Jonathan ROBIN

Freshman - 521 Points (22 September / London)

Tract On Attraction 2009 Version - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Tract on Attraction: Action sans Reaction, Traction sans Retraction, Contract without Contraction

Which of Fate or Freewill omnipotent
presides over mice, men, their lice?
lets cat out of the bag for man, rodent,
as ‘coincidence' seals in a trice
the links in life's chain hindsight searches
for clues to life answers which slip
through the fingers of those on high perches
who mistake wraith and faith in Time's trip.

Causal links back from brink of disaster
may ignorance lead for fresh chance,
or well-meaning statistics may faster
end heartbeat that longs to advance.
Time and tide on life's ride look with laughter
soul weighed against feather askance,
what of trust, what of comfort, years after
bluster bubble burst, rust busts life's dance.

Is autonomy graved on one's headstone
when reckoning's levelled at last?
may subservience soften cast dice bone
when Book of Life's fate is forecast?
Should moral advice from friends, neigbours,
be sought though their cupboards may hide
scary skeletons fitful, their favours
depend on fears, tears, which abide?

Who'll stand tall, strip dark pall which of Lethe
is banner, both emblem and shroud?
Who will brave phrase and fable beneath the
grief stricken furrows Time's ploughed
to find behind lines of dull verses,
and puffs precommissioned for press,
life's sparkle discarding dark hearses
rehearsing love's carefree caress.

What of Spring, winging warmly to Summer,
Autumn heralding Winter's iced earth,
Hope must spurn dust dearth bye li[n]e Death's drummer
would bequeath, see[the] mirth's seasons rebirth?
Will doors open as destiny flashes
top trump card retained in life's game?
will we win, or receive forty lashes
administered transient fame?

Many fall by the way - beauty's lashes
in time close their lids, lose their name.
Many call all in vain, whose wrath rash is,
soon prostrate Fate halts hale and lame.
Why recall tortured tears on fear's faces,
in wide eyes, eyes tight shuttered in dread?
seek beyond Time's dark veil, hark rhyme's voices
turns trust to true welcome ahead.

Turn again to true origins timeless,
far from copyright stereotype,
from prose superficial and rhymeless,
from deception, the moment is ripe!
Turn to threads needing no explanation
spurning blame box so shamefully bland,
rediscover sweet seedbed sensation,
inner growth which must ever expand.

Respond, over-reach blind reaction
which limits horizons, instead,
key energy into true traction
to free voice for choice which, all said,
may find underlined elevation,
undefined undefinable, yet
as a visa free passport salvation
cedes no stamp, needs nor hedges, nor bet.

There are times when our rhymes run away with
the message sense sends, on a limb,
but heed tone-tune seed-songs we would play with
to muse on Fate's pantomime whim.
Through a watershed chapter Man's surfing
the cusp of a paradigm change,
will the challenge be met or shall serfing
be the lot of a lot who'd free range?

Be you dream, be you dreamer, redeemer,
explorer, discovering way
may two, tender, together t[r]end, team a
twinned portrait or landscape soft, fey.
Insight spurns tight classification
anticipations pre-defined,
transcends commonplace separation
living for, through, true shared open mind.

Who is string, who strum strung, who dumb stringer?
Intelligent is the design?
What means now the Ring? what dead-ringer
may surf on what surface benign
to rise and surprise Man the Maker,
no longer Miss Taker defined
who feeds on greed's ferment, the baker
of need for need, boredom resigned.

Carpe Diem or ‘follow the leader'
for threescore and ten, self deny?
contradict or obey Fate, fey feeder
of ambitions its sense should defy?
Take time out or with diligence follow
obligations that others impose
though their meanings at best echo hollow
when, mature, sensitivity flows?

Wheel turns, returns pot to skilled potter,
earns urns as Fate's karma plays out,
one more page in tale inking Time's blotter
one more stage as clock runs roundabout.
Wheel turns, driving destiny's plotter,
lays groundwork renewal throughout,
round grounds gambol beaver, coon, otter,
whose sons suns tomorrow daren't doubt.
It is not for this tale to continue,
quest request seems sufficient as here
through new search sterner stuff, tougher sinew,
rewards, helps Hope's fires to shine clear.
So we end what may well prove beginning
of some saga both pregnant, half-hid,
trusting to rainbow bridge for free-singing
enlightened, that naught need forbid.

(1 April 2009)


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 22, 2012



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