Jonathan ROBIN

Freshman - 749 Points (22 September / London)

Rubaiyat Of Conformity - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

As cock crew flock knew Time prepared to turn
new leaf, grief's season comes and no return
is in the cards for, mortal, mighty man's
soon past, repast forgotten, ashes burn.

There is a door which most men never see,
and those who see may never find its key,
so stray and stumble lose their way on Way
that opens up sublime eternity.

Few differentiate 'twixt wood and trees,
won't shed their goods, good find cash chains, disease
or accident cuts umbilical cord,
Fate's sword soon severs pride ride's mirage tease.

From shaft of light to well shaft dark entombed
takes one split second splitting the well groomed
from future which they thought would greet them well,
life's book bears witness to doom catacombed.

While wild man aims at privilege and perks,
wile women wait to pounce on plan that works
to spin the top of strife life's lottery,
eliminate each obstacle that irks.

Eve nurtures root, trunk, branch, bud, bloom, twig, tree,
map grows, sap flows, gap shows posterity
to blow away blocks, barriers, damn dams,
extend creation's opportunity.

Some make mooves breaking grooves, conformist trams,
to open up subconscious closed-shop clams,
to free imagination's spring to bring
deep dreams' fruition, slam life's traffic jams.

Most live in gutters, think they think of stars,
confined in one-track minds, grind life's instars
together as a mish-mash whose poor taste
wastes spice of life behind strong self-made bars.

Fly from false prophets, profit from life's beams.
Rejecting mediocrity redeems
the poet from prosaic partnerships
to filter loss dross. Bold surf toxic streams.

Bridge ford, cords cut, aboard life's passing ships,
bolt loosed by Fate's dark arrow seldom slips,
anticipated, life hangs by a thread,
soon severed, separating lips from lips.

Some celebrate, late stumble into bed,
dead morn discovers, sum forever sped,
ground to oblivion, reprieve unfound,
dust wed, bust dread, obituary read.

Some think secure they will endure, deceive
themselves through fear few heirs will grieve
time wasted, copy-pasted, as life's bread
shows butter scraped away, on timeless leave.

'In sorry scheme of things' from life we're led
with little warning hence, hope's droplets bled,
heart pumps no more encore, corps to corpse tips
existence, mated is id's watershed.

Life's lighthouse tall stalls, bluff snuffed, tough luck rips
apart fair start, time's scorpions and whips
scourge, mock the urge to merge, both groom and bride
in gloom soon set aside hope's tempting hips.

Collective memory horizon's short,
one falls, ten rush to take chase place base sought
perpetuating petty property,
what's rock amidst time's swirling waves distraught.

Asleep, none peep, chaff wind blown, whirled flight fright,
ploughed starless, stateless exile, fielded quite,
[d]riven from self-satisfaction's grove
to rove till karmic thrall recalls ball's light.

Poet's Notes about The Poem

(Rennes 25 September and Paris 5 October 2011)

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Poem Edited: Sunday, July 7, 2013

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