Will Anybody Care? Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Will Anybody Care?



Hurt heart thumps through stark torrent’s spew,
pain's veins pump vain despair,
why wishing-well what world would do
when one’s no longer there?
Why worry who will bed or woo,
misled wed base affair,
each age sends stage page scene anew,
pent rage vents spleen, sad scare.

Once wraith what faith may comfort, who
contentment finds? Aware
are all their fall hope’s calls, eschew
wise paradise, skies fair.

Dank dark doom leaves grieve hung with dew,
shaved, stumpy trees stripped bare,
gibbering ghosts, grey-greenish hue
shade shiver in sharp air.

Life’s dream team options, once bright blue,
too soon turn tarnish, wear
down most, ghost host, who unglue
while few pad out lust’s lair,
must crust, egg beg, trade black for blue,
or black and blue despair,
rust replacing shiny new
as blushing Baudelaire
finds daily tragedies outdo
his Fleurs du Mal that knew
whored guilty conscience, greased palm tare,
bribes sought for everywhere.

Burnt bridge of sighs quite cuts in two
split city's spirit spare,
and therefore, by extension, too,
links life to - God knows where.

Wan lie acquaintanceships one knew,
affection two should share,
while once exciting avenue
of life seems impasse where
old vaunted haunts time's rimed review
now daunts. For void prepare.

Is life just bitter pill, missed cue,
unjustly swilled to bear
hate's weight, tears, fears untimely due
where conscience cries beware!

Is life strife rife where favoured few
refuse to share good[s] rare,
compared to who pimp scrimp limp through
misfortunes most unfair?

Is life, one wonders, rendez-vous
with 'leaden-eyed despair'
where most, betrayed, afraid, make do,
lack chocolate éclair?

Is life subsistence, naught to chew,
sans bed, bread, spiral stair
whose one-way track leads down, rot, rue,
tug rug from shaky chair?

Is life lacklustre lie, first cry to
last sigh up in air,
an existential stick-in-mud stew
which Hamlet's 'bodkin bare'
rich to rags tale tells unto
end of existential snare
where tightened noose loose changeruns through,
goose cooks when worms bones pare!

Is life bad joke where dodgy crew
exploit cowed crowd, declare
that if they seem to tighten screw
to those who grievance air.
It little serves to make ado
where pervs observe bribed mayor
who rigs elections through and through,
'no sweat' or so they swear.

Is life rewarding revenue
splurge surge merge urge shows heir,
or drudge through sludge where cudgel slew
Earth goddess Gaïa's lair.

Is life return bienvenue
or one-way ticket snare
descending into maggot stew,
hell burned urn's ashen layer?

Is life some sort of déjà vu,
self-referencing stare
through mirror that, whate'er ensue,
backs to black disrepair?
Is life sharp knife, fine furs, long queue,
stores' gaudy glitter glare,
or superficial residue,
fast sacrificed false flair?

Is life’s brief leaf, grief sheaf shoal ku,
half-hearted whole, farce flare,
or black hole disbelief, soul true
ploughed under everywhere?
fixed rictus grin whose rigour grim
begins tale’s tail-end tear,
sin’s karmic spin where lose not win
cues feud forebears forswear?

Is life pride ride aside Fate threw,
tried sentenced, treatment square
too rarely met, signed with “what’s new”
forget-me, knot, to bear
hard cross until debts overdue
bank calls in, cancels share.
Change willy-nilly blows, too few
can trust face-value's layer.

Is Life stark tale, dark bitter brew,
wake's g[l]ory numb? Truth blare
becomes when fear's drums’ cue
can triumph everywhere.

Death steals and spurns love's breath, churns through
Time's wheel; mouse, man, won't spare,
stars silence scream as schemes fall through
spark no tomorrow fair.

Dusks dawns undo life's light husk to,
dark angst turns with no clair
de lune or moonlight tune, flight fails, cut to
bone finds grave pied à terre.

No rainbows shine when sky grey grew,
fame pops, life stops right there:
spare ribs from crib, logic askew,
to urn earn spurn, wheelchair
confined, hopes undermined, adieu,
no scope seen anywhere.

Beware brash egos that accrue
to bonus billionaires
whose bogus option package grew
through crash incentive, where
crass top brass brash lop-sided cash
expend on solitaire
to grace cute hand who gold band true
pretends was never there.

Beware star system beaut’s short skirts,
beau’s silk shirts, suits mohair,
soon boom turns bust must knock askew
bank, back of proletaire
with unpaid pensions worthless woo,
earth polluted by oil flare:
as oil slick spreads some feather beds
that nest egg’s gilt prepare.

Once whole, now sole, soul sees right through
coal hole's illusion air
where honest labour’s revenue
few faithfully declare
as greed grinds need to feed funds who’ll
tax shelter debonnaire,
scheme pyramid, insider screw,
mid hid guilt’s laissez-faire.

Forlorn men boxed, with scarce a clue,
worn faces, torn white hair,
from uniformity of view
hurt turns, spurned everywhere
Nor karma new, nor whisper, prayer,
imaginary dare,
splash, lonely bubbles, struggles through.
Will anybody care?

(7 May 2013)

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success