Bright Buckets Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Bright bucket bulge with sand and shells today,
brimmed by infant avidly at play,
intent on building, digging time away
on beach, sand castles busily inlay
with scalloped decorations castaway
by last tide’s currents, scattered anyway
along the tattered margin of the bay.

One tiny grain of sand, stone yesterday,
caught up within the complex interplay
of forces ‘yond our ken that ever weigh
upon our stream of consciousness to sway
more than a moment’s notice in their way
regardless of the influences they
appear to have on childhood's day to day.

Child seeks springboard from shore's cabaret
to havens elves inhabited: not grey
but bright as light prismatic on display
in Zipangu and faraway Cathay.
Imagination spurns all hindrance, let or stay,
advances unimpeded sans delay,
ignores all adult strictures crass, cliché.

Magic meditations far away
lead through rock formations, Go game play
Time entertains till wind or water spray
from bedrock blown, grain's worn down, dust or clay,
key silent witness to life’s chaos fray.
What change of scene, and what has been, what may
yet be that grain stands witness to Time’s stay?

Thus, grain, child's seedling, which chance interplay
or karmic consciousness may guide, sad, gay,
from human shores to boundless space with fey
prestidigitation none gainsay.
that reconciles our mortal roundelay
to infinite voice for choice replay,
choir choice voice that the galaxies may sway.