Sage Weaver Can You Seed Solutions? Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

'Sage weaver can you seed solutions, set
safe path through murky minefield where distress
seems outright winner, fears fresh fears beget
as blind lead blind, spindoctors second guess
narrow views most choose when scared, to whet
basic instincts, blinkered bias, tress
conspiracy theories on the Internet,
compensating handicaps and stress,
fictitious fretwork fanned by grudges, debt.
Barefaced ignominy in fancy dress
draws raw recruits from ranks of rancour, let
complaint run riot, false nostalgia bless
with tawdry tinsel trappings of belief
pervasive 'threats' if countered, come to grief.'

'When ibex rubs fur flank against sharp rocks,
who gathers fallen fleece from steepest slopes?
When promise pales, in fact checked aftershocks,
disinformation often stifles hopes.

Some, dumb, stitch desolation freedom blocks
by wall five billion tall no antelope
can jump, frack wells that Nature's wrath unlocks,
transforming Paradise through greed myope.

Rigid mind-sets stifle. Burlesque mocks
humanity's first principles, weave rope
for their own hanging, 'land of free'. in stocks,
dreams dissolved by bias' microscope.

Truth's temples, mosques, cathedrals into dust
must crumble, shadow-boxing stumble, rust.'


'Wise weaver we need know what could transpire
when social threads unravel on our earth.
Will waitress Time serve course with dainties, lyre,
Or, tariff choked, trade plentiful for dearth?
Will seamless waft, weft, fade in final fire,
or will we wait, like mammoths, for rebirth
within ice shrouds unsung by phantom choir,
lost, silent, windless, sunless too, our worth,
our empires under rock of ages' mire,
no second servings, dished, with birthright's berth
rewrit to read success! Must all expire
as object of harsh Fate's sardonic mirth
doors closed, with workers furloughed, Justice gagged,
caravan banned by bigotry, dust dragged.'


'Light years spun long before minds of mere men
climbed through primeval slime to seed far stars,
reopening vast universe again.
Dice walls or calls life's stakes, gives, takes, or mars,

Your choice, your voice, should call the shots! Amen!
When Fate's spin cycle turns then nothing bars
intelligence renascent. Mankind then
through diligence may perch on Shangri Las.

Beaux arts may flourish, while noteworthy pen
might music rediscover, strange sitars
send notes afloat on timelessness suspen-
ding Time, rhyme flourish, inner light's lodestars.

YOU: only you, may taste, may waste, rise, fall,
procrastination compromises all! '

'Wor[l]d weaver we would know what may transpire
when ice extent retreats around earth's girth
from floe to flow will desert know rebirth?
or will salt cake contaminate
Will waitress Time serve course with dainties, lyre
rewiring taste-buds with sweet morsels? tire,

no second servings dish? doors closed, expire?
close restaurant, avaunt, as if birth, berth
is was spun bill of lading, pre-paid buyer
obliged, wait_tressed, to pun de_sire?
Will waft and weft swift smoke in final fire,
or will we wait, like mammoths, for rebirth,
within ice walls unsung by phantom choir,
lost, silent, windless, sunless too, our worth
our empires under rock of ages' mire? '

'Should, mad, mankind continue as today
to overcrop, to overfish, disdain
swift seasons' reasons, all that may remain
too soon submerged beneath seas' swirling spray.

When tipping points are reached, no time to pray
persists as heat felt, poles melt. Greed for grain
encourages pollution; none contain
imbalance in linked causal interplay.

Oases shrink, sink-holes whole state of play
transform, turn paradise to desert bane.
More evident, more commonplace, more plain,
disequilibrium from day to day

heightens the need for fresh solutions which
future generations' welfare stitch.'


'Wor[l]d weaver we seek solace sure, inquire.
what may become of all our storied lore,
our idle chatter, dreams, ambitions' store,
with generations lost, fame flamed entire?
Imagination feeds predictions dire.
Should one feed now? How choose? while whine lists' pour
pollution stunting evolution's core
Fears rancid ransom offer, tannin briar.
Our caravans, off course of course, desire
firm but unbiased guidance, lodestar, for
fresh directions. Camel tracks are more
and more interred by winds of change off gyre.
Where once time stopped to ponder now we wander
impoverished, no wherewithal to squander.'



'Reactions sweep both waiter, wait away.
Responsible response supposes sane
perspective far from mad crowd's disarray
at pain inflicted by lies fools purvey.
As carpetbagger man's presumptuous reign
condemns sage counsel, wisdom wished away,
cuts ground beneath dreams' feet - the curse of Cain -
digests the folly of his spendthrift stay,
tardy repentance cannot ever gain
reprieve from Fate's sword, execution's stay.
for consequences filter downwards, rein
in over-optimistic hopes' display.

Winds of change climactic undermine
those who made hay unjustly over time.'


'Wor[l]d weaver will our childrens' children think
through reference frames that we would recognize,
or omnipresent interfaces link
minds telepathic, isolation's cries
connected through some matrix network, kink
individual ironed out? What lies
just round the corner, pushed beyond the brink
of tipping point which watershed supplies
accelerating change from kitchen sink
to google glass? Ubiquity replies
all one, one all, black, yellow in the pink.
What will remain of 'Man' when more and more
are cloned to telephone, changed to the core.


'Star gazer, silver tongue shows that the shire
can comprehend words' worth though some be long,
and some belong to circles rare where strong
means little when there's little to admire.

We're here today, tomorrow, lower? higher?
dust into dust croaks sweet canary's song,
rain dancer's rites' successful seen to throng
or arid desert still, no versifier,
no book, no flask of wine, no deep desire
that lasts beyond un-echoed dinner gong.
Weave-world we leave, who'll grieve those passed along
the Way whose pace, race, ne'er a trace may sire?

Sun dial smile's caught by seasons' cycle dark
with scarce a sign one's life-line once showed spark.'