Two Poems by John D. Robinson

.

Just Waiting

.

I was waiting for something,

it may have been a bus

but I knew that I had been

waiting all my life,

for something:

‘You asshole’ she screamed

at me for stashing stolen

good in our home:

‘You asshole’ I have heard

many times, as I waited,

alone, as cities crumble and

hungry, desperate children

lay in dusty ghost streets

of forgotten speech,

maybe it was a train I

was waiting for,

or a sign of some kind,

or something,

I don’t know why I’m

waiting,

but that’s what

I’m doing,

right now,

waiting,

I am.

.

Look

.

The calendars bares no teeth

and coldness is unwanted

furniture,

the postman brings no summer

and the window frames are

rotting, the doors are hanging

loose and the wind cries mercy:

I drink wine,

quietness is prominent and I’m

told flowers don’t

dream,

that thoughts fall like burnt

rice-paper:

I stay solid, cool,

my footsteps are virginal,

invisibility guides me,

each step

scorched with

you

and

I.

.

John D Robinson is a UK based poet: he has published numerous books of poetry: he has also published a novel of fiction and a collection of short stories.

Advertisement

Two Poems by John D. Robinson

.

The Search

.

We may have saved one- another,

or at best let each other go,

but we didn’t,

we couldn’t:

I still walk these filthy

streets looking for her,

knowing she’ll never be

found, as was her wish,

maybe my footsteps seek my

light, but I know that she

has taken this too,

I have so much to thank her

for

but my mouth is dry and

my eyes are filled

with dust.

.

Much More

.

He was an old friend,

no, he had been like a

father to me many

years ago when I

needed a father:

‘I haven’t got

Motor-neurones

Disease anymore’

he said to me

through the electronic

voice-box:

I looked back at him

feeling joyed and

bewildered: ‘That’s

great’ was all I

could manage:

‘I’ve given it to God,

Jesus has taken the

disease from me’

he said:

for what was to be

the last time,

we embraced

like father and son:

a couple of weeks

later he died: his name

was Mervin and he

was an old friend of

mine,

no,

he was so much more.

.

John D Robinson is a UK poet: he has published several chapbooks and five full collections of his work: his latest release is ‘Always More ‘New & Selected Poems’ : Horror Sleaze Trash  USA

.

.

Two Poems by John D. Robinson

.

From The Barber’s Chair

.

‘I don’t want to be the

richest man in the graveyard’

he said :

he was retired, no mortgage

or dependents: he’d booked

safari holidays in India and

week long breaks in Lisbon,

Venice, Madrid and Zurich

for his wife and he:

‘Fuck it’ he said as he sat

in the barber’s chair:

‘Heaven and hell aren’t

interested in how much your

worth, it’s your heart

and soul they’re fighting

for and I couldn’t give a

fuck whose company

I end up in, I’ll

be at home wherever’.

.

A Long Time

.

‘We may not live a long time

but we’re a long time dead’

she told me:

she sat looking innocent

but her reflection betrayed

her feelings:

my reflection refused to

show itself, defecting to

a place I couldn’t dream of:

‘We’re dead already’

she said as her shallow

shadow followed her out

of the room

as I sat

looking for mine.

.

John D. Robinson is a poet from the U.K. You can find his most recent collection, “A Hash Smoking, Codeine Swallowing, Wine Drinking Son of a Bitch” here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1073081400?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

.

.