Monday, June 15, 2015

John D. Robinson- Three Poems


Julian was tall and skinny,
too skinny maybe and he
was gentle, articulate, creative
and very effeminate in
his mannerisms and
when we first met
he was kicking heroin
and for 3 or 4 days
I witnessed his
withdrawal and I held
him and he clung to me
and then he found
God and fell in love
with a friend of mine
who had also recently
been re-born;
they married and
had 2 sons, the marriage
lasted perhaps
several years and
then Julian split with
God and his wife and
children and
found a male lover
and moved from town
to city; his sons
visited a few times
and returned with
tears and cigarette
burns and bad dreams
and they never saw
their father alive
again and neither
did I.
Later, his lover
died of HIV AIDS
and Julian had
same diagnosis and
he committed
and I remember Julian
one time telling me
of blowing truck drivers
in midnight deserted
car parks and that
he would’ve have
done anything for
a needle-push of
heroin but God had
saved him;
there’s a lot more
to this story
as there will be
to yours,
but for now,
for Julian,
this will do it.


I never went hungry or
cold, I was never beaten
or abused and I
never had any hopes
and I never felt
threatened or loved;
my father drank
and my mother
worked hard;
I had a sister
but I spent my
time alone inventing
games and new
sometimes, late at
night or in the
early hours,
my dad, drunk,
would hammer on
the door and holler
through the
but mom
wouldn’t let him
in and after some
time he’d give up
and pass -out on
the front lawn;
I never cut the
grade at school
but painted my
way into college,
I never graduated
and became a
factory worker,
I’ve been homeless
and heartbroken,
I’ve had success’s
and smiles and
hand shakes
and love,
I’m 52 years old now
and haven’t got a
lot to show for it
if you’re
but what I have,
you wouldn’t
understand it,
even if I were
try and write
it down.


As I entered the
supermarket I
needed to step
quickly backwards
to make way for
 a sprinting
and laughing
with a hand-basket
full of groceries
in one hand and
clutched beneath his
other arm
a small baby;
that was bobbling
around and laughing
and having a
good time,
following very close
behind was another
laughing, sprinting
young guy;
he didn’t have a baby
but had a hand-basket
in each hand, full of
beer and groceries.
The fat security guard
waddled very slowly
towards the exit/entrance
and stepped out into
the street,
he lazily swung his head
left and right
and then shrugged his
sagging shoulders and
frowned and said to
no one
“They’ve got away”
and then he
wobbled back into
the store;
“I’ll have to phone this
in and then write it up;
it’s gonna take me
some time”
and then he ambled
out of sight
towards the back of
the store;
I stepped back in
and looked over at
a grinning cashier;
“Your security
Is tight” I said.
The cashier smiled
and then shaking
his head said,
 “Yeah, tighter than
Mother Teresa”
Leaving the store
I thought of the
now a potential
felon, an accessory
to robbery;
running away
in fear of capture
before he could
even walk into the
arms of his poor

John D Robinson was born in 1963 south coast of the UK; began writing poetry aged 16, first poem published a year later; numerous poems have appeared in small press magazines and various online publications, Ink Sweat & Tears, Spokes, Bareback Lit and Red Fez among them. Has published a number of poetry chapbooks, a book of short stories and a novel; has worked menial meaningless jobs since aged 16 and continues to do so today; he is married and has one daughter, two grandchildren, one dog and four cats and loves wine and other pursuits that may not be healthy.

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