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Poetry By John D. Robinson

John D Robinson was born in 63 in the UK; he began writing poetry aged 16 and published 1st poem a year later; many of his poems have appeared in the small press and online publications including; Bareback Lit, Red Fez, Dead Snakes, Pulsar, The Commonline Journal,The Kitchen Poet, Mad Swirl, The Chicago Record, Poetic Diversity, Your One Phone Call, The Clockwise Cat and upcoming poems appearing in Ink Sweat & Tears, The Legendary, Message in a Bottle, The Sentinel Literary Quarterly; he is married with 1 daughter, 2 grandchildren, 3 cats, 1 dog and he loves to drink wine and stare into space whilst listening to gentle classical music.

At the age of 73 you’d think he’d
put the brakes on a little;
he’d worked all his life;
he’d had a mortgage
a wife
and children
and now,
had none of
those things;
party a little and for many
decades kept it going
and then he staggered
into the company of  a
gang of guys a third of
his age
who carried Guns and
knives and hard drugs
and he was tormented and
scared and old and
thrust into a world he
knew nothing about
and he couldn’t handle
this new menacing world
with its guns and knives
and the threats to kill and
the forced marches at 1a.m.
to an ATM
and then one day
after Drinking some cheap
alcohol, decided he’d
burn down the apartment
of a troublesome, interfering
and innocent and fragile
nosey 78 year old
nosey neighbour
he threw a pan of hot
cooking oil over the neighbour’s
door and Attempted to set it
alight with a cigarette lighter
but failed
and all the while shouting
and screaming and ranting
and he was charged with
attempted murder; intent to
kill and destroy by an
attempted act of arson;
chances are I’ll never make it to
and if I do,
I Hope I have the spirit and
the energy to fight
and have the intelligence
to piss off people
by being there
and alive
in a world
that’s been setting
itself on fire
for centuries.

“How could you?
how could you do
that to me?
and with that
fat whore
how could you?
I can never forgive
I mean, how was it?
fucking that
fat slut?”
she paused and
looked away,
I stood quiet and
shameful and
without defence,
she looked at me
with watery eyes
“You’ve Betrayed me,
everything we had
you’ve betrayed it all
for a
and I hope you feel
good about it now”
I could say nothing
“You bastard
I love you” she said
and began crying
and I felt completely
worthless and empty
and felt like crying
myself but didn’t
and said
“I’m so very sorry”
and I was
truly sorry,
but it was a deep cut,
a wound that would
never completely
and it is somewhere,
this hurt,
it is with us
like an ever
invisible lurking fog
ever there to
like a darkened

I’ve consumed a large
quantity of prescribed
and non-prescribed
and wine
these past couple of
having the opportunity and
the capacity to do so;
the drugs
and wine
enabled me to
cruise quietly
through those
darkened hours of
self-doubt and self-
and I know you’d feel
disappointed with me
for taking the drugs
drinking wine
and that’s why I
haven’t told you;
I don’t want to
disappoint you again,
yet another time;
and if you ever read
this Poem,
I’m sure
you’ll give it some
understanding before
the disappointment
envelopes the demons
I’ve given into


This post first appeared on Zombie Logic Review: Poetry For Outsiders And Outl, please read the originial post: here

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Poetry By John D. Robinson


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