John D Robinson writes

BREATHING INK
 

Forgive me,

poor poet I am,

nailed to paper,

breathing ink

and spilling secrets,

exposing fault-

lines and beauty,

carving outlaw

silhouettes,

publishing the

whispers of angels

and devils alike,

nothing better to do,

nothing more I

want to do.

John D Robinson writes

THE PRECIOUS
 

I handed her the newly arrived copy of

‘A Hash Smoking, Codeine Swallowing,

Wine Drinking Son Of A Bitch’

and within a few minutes she began

laughing and had to put the book

down and wipe her eyes,

still laughing,

it felt like I’d hit a smooth

home-run,

I drank from my glass in

some kind of victory

as my lady began

reading and again

laughing,

I put down my wine and

looked at my wife,

dabbing her eyes and

shaking her head,

moping, soaking up

her laughter like it

was a rare

and precious thing.

John D Robinson writes

THE TROUBLE IS
 

Trouble is that people

take some shit too

seriously,

mostly, themselves,

and

the job

the poetry

the music

the beliefs

the systems

the laws

the expectations

the newspapers

the television

the movies

the books

the paintings

the image of themselves

and when people

take shit too seriously

life becomes an empty

lonesome corridor

there are no doors

or windows,

no one can see in

and you can’t look out,

people will always

take shit too

seriously,

maybe even

this poem.