ON POETRY PUBLISHING
& MONEY
Money
was never a part
of it
is not a part of it
never will be
for when money
enters the
bloodstream all
purity
and
freedom
dies and
slavery
and
prostitution
is nurtured.
CHURCH POEMS
On numerous occasions
I’ve read poetry
in
churches at
weddings
and funerals
but reading my own
dirty poems and
drinking wine in a
church was a new
thing
for me: I
refrained from
smoking as I
thought
this might
piss-off a few
people:
at the end of the
evening
I wobbled to my
feet and
sold a few books
and
looked up at the
wooden
and porcelain
crucifix
above the altar
and winked
up at the statue:
I moved
unsteadily down
the aisle
and remember a
young
woman telling me
she
enjoyed my poems
and I
stepped outside
into a dark
raining city that
I didn’t
know: but it felt
good as I
welcomed the coldness and
saw a taxi
across the street
to help with
my escape.
COOL AGAIN
Truly it was a terrible
film,
a slasher horror B
movie:
about 40 minutes
in he
swayed over to the
t.v and
video player,
which he
ripped away from
it’s
connections,
walked over
to his 3rd
floor balcony
and hurled the
machine
down into the
street
below: ‘There was
too
much killing , it
upset me’
he said sitting back down:
I staggered to the
balcony
wondering if
someone
was laying dead:
the rented
video lay
splintered across
the pavement: I
switched
on the radio and a
male
voice spoke
seriously of
the dangers of
unprotected
sex: he wobbled
onto his
feet, looking
angry and
moved towards the
radio:
‘Hey’ I said ‘We
can change
the channel and
find some
rock and blues’:
he paused, looking
with
menace at the
radio and
then over to the
balcony:
‘Okay, see what
you can
find’ he said:
I found some Chuck
Berry
and he sat down
and
lifted a glass,
things were cool
again.
NOW AND THEN
One of those times when
the spirit and the
enthusiasm are on
fire
and running ahead
and
the mechanics
don’t
quite work:
‘Maybe I should
try
some viagra’ I
said
‘Let’s try again’
she said:
‘I read about that
stuff,
one of the
potential
side-effects is
bleeding
from the eyes’ I
said
she starting
giggling
‘That’s not
romantic,
I’d be running
around
the house,
screaming
with a raging
hard-on
and blood dripping
from my eyeballs’
I said
she laughed for a
few
moments and then
moved in close
again,
her warmth was
irresistible to
me:
‘Let’s try again’
she
said
and we did.
ANY AMOUNT
Any
amount of my waking hours
are drenched in sensual thoughts,
sex images: simply glancing at
women will set my imagination
aflame with urges and flash-like
mind-pictures of an erotic nature
but at 54 years old, I’m tempered
and weakened by too much
booze and drugs and life to
travel any further than the
imagination: an observer
rather than a predator, sidelined
by age and ugliness and
addictions: let me tell you it’s a
nice place to be:
I’ve hurt enough hearts, broken
too many dreams, gambled too
many hours on worthless paths,
I’ve ignored the protests and
encouragements,
I can lean back now,
leave the helpless chasing to
those with a younger and
faster naive spirit.
NO ESCAPE
‘We
can’t do it here’ she whispered:
‘Why not?’ I asked:
‘We’re in a church’ she replied:
‘We’re in the living quarters of the
church, not in the church’ I said:
‘But it’s still a holy place, look at
all the pictures and crucifixes upon
the walls’ she said:
‘That’s just fucking decoration, it
doesn’t mean shit’ I said:
‘I don’t feel comfortable’ she said:
‘Okay’ I said ‘I’ll use my imagination
and my right hand’:
she shook her head and said
‘Well, you go to the bathroom and be
quiet about it, keep all that grunting
and groaning to yourself, remember,
my mother’s next door’
‘Yeah and god is everywhere’ I said.
John D Robinson
