Thursday, November 2, 2017

was never a part of it
is  not a part of it
never will be
for when money
enters the
bloodstream all
dies and
is nurtured.

On numerous occasions
I’ve read poetry in
churches at weddings
and funerals
but reading my own
dirty poems and
drinking wine in a
church was a new thing
for me: I refrained from
smoking as I thought
this might piss-off a few
at the end of the evening
I wobbled to my feet and
sold a few books and
looked up at the wooden
and porcelain crucifix
above the altar and winked
up at the statue: I moved
unsteadily down the aisle
and remember a young
woman telling me she
enjoyed my poems and I
stepped outside into a dark
raining city that I didn’t
know: but it felt good as I
welcomed  the coldness and
saw a taxi
across the street to help with
my escape.

Truly it was a terrible film,
a slasher horror B movie:
about 40 minutes in he
swayed over to the t.v and
video player, which he
ripped away from it’s
connections, walked over
to his 3rd floor balcony
and hurled the machine
down into the street
below: ‘There was too
much killing , it upset me’
 he said sitting back down:
I staggered to the balcony
wondering if someone
was laying dead: the rented
video lay splintered across
the pavement: I switched
on the radio and a male
voice spoke seriously of
the dangers of unprotected
sex: he wobbled onto his
feet, looking angry and
moved towards the radio:
‘Hey’ I said ‘We can change
the channel and find some
rock and blues’:
he paused, looking with
menace at the radio and
then over to the balcony:
‘Okay, see what you can
find’ he said:
I found some Chuck Berry
and he sat down and
lifted a glass,
things were cool again.

One of those times when
the spirit and the
enthusiasm are on fire
and running ahead and
the mechanics don’t
quite work:
‘Maybe I should try
some viagra’ I said
‘Let’s try again’ she said:
‘I read about that stuff,
one of the potential
side-effects is bleeding
from the eyes’ I said
she starting giggling
‘That’s not romantic,
I’d be running around
the house, screaming
with a raging hard-on
and blood dripping
from my eyeballs’
I said
she laughed for a few
moments and then
moved in close again,
her warmth was
irresistible to me:
‘Let’s try again’ she
and we did.

Any amount of my waking hours
are drenched in sensual thoughts,
sex images: simply glancing at
women will set my imagination
aflame with urges and flash-like
mind-pictures of an erotic nature
but at 54 years old, I’m tempered
and weakened by too much
booze and drugs and life to
travel any further than the
imagination: an observer
rather than a predator, sidelined
by age and ugliness and
addictions: let me tell you it’s a
nice place to be:
I’ve hurt enough hearts, broken
too many dreams, gambled too
many hours on worthless paths,
I’ve ignored the protests and
I can lean back now,
leave the helpless chasing to
those with a younger and
faster naive spirit.

‘We can’t do it here’ she whispered:
‘Why not?’ I asked:
‘We’re in a church’ she replied:
‘We’re in the living quarters of the
church, not in the church’ I said:
‘But it’s still a holy place, look at
all the pictures and crucifixes upon
the walls’ she said:
‘That’s just fucking decoration, it
doesn’t mean shit’ I said:
‘I don’t feel comfortable’ she said:
‘Okay’ I said ‘I’ll use my imagination
and my right hand’:
she shook her head and said
‘Well, you go to the bathroom and be
quiet about it, keep all that grunting
and groaning to yourself, remember,
my mother’s next door’
‘Yeah and god is everywhere’ I said.

John D Robinson

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...