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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=425886" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jest plays with rubaiyat and, four by four, <br>unseals for your amusement more and more<br>verses together thread in rosary<br>unreeled to bloom till tomb will curtains draw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Repealed are value judgement and perspective <br>revealed through standpoint purely introspective, <br>darkside concealed of moon’s yin-yang shines clear<br>when we’re in orbit, - option more effective. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rolled form performs rôle midwife to perception, <br>sprung tongue in cheek, tweaks sense of imperfection<br>or willingness to leach between the lines, <br>impeach entrenched ideas of self-[s]election.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This prose arose as stream deprived of section, <br>where ‘dip at will’ will still sustain inspection, <br>the current’s sense, at odds with current views<br>ignores round holes, square pegs, top-down direction. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here there’s no fear of critics’ peer rejection, <br>contention treated with due circumspection<br>intention is to mention for retention<br>an overview or clue to extrospection.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Life’s curtains are a veil through which few see, <br>as many haste taste-waste eternity, <br>mixed up, ignore life fixes finite sum<br>to/through infinite opportunity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Can “Truth” exist? all ask, who seek its core, <br>we, modest, etch our words to sketch the score, <br>diverse the verses which converge to link <br>reflections mirrored many times before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vast content, style, a while, united are, <br>aim at soul stimulation, nothing bar, <br>to pleasure, treasure, or discard at will<br>as minds outreach to other minds on par.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meditating, we shed light on what<br>tomorrow’s tot may factor into ‘bot’ -<br>the poet’s lot, forgot, to help all think<br>ahead of time, enhance life for a lot </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some seek Nirvana, Faith speaks more than “how”.<br>Others reject Salvation’s wraith, - w[h]ine “now”.<br>Verifying facts? Inventing dreams? <br>Each furrow-burrows with a different plough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In these short stanzas we shall seek a way<br>to weed out false philosophies that prey<br>upon fair truth - if ‘Truth’ be not abstract -<br>to plant fresh garden, chant beside the ‘Way’.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">./.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep, <br>the East’s ablaze, there rising rays do steep<br>the far horizon, phasing stars away<br>phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow’s cheep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bird soft sings - one robin is enough -  <br>to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff  <br>is scored by millions more - cheep’s cheek astounds. <br>rebounding echoes which their shyness slough. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease<br>tunes into echo surfing prime rhyme's breeze, <br>life’s warmth wells from flat fields, rills, rocky tors, <br>gold bees abound, buzz round some kitten's sneeze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits <br>on spider spinning, dawn anticipates, <br>while we may ask what sense is made of sound<br>by church and steeple, aisle and green stile gates.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What feelings hound retains for hare he’d chase<br>and what the hunter for the hound? What pace  <br>finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound? <br>What’s real to roundabout when rests its case? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How feels the Tao for circling day and night? <br>what for the centre feels surround, dark, light? <br>what of the bounce when words once more rebound <br>describing robin breasting air in flight? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What feels for fractal any given point? <br>What feels the oil for King who rites anoint? <br>What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned? <br>Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What reads the clearing into red deer’s [t]race? <br>May star count light years till return to base? <br>How may red blood react to heart’s flesh pound <br>when foreign smokescreen floats round beauty’s face? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stars seek love’s meaning, spinning hot and cold<br>on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold<br>around their half-life cycles and around<br>on ‘always’ as they fight the black hole’s hold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bird song still seeks its Way upon Time’s wave, <br>stars spin off Mankind’s blind, ambitious crave, - <br>cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound, <br>crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dawn filters fragile memories from the mind, <br>few surface, most, unconscious, stay confined<br>behind the film that shadows dreams from day -<br>which to internal eye is almost blind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet those precious seconds which divide<br>warm bed from breakfast should not be denied, <br>once trained, the train of conscious thought turns fey, <br>rei[g]ns in the lines that let the brain decide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though chance the dice of daily choice does load, <br>no sleep no judgement voices, faulty mode, <br>a dream or two recalled can during play<br>let Man rejoice as answers he is showed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The magic lantern’s locked nocturnal sweep<br>shows picture flow performance, light or deep, <br>stays in abeyance waiting till the fray<br>of daily combat’s waged, unwound in sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For wave on wave of subtle interchange<br>that nightly entertains, by day seems strange<br>dissolves beneath a cataract of fact -<br>packed practicalities and pay, exchange.