Thursday, July 8, 2021



‘I could have a heart attack

or some kind of seizure

during the night and die

and you wouldn’t be aware

because you’re out of your

fucking head on drugs and

wine: crashed-out and

oblivious to everything

around you’

I agreed silently and

said ‘Yeah, okay’

‘So how would you feel,

waking up and finding

me lying cold dead next

to you?’

I paused for thought:

‘Pretty shitty’ I said:

‘So you wouldn’t feel

like a selfish, inward

careless asshole?’ she


‘I’ve felt like that for

decades’ I answered,

‘I’m a poet’ I said:

she shook her head

in doubt.

‘Another fucking

delusion’ she said.


He must have walked

by that tree countless


noted a thick branch

high up and knew

that he would find

his freedom:

although related we

weren’t close but had

drank together on

plenty of occasions:

he adored

wild-life and

surrendered time and

money to this passion,

he worked and

wandered, loved and

lost and finally

found his life

empty, worthless,

useless, painful:

two young girls

found him one


hanging from that

tree, that branch

that took him

to a place where

he would hurt

no more.


I’ve slept with too

many ghosts,

woken beneath

sheets damp with

ancient rituals,

showered in the

sleet of

morning and held

hands with

ancestors of


and now I am so

fragile that

even the dust

dare not approach

me, leaving me

safe as ever

in the shades

of a time when


was in her



‘Where are you going?’

his mother asked:

‘I’m going into town

to get drunk with a few

friends’ he answered:

‘Tell me, where are you

going?’ she asked again:

‘I just told you ma, I’m

going into town to get

drunk with a few friends’

he said:

‘I’m going to ask you

one more time, or else

 I’ll get your father’

his mother demanded:

‘Okay ma, I’m going to

sniff some glue and get

high in the park’ he said:

‘Well, why didn’t you

tell me that in the first

place!’ she said before

closing the door,



‘Do you think you can

smoke grass in Heaven?’

he asked seriously

and he repeated

himself endlessly

and one time he

asked me and I

told him:

‘Fucking sure,

you’ve heard the

story of the

weeding of the


he nodded his

head furiously,

‘Yes, Yes!’

he said

and he never

asked that

question again.

John D Robinson

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