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Homerun

HOMERUN
From dark to light – one cry.
cot, tot, fine whine, youth tries
to rise, outshine, – strength vies
to test itself far, nigh,
will ever improvise,
wings spread ahead would fly
beyond the common sty.

Ends, means, some justify
as tools to fool, win prize
refusing to downsize
goals which new goals supply,
to grow, while enterprise
won’t sit, knit idly by
would flow to know, apply.

See sun at zenith high
where fair sweep cloudless skies,
fragility belies.
Self on self will rely
And thus we compromise
ourselves – each hour thereby
prepares grief leaf’s demise.

Men, weak “how, what, when, why”
seek to deny, despise
as limits while each eyes
ambitions run awry.
Most fail to realize
fame’s flame soon sinks, falls shy
of promise time can’t buy.

Stagnation by and by
sets in, transforms to ties
what once soared free, - denies
rights others seek would lie,
Inventing alibis
inverting truth stain, dye,
strain, pain, until sparks die.

Still time will onward fly!
Few care to recognize
sunset whet hopes defies, -
dare not, with rules comply, -
scope set cut down to size.
With humour grim and wry
Fate on each whim may spy.

Life’s voyage does imply
page after page time tries
to crop or circumsize -
each stage a wager sly
as cause, effect, in guise
of free choice voice deny
to unborn options! ... Why?

Tide turns, Time’s spring runs dry.
The candle burns. The wise,
the fool, fourscore, fade, - rise
no more, till final cry
whose sense none can disguise.
No echo, no reply...
from light to dark, sole sigh.

9 February 2005
robi03_1060_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ

Homerun Poem © Jonathan Robin
see also Homespun
robi03_1057_robi03_0000 SXX_DZX

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HOMESPUNBirth Mirth Worth Girth Dearth Earth Berth

From dark to light – one cry, homespun.
Cot, tot, fine whine, youth vies at last
to rise, to shine, – strength tries so fast
to test itself far, nigh, to run
above the common sty or scrum,
tries stratagems devised to cast,
with sun at zenith high, shade vast, ...
ignores Time fleeting by. The sum?
Who fools are, who are wise, succumb.
Who true, who in disguise, outlast
the dreaded drum’s surprise, stand fast
can further innings try? Soon dumb!
Come night, tomb stark, done, lie forgot, – time spun
From light doom dark one sigh, poor lot, – rhyme done!

20 January 2005
robi03_1057_robi03_0000 SXX_DZX

see also Homerun
robi03_1060_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ

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Homes pun Poem © Jonathan Robin

:)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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