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet pay and practicalities do reap<br>a barren harvest, bitter tears to weep.<br>when in the final act ‘les jeux sont faits’, -<br>then who is mocked upon what moldy heap? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For some dreams stand out crystal clear and stay, <br>some nightmares ride through fear that fades away<br>when ‘self’ is drowned in tensions which exact<br>the working week’s attention, fears allay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Observe commuters in the early dawn<br>eyes bleary, weary gait and stifled yawn, <br>day’s duty done in turn each does return<br>at night to comfort slight they left that morn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Most for a pittance serve and thus sustain<br>a system biased which none may maintain<br>intact – attacked by innovations that<br>unchecked track ransack what they entertain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“The moving finger writes, and having writ”<br>moves on, along, to make The pattern fit, <br>links dark to light, ignites Time’s spotlight fast, <br>all once foreseen sets scene for future k[n]it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This moving finger which directs the write<br>must fight for flight to rise, not fall through flight, <br>take not temptation to mistake wood, trees, -<br>the dotted line should witness not indict.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With this in mind above the daily static<br>the poet’s pen to writing automatic<br>steers often on another plane than most –<br>the host whose ear at times appears erratic.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">True poet seldom rhymes with attic, crust, <br>needs not to cross the tease emphatic, must<br>as an observer taking vatic pulse<br>see, seed, foresee, and kneed ecstatic dust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poet peeps seeped truth, digs deep within<br>the reader’s wonderland to underpin<br>belief in ‘drink me’ magic potion stored<br>by mind behind [sp]each superficial grin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sojourn is our stay where sot and sage, <br>active, passive, those calm, those who rage, <br>justice, crime, combine to trace each track, <br>to ink “I think I act” on passing page.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Leave ‘news’ behind which often disappoints, <br>progression seldom needs be pushed on points, <br>though archived meta data may prepare<br>another world which its own way appoints.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Joy follows through where intuition points, <br>for its zen flesh and bones, provides the joints, -<br>masters the world’s attention, iceberg tip<br>invents to crown our surface race appoints.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">True erudition: - intuition’s wink<br>responding to the cues that help mind think<br>beyond tryst rendez-vous of time and place<br>can trace-scan span which Past and Future link.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So be it wide, or hide-out's tiny chink<br>through which soul spies the skies without a blink, <br>there is no chaser, chaste, or chase but pace<br>as Poet's dream streams past Man’s teeming brink</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet answers in themselves must be allied<br>with intuitions acting as a guide<br>interpreting the runes that won’t betray<br>effects and causes, each identified.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fourth dimension’s secret passageway<br>has hidden exits, entrances, thus may<br>be breached by forces magic which attract<br>fey instincts, set foreknowledge on its way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fate's ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes <br>but here or there as strikes the fancy flows <br>and [s]He that toss'd it down into the field, <br>[s]He knows about it all ~ [s]He knows ~ [s]He knows! ' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pill can’t fulfill the will to understand, <br>nor spirit chart heart’s flair fantastic fanned, -<br>no drips let slip but sip the rapture rich<br>through sharing in a manner under...hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though taking can attract the underhand, <br>and leave soul wrack, the lack can then expand<br>as time feeds need to flood Hurt’s tear filled ditch, -<br>the sods or stone there thrown let Promised Land</div><div style="margin:10px 0">at last appear as vision clear can tear<br>away the veils of this world’s wails and wear<br>a halo bright to fight off night begun, -<br>web spun which one MUST cut not run, aware! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Awake, aware, no vision e’er should be <br>one-sided, - clear should steer, with energy <br>to focus on holistic insight wide, <br>perception prizing authenticity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perception ends must bend to mend what then<br>may be free reinvented to extend<br>to new dimensions things that first appear<br>too distant, incompatible, to blend</div><div style="margin:10px 0">conceptions potent. These procede to lend<br>stability to an equation which must send<br>beyond our ken when a message formula<br>has integrated Time in hidden trend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Invention is extension catalysed <br>or role reversal, vistas reapprized, <br>what complicated seemed is later seen <br>as simple step towards a goal disguised. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dream-innovation themes explores, sends shoots <br>to test fond dreams beyond both insight, roots, <br>the route seems open, ready, preprepared <br>by past and future playing, in cahoots.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where both left brain and right can intertwine -<br>invention, innovation, - from design <br>mind tunes to innate patterns which possess <br>no walls “to grasp this scheme of things” divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All quests for knowledge spur adventures we <br>must turn to profit, - opportunity<br>magically evolves to solve at last<br>inherent challenge s from sea to sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In evolution’s bark much mystery<br>exists few mark, and fewer seem to see, <br>for timing innovation oft contains <br>an element of synchronicity</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that crucial changes duplicates to tune<br>mere mortals’ fortunes who beneath the moon<br>might otherwise miss portals pointing through <br>reef shoal to [b][r]each soul’s goal of blue lagoon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Therein stands both circumference and points <br>or one point cardinal which priest appoints? <br>is there a bible code convergency <br>or waiting cusp which promise disappoints? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each generation in its turn believes <br>Earth’s mysteries may surface ere it leaves, <br>that synchronicities will watershed -<br>or shed true light, - yet each the next deceives. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For rhyme and reason often are withheld <br>till time and season pass, their winter knelled, <br>true timing is essential where the mind <br>must channel forces from the future welled. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who would evolve must choose from many doors, - <br>each offers either fame, or blame, doom draws, <br>each offers health or wealth, advance or pause, - <br>must think the link between effect and cause. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What fame is, what is doom, though, who forsees? <br>what choice reject, what opportunities <br>take for, or take as, granted, who can tell? <br>Time twists or tows each current man would seize. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What matters, and to whom? What gravities <br>apply when anti-matter equals tease <br>conundrums which a life-long paradox <br>entertains until all memories </div><div style="margin:10px 0">are atomised upon a karmic breeze, <br>blown willy nilly till, like honeyed bees, <br>they bumble on towards a homely hive, <br>they stumble on till patterns by degrees </div><div style="margin:10px 0">from angles wide frame, focus, offer keys <br>for who between the lines can read, and these <br>the waft and weft of substance may discern - <br>may draw the line dividing wood from trees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So grasp that moving finger as it writes <br>wait not on Time, but tune to timing – flights <br>of fancy twin with chance advance spun once, <br>which may not seed again, feed dreams’ delights.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is no world to hold but one to share, <br>there is no word in bold, no blank to spare, <br>there is no end and no beginning, none, <br>but just a line which seeks expansion where</div><div style="margin:10px 0">vibration is the tune to rune the play<br>responding to a ripple interplay.<br>Response but not Reaction is the key<br>which liberates those give and take gainsay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The meanings take and give are often lent<br>by those who blind behind their screens, lie bent, -<br>if on the ball then toss you call shall be<br>a legacy which ALL may represent! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ambitions are but empty boasts to bind<br>Man to what he too soon must leave behind.<br>when curtain’s rung, act’s over, - all admit<br>wrung hands can’t cancel Fate once Fate’s defined.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though most would Fate defy, few have begun<br>to find replies behind spun night and sun, <br>jails cannot hold who, bold, must freedom seek, <br>depart from self from start till journey’s done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Discovery of central launching pad, <br>overcomes dams, artifice, to add<br>diversity to knowledge, tolerance, -<br>aims reconciled when game spins good from bad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too many spend their time on Earth asleep, <br>don’t dare to dream, don’t dream to dare, in keep<br>secure enclose the flame they claim astray<br>until that dread appointment all must keep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pilgrim staff that half directs the play<br>itself in pawn is to each coryphée<br>who for a spell puts on a little act<br>‘till Lethewards is sunk’ with no cachet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time is not blood but bud that inner light<br>may nourish, bring to flourish [st]ring delight -<br>the road soul takes makes light of 'here' and 'now', <br>realities are tease to freeze insight! