals
Love signals (yeah, hoping you can feel it)
Love signals (you, now send it right back to me, oh)
Love signals (now this place is filled with)
Love signals (oh yeah, sending out those love...)
Love signals (signals, tell me can you feel it?)
Love signals (whoo, now send it right back to me, yeah)
Love signals (now the place is filled with)
Love signals (love, I'm talkin' about love) (sendin' out those...) (hey)
Love signals (sendin' out those) (love)
Love signals (sendin' out those love signals) (love, I'll send it to you, you send it to me, yeah)
Love signals (send me your love signals) (sendin' out those)
Love signals (sendin' out those) (oh yeah)
(Sendin' out those love signals)
Donnie Lyles, break it down, uh
Now you know when a track feels this good

[...] Read more

song performed by R. Kelly
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fly Trouble

(all lyrics are spoken except 4 the chorus an buzz buzz buzz)
(its spoken but the words are sed with a hint of beatto them, know wut I mean? )
Did you ever sit straight up in bed
With somethin a circlin round ya head
An ya swat at it as it wizzes by
And its just one pesky little fly
You shake ya head an twitch ya nose
And settle down to sweep ya floors
And when ya just about to dose...fly trouble
(chorus)buzz buzz buzz goes that busy little fly
Buzz buzz buzz hes takin off an hide
You roll the paper up nice and tight
And wait around for him to light
But theirs a fly thats a liven right
Buzz buzz buzz
(band plays)
Now the toughest hide grows on a mule
Cause hes a bulky stuborn fool
He likes to look at yu and glare
An never even move a hair
But when his muscles start to twitch
An when his tail begins to swish
That mule aint bothered with an itch...fly trouble
(chorus)buzz buzz buzz goes that busy little pest
Buzz buzz buzz that mule cant get no rest
He shakes his head an bats his eye
An kicks his heels up to the sky
Did you ever see a jass ack cry
Buzz buzz buzz
(band plays)
Now you pick a perfect night in june
When flowers are bloomin beneath the moon
And ya light of love is shinin bright
An you tell ya self tonights the night
Ya brace ya self an ya courage grows
An on ya knees where you would propose
When somethin bights you on the nose...fly trouble
(chorus)buzz buzz buzz goes that busy little thing
Buzz buzz buzz you swat an loose the ring
You fan the air as he goes by
An stick ya finger in your eye
Hit everything except that fly
Buzz buzz buzz

song performed by Hank Williams
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Wonderful Beetle——Shi Xiaoqun

Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
Shi Xiaoqun is the emperor's lover of Ir star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like an empress in the star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.

Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
Shi Xiaoqun is the emperor's lover of Ir star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like an empress in the star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.

When the world loses love and tolerance,
When I no more love you,
When you no more love me,

Then you know what will happen!

Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
Shi Xiaoqun is the emperor's lover of Ir star,
Beetles, beetles beautiful movie star,
How I wonder who you are.

poem by Zhijian Jiang
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Buzz Aldrin, Space Imperialist

Buzz Aldrin, Space Imperialist,
discovers a tiny brown lesion
on the end of his nose.
he uses his wife’s
concave make up mirror
to examine it more closely
and confirms his worse suspicions:
It’s malignant.
Coolly, he makes
one appointment with his dermatologist
and another in Samara.
After brushing his teeth
he takes another look
at the tiny brown Angel of Death.
It flakes off
-a brown booger.
Buzz cancels his appointments
and craves a celebratory drink terribly,
but summons his fantastic will power
and resists the urge.

II
Buzz Aldrin, Space Imperialist,
lands on the Dark Side of the Moon
and meets the indigenous Moonpupiks,
who are heavily armed yet friendly.
He has sex with many tribeswomen,
but fends off the attentions of the polymorphous perverse
tribesmen, and tells all that they must
dropp their religion and adopt the
State Religion of NASA, Tanglicanism,
which uses Tang for communion wine.
The natives say they don’t mind a bit
as they are lapsed Moonitarians
and were looking for something to fill the gap.
Disappointed they don’t offer more conversion resistance,
Buzz orders the leaders beheaded
and claims the Dark Side of the Moon
in the name of Rio Tinto,
an Australian mining corporation
whose logo he wears on his helmet
and ship.
Then he wakes up.

