Poetry of the Web

Welcome to the poetry of David B. Robinson. Writing has the ability to inspire men to great deeds and may speak of what exists or what may be. Often it may communicate, in and of itself, so for right now we shall let it do that in an original poem or two. The second poem was inspired by the actions of a blow-hole.

Highflying Eagle

Fly by in the sky,
High above the earth
Seeking to apply
Deportment of worth.

Soar and glide away,
'Till you are a speck,
Like a runaway
Or a yonder fleck.

You will never meet
Greater wings than yours,
Altho you may beat
Many overtures.

Our Summer Days

I wish that you and I could see,
Before we leave our summer days,
That little house beside the sea
Where chandlers sing old roundelays.

I wish we could again break bread,
And drink a cup of mellow wine,
Which there from growing grapes is pressed,
Disporting by the foaming brine.

There once I leapt from some cliff side
Into a swift receding swell,
And through the foaming waves did glide,
And watch the surf through rocks impel.

Sweet Are the Bells

How sweet, the bells that stir the nighttime air
With peals, that sound to rouse and reunite
Such souls as sleep in solitude at night,
And ring new hope to those in dark despair.
A voice that warns the listener to prepare,
They do resound, a sign that all is well,
To conjure up a never-ending spell,
Which leaves a pregnant silence in the air.

For 'tis no sullen, stilted clanging sound,
That rings and runs into a rebel ear.
The graceful, trembling ding-dong does rebound,
As vibrancy that sounds for all to hear,
Until a dusky gossamer is wound,
In resonence without a dank revere.

Previous Page | Allobard's Home Page | Next Page

Send E-Mail

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws