From Winamop.com

Five Poems
by John D Robinson

 

 


The Iron Door

 

Once I ended up in a police cell

over a pair of big breasts:

‘If you go collect this script,

I’ll show you my tits and I’ll let

you

handle them for a few moments’

I snatched the paper and

handed over the forged

prescription, five minutes later

as I sat waiting in the

pharmacy I was arrested by 2

plain-clothed police officers:

I said nothing to them,

within an hour the cries and

screams of Claire cut through

the holding-cells:

‘You still owe me!’ I shouted

through the open hatch of

the iron door:

‘Fuck you!’ she hollered

back before sitting down

and weeping for her mama

to come and collect her:

I had called a friend for help

but she was too fucked-up,

after a few hours I was

released:

later Claire and I were given

a year’s probation and I

looked across the court room

at Claire and her breasts,

and man, I thought,

I’d do the same again,

no questions.

 

 

 

a black line

 

 

The Punk Rock Kitchen

 

On the way home for a

stay-over, my twin, 5 year

old granddaughter’s

say the music grandpa

likes is boring and

sounds all the same:

my wife explains some

of classical music,

but it cuts no ice: boring:

later I switch the

radio off and play,

full volume, the Pistols

‘Anarchy in the UK’

and begin leaping

around the kitchen

screaming along and

pulling ugly faces:

they look at me with

disbelief, trying to

make sense of it

but they can’t:

they run to nanny

and tell her the music

scares them and makes

grandpa dance silly:

‘punk is dead’

maybe, but today,

it lived again

briefly in

my kitchen.

 

 

 

a black line

 

 

The Sinking

 

I have drowned in

your presence,

sunk way below

where you can

see me,

illuminating

flares and the

choirs of ghosts

wrap around me

like newspaper

headlines of

tragedy

but I know I’ll

surface in your

eyes when they

leak tears and

the sun gives up

for the moon.

 

 

 

a black line

 

 

When The Gig Is Up

 

When the gig is up

you can’t look the

other way,

continuously

feeling that you’re

fucked by bad

luck:

from every scene

no matter how

tragic or sombre

there is always

light,

there is no right

or wrong in

living

but survival brings

divisions and

treachery: the

secret of life is

knowing when to

stop, be a breeze

and travel freely,

express yourself

honestly,

this is not easy,

it can hurt others,

don’t be afraid,

be joyful,

move forward and

embrace what

is found.

 

 

 

a black line

 

 

Hand It Over

 

Give me your madness,

your secrets,

your laughter and sorrow,

give me your shadow,

your nightmares and

your sweetest

moments:

I can’t offer much

in return

but I can feel,

listen and try to

understand

who and what

you are

and you can do

the same:

let’s begin again

with a blank,

with space

to fill with truth.

 

 


 

a black line

 

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