II(a)
Buzz Aldrin, Space Imperialist
takes another nap and,
against the advice of his fellow astronauts,
brings 4 or 5 Moonpupiks (MOON pu pix)
back to the Court of Richard Nixon, Imperial Vizard,

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag

Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
All the goose step girlies with their cursive faces and
We know it's all braile beneath their skirt
I'm bulletproof biz-op and swing heil and
I don't really care what gentlemen prefer
Say all you pindown girls and bonafied ballers
So manically depressed and manically dressed
We got a venus not in furs but in uniforms
If you're not dancing, then you're dead
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
GO! GO! GO! Doppelgangers!
You're one of us! You're one of us!
GO! GO! GO!
Throw your shapes, doppelgangers
You're one of us!
Trumpet mouth junky saints go silver tongue
Marching down the stairway to substance
Cocaingels and asses give me opiute masses
Fill up your church porn preachers and we'll fill up our glasses
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
GO! GO! GO! Doppelgangers!
You're one of us! You're one of us!
GO! GO! GO!
Throw your shapes, doppelgangers
You're one of us!
You're one of us!
You're one of us!
GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!
And all the thug rock kids GO!

[...] Read more

song performed by Marilyn Manson
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Country Path in Late Spring

The path of mossy ground nestled
In between maternal hedgerows,
That overgrew atop, dimming down
The brilliance of the day.
Embosomed, a calm-cool vision –
Abstract takes of nature, in
Leaf-spattered green shades;
Stem-speckled brown hues;
Shards of sunlight percolating
Through the random flaws to
Up glittering sprites upon the leaves.

And avian chatter bounced along the burrow,
Smattered by the crosstalk
Of busybody insects;
But outside the green comfort zone,
Other worlds of other sounds of other life
Otherwise gave a hint of
Other dozy goings on.

Hawthorn filled the air,
Filled the nose,
Filled the head –
Pungency had overpowered all –
Gave the late-spring-early-summer haze.

Here and there a break of colour:
Odd bluebells – escapees from nearby woods –
Blue-blushing bell faces glancing down,
Aware of their erectness in the stem;
The flaming wing of red admirals
Broke through a hedge hole to
Break up the calm backdrop,
While flitting blue tits gave
To greater-bodied animation.

Nature’s warm narration –
The undertones of life.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Synergy of Love

'Were you honed from poetry? '
I asked your saddened smile.
For it seems to tell a longing tale -
One of words in oratory
That speaks in languid metaphors
From lips of mind in deep despair
And solitude from inner wars
That over time has rendered life so frail.

'Were you carved from doleful prose? '
I sought to ask your gaze,
For a pain lies deep within your eyes -
One of barren territory
Where no fair heart could ever drift
And hope to venture back content
With grateful memories in a gift -
A land of your affectional demise.

'Do I hear a mournful hum? '
I wondered of your cry,
For it sings a song of deep lament -
One of quiet soliloquy
Recited on deserted strands
To waves that have no sense of song
And only wish to fight the sands -
A chant that cites emotional descent.

Do you know your face portrays
The colours of your soul?
It tells me at a single glance
Of how you burned your furnace whole
To stay the fire in our romance.

And see the prismic hues they bore!
I cherished all I ever saw:
Mauve of mystic; browns of rustic;
Reddened tones to match your blush;
Marine of passion, spending out your being,
Leaving you for ashen embers, fleeing
The dying light in hush of night.
And how you lay there empty.

So let me help re-grow the flowers
Once erect in fiery showers!
For now I've seen what love can do
When torn asunder - oh my catastrophic blunder!

But we must realise -
Our flaming want is meant to be!
We are the ocean and the sea;

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Solomon

As thro' the Psalms from theme to theme I chang'd,
Methinks like Eve in Paradice I rang'd;
And ev'ry grace of song I seem'd to see,
As the gay pride of ev'ry season, she.
She gently treading all the walks around,
Admir'd the springing beauties of the ground,
The lilly glist'ring with the morning dew,
The rose in red, the violet in blew,
The pink in pale, the bells in purple rows,
And tulips colour'd in a thousand shows:
Then here and there perhaps she pull'd a flow'r
To strew with moss, and paint her leafy bow'r;
And here and there, like her I went along,
Chose a bright strain, and bid it deck my song.