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dreams thresholds are where strangely side by side<br>Past, Present, Future, somehow coincide.<br>Tomorrow’s cake with flour of Yesterday<br>is [k]needed by Time’s hands, whose flowers abide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dreams with fresh dreams collide, ideas explode, <br>most petty, but some able to decode<br>the active grain from static chaff and weigh<br>imponderables within the mind’s geode.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like ripples in reverse that override<br>the ‘natural order’, time-trap thrust aside, <br>Time’s warp and weft implode, and inklings spray<br>ink jets which think they playrights are world-wide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No need for sundry saint or lotus sect, <br>to paint these coloured verses circumspect, <br>where joy and rainbow aim to blackout grey, -<br>no soul knows faintness which would self perfect.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But self no sense retains if for a year, <br>ten, or ten thousand is our sojourn here, <br>THE question lingers, will not go away, <br>once gone what will become of all held dear? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once gone what sun will other eyes reflect, <br>what son to what fair bride will genuflect, <br>what ring upon which groom or fiancée<br>will glow, will grow, to comfort or protect? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dismiss all doubts, advance, evolve, elect<br>a path regardless what all else select, -<br>free spirits seek no quarter don’t display<br>uncertain, undue or unearned respect.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Unto thyself be true” yet never fear <br>to undo prejudice, the way is clear, <br>“there’s none so blind as will not see! ” yet each<br>deserves a passing sigh, if not a tear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Formality must never intersect<br>a mind that’s open, tolerant, direct, -<br>yet tolerance is not a takeaway<br>excuse for man’s refusal to reflect.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though there’s an inner conscience to obey<br>it must be sound, not papier maché, -<br>respond to Future, not to Past react, <br>reflect, reject excuses for delay</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We draw upon a framework long foretold.<br>All groundless fears are ground to make new mould, <br>where energy is timeless - yesterday<br>tomorrow’s future could today enfold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What lit that spark to differentiate<br>Mankind from ape, the eater from the ate? <br>matched energies that fuse, refuse to prey, <br>refusing fusion fuses primal state.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ignore all who a moment are extolled, <br>who when the wheel turns are as rough rogues roled, <br>reject role models, and by conscience backed<br>mistrust bland fads and carpets red unrolled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Work thus towards a future faraway<br>knit Time to rhyme with rhythm's calming lay, <br>and thus outplay time’s croupier who’s stacked<br>the odds against enlightenment’s entrée.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beware ideals that feel not, hot and cold<br>would blow upon ideas which, uncontrolled, <br>could open up new vistas and convey<br>new patterns for Life’s petals to unfold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beware Religion’s dogmas, those the State<br>instils to brake or break the will to wait<br>upon a world unbound which won’t obey<br>blind power plays, would Man emancipate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The door of Hope may ope to spirit bold, <br>to find the scope that can’t be bought or sold, <br>for equal opportunity why pray -<br>each would more equal be in luck or gold! <br>   <br>For equal opportunities don’t stay<br>untamed by use some make which most affray, -<br>The West’s religions and the East’s are sacked<br>by vested interests which the piper pay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though some there are who through true flair do float, <br>and there are some with multi-coloured coat<br>who help adapt and keep an even keel, -<br>most overboard do fall when rocks the boat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! fragile our environmental note<br>blown by el ninõ to, fro, remote. <br>climatic change climactic range does test, -<br>today’s mistakes tomorrow’s fate denote.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who seeks desires must stoke the fires which <br>inspire to higher levels, somehow stitch<br>the links which join ‘[s]he thinks, [s]he acts’, enhance<br>the chances of ‘success’, avoid all kitsch! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For entertainment services somehow<br>an inner wilderness where ‘buy, buy now! ’ <br>is seen as compensation by minds void<br>avoiding questions such as ‘why? and how? ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For ‘how? and why? ’ must search the living past<br>to learn, mark and digest, its net deep cast, <br>while indigestion does consumption brand<br>with captive hand throughout our land so vast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time is a theme as current now as ever, <br>a pattern waved by youth who’s brow knows never<br>time beats out timeless hopes, till in dismay<br>age ploughs life under foot to chain links sever.