speading the word
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Three New Poems
by John D Robinson





Truly, I can’t
the last time
I laughed so hard
and deep and
that tears formed
and fell
and I lost myself
completely in
those beautiful
and special moments
and I wanted to
thank you for it
by writing it down
and calling it a
poem for you.



a line, (a short blue one)


Falling In Love With Paris


He came running towards
me on quiet Parisian Metro
platform; he was dressed in
rags, long thick matted hair
and wild flaming beard and
broken shoes and he was
screaming in French and I
could see that he was
desperate and was some
kind of lost and crazy fuck
and I stood my ground, not
from courage but from
out of fear and I screamed
at him to ‘Fuck off’ and I
began swinging the bag
of wine around my head in
windmill-fashion and then
he stopped just a few
yards from me and wobbled
upon his dirty feet;
I stopped swinging the bag of
wine and wondered what the
fuck was going to happen
he smiled at me best he
could through his toothless
mouth and spoke with an
elegant and gentle voice
in a language I didn’t
understand; I shook my
head and said something
quickly and defensively
and then listen to my
leaping heart;
he began laughing; softly
at first and then he began
roaring and then ran passed
me and then began skipping
and singing in a delightful
voice and he never looked
I looked up and down the
Metro platform; it was
deserted, I lit a cigarette and
tried to calm myself;
I’d been in Paris for 3 hours,
and like thousands before me,
I had already fallen in love



a line, (a short blue one)


The Editor


‘One of my co-editors said to
me, literally just before we
were to go online,
You know the word
‘fucking’  appears in the
1st line of this poem
and then again
along with 2 or 3 similar
words; you still want to
go ahead?’ and I said
‘Of course, no reason not
He was older than I had
expected and he was open
and friendly and humorous
and witty and intelligent;
he’s the 1st  editor I’ve met
and he wasn’t a mean cross-
eyed, egomaniacal, power-
wielding, ignorant asshole
son of a bitch like some
poets claim that editors
he’s in the wrong job.



a line, (a blue one)


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