New Poems: John D. Robinson

 

ABANDONED

I was born

hanging onto

the edges of

the horizon,

the twilight,

thrown into the

wilds of

alcoholism

and the howls

of a literary

forest,

abandoned

in the alleys

and palaces of

love

and 

war

and it was here

I stole

the secrets

of a new

morning.

 

 

 

THE TOUCH

There is a death

upon our lips,

life in our breath,

there is hope

in our hearts

and failure

in our heads:

there is a

poetry, a song,

we all know,

we all sing

in our native

tongue,

but,

our hands

never quite

touch.

 

 

 

THE CREATURE

Locked, inside of the same room

from the age of 3, alone with

20 cats, living in this tiny space:

every couple of days an elderly

man would call by and feed the

cats and would occasionally 

bring the little girl an apple or

a chocolate bar, but mostly

she ate cat food, she crawled

on all fours and only responded

to ‘Kitty Kitty’ and didn’t know

her name was Daste, she moved

across 3 inches high of 

unbelievable filth and disgust,

rotting debris of litter and packages,

cat faeces and

urine, cat food, vomit, a few

corpses of cats and kittens:

when the police found Daste

they discovered her mother

lived just a few blocks away

in a pristine apartment with

her eldest daughter of 12 years:

when arrested on severe child

neglect, abuse and 

abandonment, cruelty and

possible manslaughter attempt: she

stated that she had to let Daste

go when she was about 3

‘because, her nature and

character changed and I

didn’t like it’

the mother was jailed

for 4 years and both

daughters were taken 

into care:

this is no other creature

on this planet alive with

such sadistic and

incalculable depths of

depravity.

 

 

John D Robinson was born on the South East coast of the UK in 1963: he began writing poetry in his mid-teens and has never stopped: after reading Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ aged 17, he went off the rails for 3 decades, he has at one time or another, been homeless, hungry, lonely, jubilant and defiant, melancholic and dark, loved and loving, hostile and surrendering, successful and joyful, damn down dirty and crazy, arrested and applauded: he has and will never lose sight of love and compassion: he has never had any ambitions or dreams, with the exception of becoming a recluse with his beloved cats: he listens to birdsongs and classical music and embraces every day like it was the first and the last: he has made his demons his friends and professes his eternal love for the muse. He has been a multiple nominee for the Pushcart Prize.