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time calls the tune, the moon with gravity<br>pulls in the seasons, yet the cherry tree<br>reblossoms every April come what may, <br>as May returns to [sp]ring time’s verity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time cows both Pauper, King, the simple, clever, <br>pleas disallows ‘spite advocate’s endeavour, <br>weighs souls with feathers, smiles at disarray, <br>from Life’s bough one more apple plucks forever.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Tree of Life evolves as day by day, <br>fresh changes ring the seasons’ roundelay.<br>Though many sicken, most are trouble wracked, <br>the same would kill to lengthen their short stay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“There is a tide in the affairs of men<br>which, taken at the flood” is Fate’s amen: -<br> “take then the current when it serves, ” some say, <br>why worry? What will be, will be again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“To be, or not to be” the question’s put, <br>who cares if skin be ivory or soot? <br>Life’s caravan wends on its weary way, <br>and tramples generations under foot.<br>   <br>Why put the questions ‘How, Why, Where, and When? ’<br>Embrace Life’s lease with vigour, grow, and then<br>depart contented, welcome don’t outstay, -<br>yet leave a trace another race may pen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Life’s not a prison, but a holiday<br>to be enjoyed as long as spotlight’s ray<br>can light emotions which remain intact<br>untainted by applause at matinée.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each innings may be karmic interlude, <br>a turn to bat, return to feast or feud, <br>another cycle pedals into play -<br>yet insight’s lacking, - though for thought leaves food.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While black holes funnel light as on they spin, <br>whole galaxies in flight are spiralled in, <br>a mirror image universe can stay<br>without reflection waiting, sure to win.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet victory, defeat, are notions crude, <br>for Time as maestro may reverse each mood, <br>though anti-matter threatens us today<br>tomorrow all’s forgotten, sense elude.<br>  <br>One hole one cubic mile could hold someway -<br>sum total of Earth’s biomass at play<br>today, and, yes, the figures are exact, <br>and highlight life’s fragility bouquet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We come to birth through labour, in the nude, <br>for bed and board we labour while, pursued, <br>by fears invented to set fears at bay, <br>in turn we’re boarded up, then bored for food.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dust into dust’s absorbed which knows not sin, <br>nor cares a fiddle for a toothless grin.<br>Good, Evil, both are absent from a play<br>that ends before its ready to begin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through time some after conquests vain pursued, <br>still others, patient, stood in line and queued, <br>alike for those who’d pray and those who’d prey, <br>before too long one gong, - then exits cued.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet there were those by high self-pride imbued, <br>and those there were who after hermits sued, <br>and when the sun rose later where were they? -<br>hay making for another multitude...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each spirit is a time-strapped castaway<br>upon Earth’s island, routeless émigré, -<br>yet Pot and Potter both are carbon b[l]acked, <br>seek clay’s perfection ere half-lives decay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair blooms enjoy before the petals fall, <br>in all draw trumps ‘til trumpets curtain all, <br>life is curtailed, once hailed our strength is spent, <br>Time thirsts to swallow all in hollow hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So quickstep through the dance, uncertain ball, <br>and pleasure take in all things, great and small, <br>tomorrow? Spend tonight in merriment -<br>who knows when sorrow knocks, what may befall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why care a fig for bowler, bat or ball, <br>an innings independent live, in thrall<br>to no false prophet, priest or sect hell-bent<br>on making fear a breeding ground, - forestall</div><div style="margin:10px 0">attempts to bind the mind to concrete slings, <br>to rabble rousers or the cause of kings, <br>temptation which would substitute rich cream<br>for wholesome water, fetters for free flings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seek not to barter best for better things, <br>nor fret about what freedoms future brings, <br>each karma drifts towards a downy dream<br>furled in the feathers of Time’s fleeting wings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ignore what others term Time’s wanton stings, <br>live for today, the heaven here that sings<br>heartstrings hearking darkling dreams agleam, <br>nor jealousy espouse, nor golden rings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We’re born, we breath, we suffer, then we die, <br>in vain most seek to know the reason why, -<br>the finite to the Infinite appeals<br>but seldom gains the ghost of a reply.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We breath, we seethe, impatient, then we sigh, <br>so few stay snug, - complacent, ‘neath the sky, <br>Divinity the Book of Judgement seals<br>without appeal to heal or rectify. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who, bold, would Death’s cold clutches e’er defy<br>soon stalls for storm or worm makes all comply, -<br>Eternity? - a changeling who conceals<br>Tomorrow, whate’er that may signify…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From birth to earth we struggle to explain<br>our loneliness, or seek to entertain<br>ideas of genes which constantly [r]evolve<br>round links of change, eternal karmic chain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As nothing stands to wax that will not wane<br>add naught to nothing, who can count Man’s gain? <br>You from the past stem, passed your eyes dissolve, -<br>can fallen angels ever rise again? