Work In Progress Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Work In Progress



Why curse rose versatile, reproving
scansion mansion metered moving,
asserting facts in plodding prose
attract the truth like winter snows
to peaks unconscious mountain high
may draw through winter icing sigh.
Verse cake we bake, no crimson bows
retain veracious strain that shows
up contradictions: no halos,
no saints, no tablets holy mo
says may reflect on doubts removing,
simplistic notions none approving.

Six billion years of hit and missile
since big bang's fiery fusion fissile
has fed imaginations fertile
to idly ponder idols vain.

Ten thousand years from tail prehensile
from Neanderthal less agile
to Homo Sapiens styled virile
leaves no god to explain.

It took two billion years to compile
tale comprehensive
less than two thousand years of error, trial
from troglodyte apprehensive
to streamlined spacecraft carbon tensile

May God through silence golden mean
prod men to seek, or must [s]he wean
then from their preconceptions mean,
intolerant, towards true reign
which inward turns, earns time to train
some sense of relevance again.

There seems no reason to explain
that rigid rules in one place gain
no standing elsewhere, truth's refrain
sounds normal here, there cries 'refrain! '
Life's laws, whatever form or frame,
appear designed to change sustain:
tenacity's successful climb
prepares ambitions which may bind
transient sentience to time,
tied to tide system whence it came.
'Above', 'Below' are judgements vain,
when all's one, one all must contain.

The wheel turns, yet things much the same
remain as ever, as the blind
and seething masses, biding time,
exploited still, will try to find
answers until fresh tidal time-frame
mocks race, trace, shocks, restocks again.

Oscillating waves of Time,
wave goodbye, scarce seek behind
veil past, ancestors maritime,
and future for wings redesigned
by evolution's coded aim,
from start to coda, which no dime
could care for causal counterclaim.

From chaos patterns recombine,
an intricate design begin,
here where, there, others ended in
ice, fire, fire, ice, hope aim, scope maim,
some may celestial choir proclaim
as evidence of super brain.

Equality may some acclaim
as proof superior, maintain
win leads to loss, as loss to win
its opposite must undermine
to complement wheel waiting game
that sooner, later, Chronos will unwind.

Alternative galactic clime
through dwarf–star cooling frieze quitclaim
could freeze life first, then life-clock chime
again, again, from wild to tame,
from tame to wild as cyclic mime
vibrates, expands, contracts, the same
remaining never, pantomime
played out repeating rondo spin
exploring waft weave out and in.

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
(17 September 2009) includes parts of Rondo to verify
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