But now the sacred Singer leaves mine eye,
Crown'd as he was, I think he mounts on high;
Ere this Devotion bore his heav'nly psalms,
And now himself bears up his harp and palms.
Go, saint triumphant, leave the changing sight,
So fitted out, you suit the realms of light;
But let thy glorious robe at parting go,
Those realms have robes of more effulgent show;
It flies, it falls, the flutt'ring silk I see,
Thy son has caught it and he sings like thee,
With such election of a theme divine,
And such sweet grace, as conquers all but thine.

Hence, ev'ry writer o'er the fabled streams,
Where frolick fancies sport with idle dreams,
Or round the sight enchanted clouds dispose,
Whence wanton cupids shoot with gilded bows;
A nobler writer, strains more brightly wrought,
Themes more exulted, fill my wond'ring thought:
The parted skies are track'd with flames above,
As love descends to meet ascending love;
The seasons flourish where the spouses meet,
And earth in gardens spreads beneath their feet.
This fresh-bloom prospect in the bosom throngs,
When Solomon begins his song of songs,
Bids the rap'd soul to Lebanon repair,
And lays the scenes of all his action there,
Where as he wrote, and from the bow'r survey'd
The scenting groves, or answ'ring knots he made,
His sacred art the sights of nature brings,
Beyond their use, to figure heav'nly things.

Great son of God! whose gospel pleas'd to throw
Round thy rich glory, veils of earthly show,
Who made the vineyard oft thy church design,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Take This Waltz

Now in vienna theres ten pretty women
Theres a shoulder where death comes to cry
Theres a lobby with nine hundred windows
Theres a tree where the doves go to die
Theres a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the gallery of frost
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where loves never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea
Theres a concert hall in vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
Theres a bar where the boys have stopped talking
Theyve been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz its been dying for years
Theres an attic where children are playing
Where Ive got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And Ill see what youve chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its Ill never forget you, you know!
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz ...
And Ill dance with you in vienna
Ill be wearing a rivers disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And Ill bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And Ill yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And youll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist

[...] Read more

song performed by Leonard Cohen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dinner Bell

Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
Experimental dog*
Salivating dog
Good dog
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
I dont want a pizza, I dont want a piece of (experimental dog)
Peanut brittle, I dont want a pear.
I dont want a bagel I dont want a bean I wouldnt like (salivating dog)
A bag of beef or a beer or a
Cup of chowder, corn, cake, or creamed cauliflower cause Im (good dog)
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Shoulder, bicep, elbow, arm
Forearm, thumb, wrist, knuckle, palm
Middle, pinky, index, ring
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
I dont know whether Id rather be having a bottle of vinegar (experimental dog)
I dont know whether Id rather be having an egg.
I dont know whether Id rather be having an order of bacon (salivating dog)
Or whether Id rather be having a basket of garlic bread.
I dont know whether Id rather be having some pie or (good dog)
Saving my appetite cause im
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things (Ive been leaving on)
So in the morning when the morning bird sings (the morning)
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket (on my)
til the dinner bell does the bell thing
Dinner bell dinner bell do the bell thing
Im waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Forsaking My Love

I hate you
I wish to tear you away from me
This tumor that clings to my chest
The thing that makes me ache
That haunts my dreams
And tears at my desires
You have brought me only pain
My untamed heart
That beast that gnaws at my soul
That pitifully whines
Bringing my mind into unwanted pain
Yet how can I blame you
How can I chastise you when I listen intently to your pleas
Why should I punish you for what my eyes feed upon
How can I blame my eyes for falling upon her
She who brings light to the eternal darkness of my soul
She whose eyes bring me to subjection
Whose smile leaves me in awe
How can I blame you when my ears are met with her laughter
How they submerge into her song
How they quiver at her voice
Why should I punish you for inclining my soul
Tempting it with the one sense that has been forsaken by her
How could I look over the thought of the brushing of lips
The touching of hands
The binding of the soul, mind, and body
O you wretched heart
What am I to do with this constant companion
How could I tear you away
When she is the cause of my agony
Or rather
It is the lack of her which brings me sorrow
It is the need for her that leaves my heart in pain
Yet she is not mine
She was never mine
She will never be mine
O my poor heart
How can I make you see reason
When all you do is show me the truth

love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Silver
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The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto V

We left the cave. Be Fear (said I) defy'd!
Virtue (for thou art Virtue) is my guide.