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One wick to trick flow stop and go, then snuff, <br>one lick at lollipop, then pop! – enough.<br>Take smooth with rough, for chronologic puff<br>one blast blows fast away, discarded bluff.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One wicket innings batting off the cuff<br>an eyelid’s batting measures buff to buff<br>returned, no halfway-house to purge<br>what ‘might have been’, hair-splitting, tough is tough! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hair dividing reason from insane<br>remains a concept too few can retain, <br>the flame of fame flares, gutters, who’ll explain<br>the reasons for each season’s pride and pain? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perfection is Time's mirage breeding fame, <br>a passion hot and sot, too soon turned tame, <br>a mummy which, once aired, melts down to dust, <br>consuming candle, moth, self-feeding flame. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All tombstones call two tunes, ‘I left, you came! ’<br>all we discover covers mortal shame, <br>cause and effect rolled dice but both went bust –<br>insisting each the other was to blame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Cause’ and ‘Effect’ combine as on its way<br>Chance chimes advance whose rhymes appear today <br>unclear as if transparency requires<br>both distance and reflection for life’s play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet loaded are the dice of interplay, <br>leaden weighted, fêted for a day, <br>dissatisfaction spurs an onward dance<br>as stage stage follows on Life’s stage at bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Little we learn and even less retain, <br>leaves willy-nilly blown, where all would gain<br>election entry to a higher state, -<br>ambitions empty, aims and means as vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lotus blossoms for a season’s spell, <br>lends perfume to a transient breeze to tell<br>some unknown sentience XX XY walked<br>before the midnight came to fill Time’s well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like dust blown topsy-turvy by Life’s storm<br>we whirl around, try vainly to transform<br>the currents into channelled flow to ward<br>Time’s blow while Time grins, waiting, true to form.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Life is a chain we hope spite hope to be<br>linked to some future Eden, - fallacy, <br>myth entertained by mutual consent, <br>by nightfall there is little left to see</div><div style="margin:10px 0">except some stray leaves, litter on the grass, <br>which twirled with second thoughts that quickly pass<br>beyond all recognition – ‘good’ or ‘bad’? <br>New dawn, no trace remains, - another fa[r]ce.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Life leads to Death as day feeds into night, <br>lost is the battle, though the will to fight<br>may in itself self-justifying seem <br>when in and of this world we’d weed out fright.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wide world spins round claim and counter-claim, <br>the ebb and flow of which may leave no name<br>until the will of man ‘n’ times discussed<br>goes digital within a matrix game. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In what brash pride was rash Atlantis drowned? <br>Where are the countless kingdoms which, discrowned, <br>and sceptreless, whose [t][h]race Time’s washed away<br>have foundered ‘neath the [w]aves, remain unfound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What wound Time’s train and whither is it bound? <br>What bound Time’s chain which daily is unwound? <br>What will remain, retain a final s[w]ay<br>when Doomsday's last refrain has echoed round? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What futures has the spun past run aground? <br>What spider’s web is dewly weighted, wound<br>around what timed flies fleeting as they stray<br>towards what echo waiting to rebound? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What unplumbed ocean trench in sleep profound<br>feels turmoil in its entrails underground, <br>prepares to dwarf Mount Everest one day, <br>leave all its snowbound secrets, weather ground, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What rock of ages can withs[t]and Time’s hound? - <br>yet what of Time when all but ultrasound<br>has been forgotten, slate wiped clean away, <br>when none are left ‘tomorrow’ to confound? <br>   <br>Tomorrow is an abstract merry-go-round<br>which whirls upon itself, self gendered stound, <br>it onward hurls, and twirls, companionway<br>and ladder leading to itself, unfound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That strip of mind which separates the known<br>from the unknown seems desert now, but sown<br>the seeds of knowledge are, where, latent, lay<br>some stock of wisdom grafting flesh to bone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I dreamed a dream, - no wine glass stood beside<br>no flask half-full, half-empty, - bona fide<br>a book of verses breadloaf was, and, nay, <br>no dulcimer, no damsel, surfed Time’s tide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was no need for Internet or phone, <br>there was no greed for gold, no grief, grey groan, <br>no bead strings, no strings tied, and no decay, <br>no scythe to tithe tomorrow for Death’s own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here ends a brief attempt to take a leaf<br>from Time the thief, and yet there is no brief, <br>no leitmotif to savour save the act<br>that offers in its way some slight relief...