Grave Retrospective Version Of Retrospective Review - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN
Possessions' progression obsession
poor more, more than best less, must draw
conclusions mistaken, impression
that wealth over health sets the score
for worth on our earth where aggression's
too often condoned by the law,
where success seems a sterile succession
of trangressions that ravage rapports.
This seems tantamount to retrogression
where blunderbuss plunder makes war
where arrogant ego expression
is excuse for abuse all abhor.
Who lusts for a trophy procession
to celebrate, victory's roar,
finds vain remains reign, dispossession,
cyclic atrophy squanders life's store.
Where vice is held virtue, concession
signals weakness, destruction in store,
where thinly disguised indiscretion
pours rewards upon traitor or whore,
where equity's lacks intercession
from power base raw's bloody maw
it is hard to ignore the suppression
of freedom, true rue rotten core.
Where equity finds no reflection
in the eyes of corrupt judge explore
when and how most lost sense of direction,
surrendered control, and deplore
political moral defection,
dereliction of duty, closed door,
or puppet string rigging election,
democracy hard to restore.
Once life's flow more than permanence counted,
Nature guided intemporal tide,
no need for race, steed to be mounted,
no seed but would blossom beside
scheme stream of unconscious connections
as each was in all, all in each,
no need for trace, gain, greed, projections,
for constrictive force frontiers of speech.
Once no part of the whole was discounted
as second-class link in life's chain,
each link was completely accounted
as interdependent to gain
from Time time to evolve, never static,
as Earth around Sun spun the years,
adjustments appeared automatic
to balance directions life steers.
Sin accompanies civilization,
once, men no fixed alphabet knew,
refuted computing of station,
top-down hierarchical view.
Then Nature received veneration
for its fruits, for its first-born in health,
there Time timed with seasons' sensation
providing heart[h] shelter, mind wealth.
What remains of man's first struggles' splendour?
What sustains songs of sunsets sans stress?
In the halls of forefathers who’ll render
tales to children no mother may bless?
Who recalls rise and fall of lost glory?
What, again, of traditions of old?
Who now hears, as pain’s wind sheers its story,
of bold flames whose cheer, weary, went cold?
What wild chords record strange tongued romances,
scribe sorrows of morrows unmet,
where chance dance engendered shared glances
unconcealed bade sword blade bane forget?
When the grock over lock took precedence,
the sharing of spirit and soul,
when all from the same antecedents
took stock, mocked not need to bead whole.
Today's tallied disinformation
was unknown, hopes were sown and crops grew,
wondered How? Where? and Why harvests grew.
Few accompanied concepts of nation,
save as fodder unsaved from Death's glue,
while 'creation' became exploitation
of downtrodden deprived of clean shoe.
What may come now that sleepers awakened
key to world whose clime drowns in its climb,
what will come when when the wish to save bacon
galls, falls on stye style served with grime.
Will when prime time is rasher forsaken
with an angst which will not spare a dime
nor care as much once all is taken
to feather nest safe and sublime.
What won’t float when the polar bear slender
finds no ice after long arctic night,
when no cub rubs its fur, greets gest tender,
when no echoes from floes flow, delight.
When wild inuit igloo’s converted
to concrete precast, damp beset,
noses runny but unrubbed, perverted
by ways which traditions forget.
When cold eskimo old 'intuit'ion
deserts to deride dog and sled,
when the desert oases’ condition
frizzle-frazzles with wadi instead
of a mist dew-dropp welcome transition
from night into day finds its bed
dry as dust while hot winds recognition
erase tracks caravan led.
As the sealine relentlessly rises
will Bangladesh founder before
non saline solution surprises
send answers unknown heretofore?
Will the global economy’s prizes
turn mirage, upset more and more
by climate which life compromises
with temperatures higher in store?
What remains of free plains, hope’s resemblance
of cloud-chains of feather-light dove?
Who now weaves eve’s neap tides in remembrance,
leaves foregathers to tree [w]ebbing love?
Will the echo of these reach the stranger,
breach wall-veils which beached centuries build,
will their ways wend again to warm manger
and prophecy foster fulfilled?
Mankind stands on a cusp. Evolution?
Revolution as 'Arab Spring' shows
in the wings lies destruction, solution
becoming less clear as time flows.
Will this watershed springboard fill coffer
of plutocrat prime rated rat,
or freedom and equity offer
to survivors who daily must bat
for a crust, to avoid execution
from fanatic whose eery eye glows,
or at best suffer from prosecution
as sweep search prismatic draws bows.
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