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.
THE WAY IT WAS MEANT
I think we were meant to be close
but I cannot remember us being so;
I was never beaten or abused in
any way at all;
but
I cannot recall kisses or hugs
or cuddles or words of
affection, warm words like
‘I love you’
no I didn’t hear those kind
of things and it seemed
that you really didn’t give
a shit what would become
of my life as long as I was
‘okay’;
I was never encouraged or
discouraged to do anything
as long as I
didn’t end up in prison like
her husband, or roam the
streets homeless and
drunk; that I didn’t
become a begging junkie
prostitute rent-boy
I would be doing okay;
it would be good enough
to slave in the factories and
offices and graveyards forever
and maybe I know now
a little of
why I find it difficult to show
sentiment and love and
sensitive feelings like you
do;
knowing your own mother
was cold and distant and
even hostile towards you,
but I suppose the difference
is that I didn’t feel ‘un-loved’
I knew you cared;
but even now we find it
awkward to look each other
in the eyes and say how we
feel;
I’m not looking for a cause
or an excuse for my own
failings but just to say
to you, what you know
already, just like I did all
those years ago;
saying it without a word;
that’s all and nothing else.
YES, PLATONIC
We only ever kissed
and even then
it was always briefly
but it was always
sweet and innocent
and leaving me
desiring more but I
knew it’d never happen
and it made me love
her even more and
in a way I’d never
known and it hurt
like hell
and quite often after
fucking around with my
regular girl I’d stagger
around to ‘her’ house
and scale up onto the
front garage roof and
gently rap upon her bedroom
window and she’d open
up and shake her head and
smile and she’d lean
out of the window and
we’d kiss and
whisper to each other
until her younger irritating
brother awoke and
spoiled things for us
and I’d disappear back
into the early hours;
we were never lovers and
her steel factory owning
father would’ve been
thankful for this and then
one summer afternoon
she called around to the
hovel I was hiding in and
I wasn’t in but probably
drunk someplace and
she left a copper bracelet
and a letter informing
that she was emigrating
and that she would miss me
and maybe she did for
a while;
her name was Stephanie
and I never fucked her
or met her millionaire
father and every now
and then I wonder
what may have happened
if I had fucked her
and met him?
No comments:
Post a Comment