<br>'Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare<br>And those that after some TO-MORROW stare.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">20 March 1995,25th April 2005,5 December 2006 minor modifications 20 March 2010 robi03_0754_fitz01_0001</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rubaiyat of a Robin © Jonathan Robin – after Edward FITZGERALD Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See below mirrored exerpt from opening stanzas after introduction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>WHAT IS REAL TO ROUNDABOUT REEL<br>Mirrored excerpt from Rubaiyat of a Robin </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep, <br>the East’s ablaze, there will wise rays rise steep<br>from far horizon, phasing stars away<br>phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow’s cheep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bird soft sings – one robin is enough –<br>to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff<br>art scored by millions more – cheep’s cheek astounds, <br>rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease<br>tunes into echo surfing prime rhyme's breeze, <br>life’s warmth wells from flat fields, rills, rocky tors, <br>gold bees abound, buzz round some kitten's sneeze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits <br>on spider spinning, dawn anticipates, <br>while we may ask what sense is made of sound<br>by church and steeple, aisle or green stile gates.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What feelings hound retains for hare he’d chase<br>and what the hunted for the hound? What pace<br>finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound? <br>What’s real to roundabout when rests its case? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How feels the Tao for circling day and night? <br>what for the centre feels surround, dark, light? <br>what of the bounce when words once more rebound <br>describing robin breasting air in flight? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What feels for fractal any given point? <br>What feels the oil for King who rites anoint? <br>What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned? <br>Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What reads the clearing into red deer’s [t]race? <br>May star count light years till return to base? <br>How may red blood react to heart’s flesh pound <br>when foreign smokescreen floats round beauty’s face? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stars seek love’s meaning, spinning hot and cold<br>on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold<br>around their half-life cycles and around<br>on ‘always’ as they fight the black hole’s hold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bird song still seeks its Way upon Time's wave, <br>stars spin off Mankind’s blind, ambitious crave, - <br>cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound, <br>crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">--<br>Crowned deathbound by a gaping open grave.<br>cross star-crossed dream, by mortal sadness bound, <br>stars spin off Mankind’s blind, ambitious crave, - <br>bird song still seeks its Way upon Time's wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On ‘always’ as they fight the black hole’s hold<br>around their half-life cycles and around<br>on Cause, Effect foretold as orbits fold, <br>stars seek love’s meaning, spinning hot and cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When foreign smokescreen floats round beauty’s face? <br>how may red blood react to heart’s flesh pound <br>may star count light years till return to base? <br>what reads the clearing into red deer’s [t]race? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Both throne and leaf soon tumble out of joint. <br>What feels for tree the Autumn leaf once browned? <br>What feels the oil for King who rites anoint? <br>What feels for fractal any given point? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Describing robin breasting air in flight <br>what of the bounce when words once more rebound? <br>What for the centre feels surround, dark, light? <br>how feels the Tao for circling day and night? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What’s real to roundabout when rests its case, <br>finds interest g[r]o[w] when it is mind compound? <br>and what the hunted for the hound? What pace <br>What feelings hound retains for hare he’d chase<br>by church and steeple, aisle or green stile gates, <br>while we may ask what sense is made of sound<br>of spider spinning dawn anticipates, <br>eternal silence sleep prevents, world waits …</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gold bees abound, buzz round some kitten's sneeze, <br>life’s warmth wells from flat fields, rills, rocky tors, <br>tunes into echo surfing prime rhyme's breeze, <br>Earth lends thereto both orbit, ear, at ease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rebounding echoes which their shyness slough.<br>art scored by millions more – cheep’s cheek astounds, <br>to sway ten trillion stars as ball of fluff -<br>a bird soft sings – one robin is enough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Phrased out by Robin Jay and sparrow’s cheep. <br>from far horizon, phasing stars away<br>the East’s ablaze, there will wise rays rise steep<br>Wake! though the West still fitfully counts sheep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jonathan+Robin">Jonathan Robin</a><div class=q>
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