5 new poems
Home sweet home Latest site info Poetic stuff Serious stuff Funny stuff Topical stuff Alternative stuff Shakespearian stuff Musical stuff
  click here for a "printer friendly" version

by John D. Robinson



Thinking Wonder


I wonder what you are thinking

when you first open your mind

in the morning, when you brush

your teeth and look at yourself

in the mirror: what is it you see?

I wonder of many things, like

when you hear a particular

piece of music what feelings

are briefly woken:

when the phone rings or

when a letter arrives,

what are you hoping for?

mostly I wonder, how often

I am part of your flowing

thoughts and of my

residence within your

heartbeat, growing

feinter every day.




a line, (a short blue one)



The Crime Scene


A pen pusher,

the nib a

shark’s tooth,

words ripped

with passion

and fury,

pages consumed

and attacked

with a soulful



leaving behind

a clean





a line, (a short blue one)



Running Low


The ink seems to be

running low,

the poems walk a


most fall

but some


survive: I gather

them like


and wait for the


the cremation

of the words

to step forward







a line, (a short blue one)



The Caveman


She was totally disgusted

and repulsed when I

mentioned that I’d piss,

in the late hours – early

morning’s: I’d step into

the back garden and

piss in the back-yard,

because, it was the

quietest and quickest

route, otherwise, I’d

need to stagger up a flight

of creaky steps, and

chance waking her and

that would really rile


‘Caveman’ she said as I

slid my knuckles across

the floor, heading for

the chilled wine.




a line, (a short blue one)



A Good Price


She’d had good ‘reviews’

she flirted and flaunted,

she was sexy and sensuous,

she was attractive and

alluring and she fucked

for a good price:

no oral:

heroin aged her, quickly,

brutally, whipped and

slashed away her

physical beauty

beyond recognition:

she now services

for a cheap-shit bottle

of wine, or a joint,

but credit to her,

payment first,

she’s been burnt

too many times




a line, (a blue one)


Rate this poetry.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.


© Winamop 2020