By time-worn steps a steep ascent we gain,
Whose summit yields a prospect o'er the plain.
There, bench'd with turf, an oak our seat extends,
Whose top, a verdant, branch'd pavilion bends.
Vistas, with leaves, diversify the scene,
Some pale, some brown, and some of lively green.

Now, from the full-grown day a beamy show'r
Gleams on the lake, and gilds each glossy flow'r.
Gay insects sparkle in the genial blaze,
Various as light, and countless as its rays:
They dance on every stream, and pictur'd play,
'Till, by the wat'ry racer, snatch'd away.

Now, from yon range of rocks, strong rays rebound,
Doubling the day on flow'ry plains around:
King-cups beneath far-striking colours glance,
Bright as th' etherial glows the green expanse.
Gems of the field!-the topaz charms the sight,
Like these, effulging yellow streams of light.
From the same rocks, fall rills with soften'd force,
Meet in yon mead, and well a river's source.
Thro' her clear channel, shine her finny shoals,
O'er sands, like gold, the liquid crystal rolls.
Dimm'd in yon coarser moor, her charms decay,
And shape, thro' rustling reeds, a ruffled way.
Near willows short and bushy shadows throw:
Now lost, she seems thro' nether tracts to flow;
Yet, at yon point, winds out in silver state,
Like Virtue from a labyrinth of fate.
In length'ning rows, prone from the mountains, run
The flocks:-their fleeces glist'ning in the sun;
Her streams they seek, and, 'twixt her neighb'ring trees,
Recline in various attitudes of ease.
Where the herds sip, the little scaly fry,
Swift from the shore, in scatt'ring myriads fly.

Each liv'ry'd cloud, that round th' horizon glows,
Shifts in odd scenes, like earth, from whence it rose.
The bee hums wanton in yon jasmine bow'r,
And circling settles, and despoils the flow'r.
Melodious there the plumy songsters meet,
And call charm'd Echo from her arch'd retreat.

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Savage
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Georgic 4

Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now
Take up the tale. Upon this theme no less
Look thou, Maecenas, with indulgent eye.
A marvellous display of puny powers,
High-hearted chiefs, a nation's history,
Its traits, its bent, its battles and its clans,
All, each, shall pass before you, while I sing.
Slight though the poet's theme, not slight the praise,
So frown not heaven, and Phoebus hear his call.
First find your bees a settled sure abode,
Where neither winds can enter (winds blow back
The foragers with food returning home)
Nor sheep and butting kids tread down the flowers,
Nor heifer wandering wide upon the plain
Dash off the dew, and bruise the springing blades.
Let the gay lizard too keep far aloof
His scale-clad body from their honied stalls,
And the bee-eater, and what birds beside,
And Procne smirched with blood upon the breast
From her own murderous hands. For these roam wide
Wasting all substance, or the bees themselves
Strike flying, and in their beaks bear home, to glut
Those savage nestlings with the dainty prey.
But let clear springs and moss-green pools be near,
And through the grass a streamlet hurrying run,
Some palm-tree o'er the porch extend its shade,
Or huge-grown oleaster, that in Spring,
Their own sweet Spring-tide, when the new-made chiefs
Lead forth the young swarms, and, escaped their comb,
The colony comes forth to sport and play,
The neighbouring bank may lure them from the heat,
Or bough befriend with hospitable shade.
O'er the mid-waters, whether swift or still,
Cast willow-branches and big stones enow,
Bridge after bridge, where they may footing find
And spread their wide wings to the summer sun,
If haply Eurus, swooping as they pause,
Have dashed with spray or plunged them in the deep.
And let green cassias and far-scented thymes,
And savory with its heavy-laden breath
Bloom round about, and violet-beds hard by
Sip sweetness from the fertilizing springs.
For the hive's self, or stitched of hollow bark,
Or from tough osier woven, let the doors
Be strait of entrance; for stiff winter's cold
Congeals the honey, and heat resolves and thaws,
To bees alike disastrous; not for naught
So haste they to cement the tiny pores
That pierce their walls, and fill the crevices
With pollen from the flowers, and glean and keep

[...] Read more

poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
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For previous version see below
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SPRING SUMMER

Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.

