Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Slightly Outlaw 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.


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;


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


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 


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


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.


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?

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