Tipping Points - Current Version Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Mankind has reached a point in time
where we must choose before that choice
is forced upon us. Few rejoice
because the spectral pantomime
is faced with closure, cannot mime
a role with sense, nor find a voice
authentic underneath its grime.

Democracy has called the tune
since communistic threats appeared.
These, proving bankrupt though first feared -
despite the missions to the moon -
are memory. Then silver spoon
resumed brash reign too highly geared
to cope with chaos which could soon

sweep system rash, crashbranches prune
which sturdy seemed - soon to be sheared.
Fee enterprise has engineered
excesses while the baby boom
puts pressure on retirement boon
though side-effects were once revered.
Restrictions? - Democratic doom.

Another paradigm's begun â€"
the Internet through peer to peer,
chiped 'end to end' will shipwreck steer
a universe which soon may stun
vested interests more than gun
or arms race as ambitions clear
oligarchies engineer.

It seems dreams' seams split one by one:
Social unrest, confusion, here,
there earthquakes, famine. Cracks appear
inevitable, Time trap sprung.
Man's machine is out of gear,
Economies unbalanced - fear
rampant that our race is run.

Who preaches 'tipping points' as seer
is spurned though 'civilized' veneer
is crackled - tackled not the queer
collateral damage far and near
which signal very loud and clear:
World warming warning, fishless trawls,
sea levels rise, man's leeway falls.
for initial version, see poem Dirt Sweeper is Time

(3 November 2008)