AUTUMN WINTER

Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Peter Bell, A Tale

PROLOGUE

There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like the crescent-moon.

And now I 'have' a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up--and you shall see me soon!

The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me!

Meanwhile untroubled I admire
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!

Away we go, my Boat and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds we dive,
Each is contented with the other.

Away we go--and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.

Up goes my Boat among the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright!

The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull--
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not!

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poem by William Wordsworth
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Sun-Up

(Shadows over a cradle…
fire-light craning….
A hand
throws something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out again,
singed and empty….
Shadows
settling over a cradle…
two hands
and a fire.)

I

CELIA

Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin.

When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs she runs under pillars of the bank— great round pillars of the bank have on white stockings too.

Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.

Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.

It isn't a dream…. It comes again and again…. You hear ivy crying on steeples the flames haven't caught yet and images screaming when they see red light on the lilies on the stained glass window of St. Joseph. The girl with the black eyes holds you tight, and you run… and run past the wild, wild towers… and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet and little frightened dolls shut up in the shops crying… and crying… because no one stops… you spin like a penny thrown out in the street. Then the man clutches her by the hair…. He always clutches her by the hair…. His eyes stick out like spears. You see her pulled-back face and her black, black eyes lit up by the glare…. Then everything goes out. Please God, don't let me dream any more of the girl with the black, black eyes.

Celia's shadow rocks and rocks… and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow as though she had gone away and the night had come in her place as it comes in empty rooms… you can't bear it— the night threshing about and lashing its tail on its sides as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid— and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave and pull it around to the light, till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone and goes away without end. Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers. Celia tucks the quilt about her feet, but I run for my little red cloak because red is hot like fire.

I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…

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poem by Lola Ridge
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M'Fingal - Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.

On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.

"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!

"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;

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poem by John Trumbull
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh

THE Argonauts now stemm'd the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia's shore their course apply'd;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas' sons engage in his relief;
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of Harpyes, from the monarch's table chase.
With Jason then they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis' slimy banks at last they gain,
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia's king, who sternly thus replies:
That mighty labours they must first o'ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.
The Story of Meanwhile Medea, seiz'd with fierce desire,
Medea and By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
Jason But strives in vain!- Some God (she said)
withstands,
And reason's baffl'd council countermands.
What unseen Pow'r does this disorder move?
'Tis love,- at least 'tis like, what men call love.
Else wherefore shou'd the king's commands appear
To me too hard?- But so indeed they are.
Why shou'd I for a stranger fear, lest he
Shou'd perish, whom I did but lately see?
His death, or safety, what are they to me?
Wretch, from thy virgin-breast this flame expel,
And soon- Oh cou'd I, all wou'd then be well!
But love, resistless love, my soul invades;
Discretion this, affection that perswades.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong- and yet the wrong pursue.
Why, royal maid, shou'dst thou desire to wed
A wanderer, and court a foreign bed?
Thy native land, tho' barb'rous, can present
A bridegroom worth a royal bride's content:
And whether this advent'rer lives, or dies,
In Fate, and Fortune's fickle pleasure lies.
Yet may be live! for to the Pow'rs above,
A virgin, led by no impulse of love,
So just a suit may, for the guiltless, move.
Whom wou'd not Jason's valour, youth and blood
Invite? or cou'd these merits be withstood,
At least his charming person must encline
The hardest heart- I'm sure 'tis so with mine!
Yet, if I help him not, the flaming breath
Of bulls, and earth-born foes, must be his death.
Or, should he through these dangers force his way,
At last he must be made the dragon's prey.
If no remorse for such distress I feel,
I am a tigress, and my breast is steel.
Why do I scruple then to see him slain,

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poem by Ovid
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