Jonathan ROBIN

Rookie - 107 Points (22 September / London)

Internet Dream Domain 1456 after Bryan Waller Procter Pre-Existence


I sat down pat, tapped laptop screen,
reflecting on Fate's twist,
on how scope seemed too narrow, mean,
when web did not exist,
regret the Internet has been
exploited to insist
upon Big Brother data scene,
protections seemly dissed.

I mused, sought clues to ink thought link,
reflecting, for my sins,
how world would look if on the blink
society tailspins,
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 that disabilities
priority became
for polititians, that disease
defeated was, the same
rights, equal opportunities
were granted halt and maim,
discrimination halted, ease
afforded for life's game.

I dreamed the right to difference
respected would 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 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 of censorship dismissed
from programs open source,
with phishing banned from mailing list
along with Trojan horse,
that those exploring pages kissed
from House expelled of course,
that truth injustice should resist,
discarding rule of force.

I dreamed beyond meshed matrix grid
perfidiously embedded,
that Terms of Service nothing hid,
that content could be headed
for blind to hear, for deaf to bid
clear meanings which unwedded
to data-mining, safe for kid,
could flourish free, undreaded.

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 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 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 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 distant galaxy whose core
is burning Bush today,
when ranged some strange forgotten Gore
whose warnings on doomsday
his world did not deny, ignore,
or narrow-mind display.

I wake to packets passing through
poor, sore, befuddled, brain,
my online search answers true,
Iinks to speed search again,
as Alta Vista and Yahoo,
like Wolfram, Bing, bring pain
from adverts too intrusive to
deserve aught but disdain.
But now, dear reader, ‘tis to you
I turn my rhymed refrain
for insight, inspiration's cue,
pray, it won't be in vain!

(14 October 2006)

Submitted: Friday, March 22, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 25, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Revised 5 August 2007 expanded 11 September 2009 after Bryan Waller Procter 1787_1857 Pre-Existence some revisions lost through computer error September 2009. Previous title Night knew no day, new day no night for previous version see below

url universal research locator
ARPANET US Department of Defense precursor to the Internet
CERN Tim Berners Lee and the World Wide Web
Cerf Vint Cerf, one of the 'fathers of the Internet' former Chairman Internet Society and ICANN currently Google Vice President

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!

See also related verse and parodies

Astronomer
I wander all alone and play with pebbles on the beach,
and wonder at bright Milky Way, sight other men might reach.
Though thither I won't wend my way, I try my best, I teach
to students how far planets play; upon their orbits preach.

What seems a complex interplay of matter dark and light,
as magnet must attract - I stay for days before stars bright
a billion light years far away, and find therein delight,
dwell on gravitational sway should mankind's future flight
discover, reinvent, doorway beyond the Moon and Mars,
and foray further far to lay its seed among the stars.

From Hubble's bubble telescope to images online,
from NASA exploration's scope and information mine,
to Voyager myope, the mind curves off from fixed straight line,
thought processes must cope with dark hole, quasar, quark or dine
on solar storm or grope with RNA's helix grapevine
unknown to sect or pope or falsehood's pantomime,
to those who slouch about and mope, ignoring the sublime.
Imagine bio-allotropes which ‘human' redefine,
imagine man's historic hopes confronting space and time:

Meanwhile, on Earth, the bill to pay is high, pollution palls,
factory volcano grey: short-sightedness appals
when greed, cupidity, hold sway pride rides before steep falls.

(24 June 1975 1st stanza 24 August 2006 2nd 16 April 2009 3rd stanza 16 April 2009 0101 after Brian Waller Procter: Pre-Existence

Fish
I sit beside cool spring [s]pool wish
I sported silver tail,
so up life's stream trend trail could swish,
sunlight on each bright scale,
till by some bay wise school of fish
might sight trap trawler's trail,
which, followed, must tense anguish net,
woe to temptation's sail!

Life floods in waves, in waves ebbs, keeps
ups, downs, and roundabouts,
some, salmon, leap, from most no peeps
are heard while groans own doubts.
Rise steep precedes descent to deeps,
what soul convention flouts?
Today here, gone tomorrow, creeps
on petty pace till rout's
round bend at end, race chase asleep,
deceptions all found out.

Who would provide a dish delish
one morn at market sale,
fed as fritters - perish first
scales weighed upon some scale,
no dawn to spawn or to cherish?
One blubbers like a whale:
the thought sends shivers, feverish,
unsure from shore turn tail,
such crass ambitions vanish swift,
here's best to leave grieve tale!

18 June 1975 revised 3 April 2009 robi03 Parody Bryan Waller PROCTER Pre-Existence for previous version entitled The Fish see below

The Fish
I sit beside the spring and wish
I had a silver tail,
so up 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, frozen 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
as such ambitions vanish swift,
so here I leave my tale!

(18 June 1975)

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 Waller 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 after Bryan Waller 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 Waller Procter Pre-Existence

Standing Under Above and Beyond Understanding

One bends light waves when wonder craves to wander with insight,
enlightened caves, beyond slave graves, to trace ways to unite
hope's stalactite, scope's stalagmite, to fight face values' bait
which ties rope tight round fears found slight, quite groundless, reprobate.
Creative thought, which, rich when caught, to often fades as night
to dawn defers and morn prefers to dream theme kite, hard right.

One sits beside tide sea to see each sandy grain was rock
which once stood out without a doubt, and proudly thought to mock
sun, wind and rain which Time would train to 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 the sand at hand to silently take stock
of passing time which in this rhyme stands out and, with a shock,
one asks again how fame, task, gain may matter for grey weight
is blown away within a day by webbed ebb tide of Fate.
Yet still one thinks at water's brink till suddenly the cock
begins to crow, ‘tis time to go, ere mysteries unlock.

What's safe, what sure, stray waif, secure? All ends in wormwood box.
Bought sinecure, sought cancer cure, fight mortal paradox.
Time's skein unwinds, wanes, mind's refrain must cease still seeking peace,
few key to tunes which cue to runes foretelling free release
for who'd make self free from fake pelf mistakes cash, crash, boom, bust,
enigmas solved too soon dissolved, resolve earned, spurned, turns dust.

One would reach out beyond beach flout horizons fixed, finite,
beyond restraints where courage faints, unfurl wings for free flight
to soar above poor petty pace, trace secondary state
where cares may melt away, joy felt, as sixth sense conjugates
eternity in grain of sand, sees beauty shining bright.
Noon's pride, moon's tide, soon put aside, ride can't abide: goodnight!



12 August 1991 revised 5 August 2007, significantly expanded 11 September 2009 robi3_0439 Previous versions: One Sits Beside the Sea and One Sits Beside the Beach see below

One Sits Beside the Beach

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...


12 August 1991 revised 5 August 2007 robi3_0439_proc2_0004 PXX_EZX Parody Bryan Waller PROCTER - Pre-Existence for previous version see below

___________


One Sits Beside the Sea

One sits beside the sea and sees each sandy grain was rock
which once stood out without a doubt, and proudly thought to mock
sun, wind and rain which Time did train to 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 the 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 or gain can matter for their weight
is blown away within a day by the high tide of Fate.
Yet still one thinks at water's brink till suddenly the cock
begins to crow, ‘tis time to go - what key can Time unlock?

12 August 1991 robi3_0439_proc2_0004 PXX_EZX
Parody Bryan Waller PROCTER - Pre-Existence
As a general rule, the number in the title refers to the chronological order of the first version unless the poem was omitted from the original list and rediscovered. Revised versions retain the initial number. Kindly request permission

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