Poems
by John D. Robinson

 

 

Rosemary Rules

 

 

Rosemary appeared and

she wasn’t looking happy:

‘You fucking bums! get

the fuck out of my place

now!’ she screamed:

Gordon, her husband

began laughing as the

other four of us

looked blankly at each

other: it was 9am and

we’d been drinking

all night:

‘You’re shaking Rose,

look, you’re shaking,

you need a drink’ said

Gordon as he handed

Rosemary a can of beer:

‘Fuck you bums!’ she

said, snatching the drink

and taking some

healthy gulps: ‘This is

my home, remember

that, you piss, shit and

vomit in the bathroom

or else you’re out

of here, you

understand, you losers’

we nodded our heads as

her husband continued

laughing: I gazed out

of the lounge’

 21st floor window

and looked across the

town that looked so

quiet and peaceful, but

I knew better than

that and I laughed

along with Gordon

as Rosemary belched

and tossed the empty

towards an

overflowing waste

bin.

 

 

 

 

 

Tale Telling

 

 

The five of us stood captured

by his tale –

‘I got her working, I mean,

she was wetter than a

slaughter-house floor’

we couldn’t hold back

any longer and began

laughing at him:

he became confused

and angry with us:

‘What’s so fucking

funny?!’ he demanded:

‘Okay’ I said, smiling,

‘her story is that you

couldn’t get hard and

passed out, she says

you never fucked her!’

‘Fuck!’ he said

‘We’ve all fucked her’

I lied, as the five of us

nodded our asshole

heads, grinning:

‘Okay’ he said ‘but

when I woke up

she told me that I was

the best fuck that

she’d ever had and I

 never actually

fucked her!’ his

face burning with a deep

eternal red, ‘I need a

fucking drink!’ he said

walking away and

we followed like dumb

thirsty dogs, our tails

between our legs and

a laughter buried deep

within our youthful

wickedness.

 

 

 

 

 

Timely Excuses

 

 

‘I’d paint pictures, I have visions,

I could create master-pieces,

I could write a novel,

a collection of poetry,

a play,

an opera

and I’d love to play a

musical instrument as I am

sure that I would be a

natural’

bullshit:

you’re full of self-deceit

and self-denial,

maybe afraid of exposure.

lack of confidence,

whatever,

when art is your life you

go with the spirit or you

make excuses:

like the great

Bruce Lee

said,

‘Be stronger than

your excuses’

 

 

 

 

The Smile

 

 

Her smiles come often,

but I could see

beyond the smile,

I knew what had been

before that smile,

she has a smile of a

survivor

of wretched torments

alive with alcohol and

drugs and

prostitution,

a smile

robbed of its

purity

and

dignity,

a smile

that even

Mona Lisa

gives a

nod to.

 

 

 

 

 

Atomic Mushrooms

 

 

She suddenly awoke, I felt her

movements as she rolled over

the edge of the bed to puke

over the ashtrays and empty

wine bottles and then she

fell back to sleep, she

grunted and snored like a

fucking tractor and then

passed wind with a knock-

out, at which point I slid

out of her bed, found my

clothes, dressed: and then

looked at her: she was

pretty and a nice

human being so far as I

was able to recall: I didn’t

know her name and I

didn’t know if I should

have any regrets because

I couldn’t remember

what had happened, a

complete alcoholic

blackout of the night:

I found the front door

and walked out into the

world that cared little

for the atomic hangover

mushrooming behind

my blood-shot eyes.

 

 

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