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As Outcast and Forecast

As some surf sculptured flotsam flung
from shore to stormy sea,
as jetsam leaf on life’s tree hung
from fate’s branch hinge, torn free.

As date, as anniversary,
from calendar expunged,
as sailor smit by siren’s see
in swirling ocean plunged.

As broken toy, forgotten, cast
aside some summer day,
abandoned by spite’s child who fast
found other ploy to play.

As voter, duty done, expelled
by politician snide
who cared more for positions held
than bridging deep divide.

As damsel in distress, no knight,
reflecting on love lost,
rejected by some parasite
who’d calculate cash cost.

As bloom precocious whose delight
is pinched by early frost
or stemmed by scissors expedite
in cut glass vase fast tossed.

As endless treason season’s plight
on land none cultivate,
whose soil pollution spoiled despite
a fertile womb to sate.

As rock, protective ice-cap stripped
by rival's global warming,
fresh water drained, soul tainted, whipped,
ripped heart, unheeded warning.

As vintage wine which once was laid
in atmosphere protected,
but thence withdrawn, to be displayed
turned tart, tight tannic wrecked it.

As troubled mind no music may
relieve from woes too great,
find no reprieve when far away
love slips to leave cold grate.

These gifts, false friend, to me you gave
when making tracks elsewhere.
What’s left, what haunts me to the grave? -
wrong, song distraught, wrung care.

Forecast

Yet tides may turn, storms ride to peace
when filter fresh Fates find,
new Spring brings leaf on life through lease
to leave past grief behind.

Though idylls fail, all tales too sad
may be rewrit more kind,
a fresh installment good from bad
could conjur – state of mind.

or sleight of hand which line by line
inscribes in polychrome
nuancing black and white decline
from sweetness honeycomb.

Who once mourned lonely through caprice,
unhappy, undermined
dawn redisovers as tears cease -
ice melts, pain’s chains unwind.

Oases spring as joys increase
through Time’s new rhyme – the blind
fresh insight find as golden fleece
transmutes mute stone refined.

These gifts, fair friend, I offer you
for future which could prove
fullfilling, fortunate and true,
fond, fertile – mountains move.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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