happiness is all i want
it's not a front
or something i can roll in a blunt
not something i can drink
or swish
or sweet
not something to eat
or a quick feel
not a tug on the reel
a new steering wheel

but it's what i want
and i'm gonna find it
trying to figure out where to look
i've read a number of books
to see what in the world
happiness looks
like

i saw it in a kid
he was riding his bike
and another little boy with his father
flying a kite
i saw it in the face
of the kenyan who won the boston marathon race
i saw it in the eyes
of a young couple
and it was two guys
i see it in the sun
in the beaming rays
when it goes on my face
my face gets grazed
i smell it in the kitchen
mother's cooking dinner
the roast is in the oven
and the dog is by her side
i saw it in her face
in her eyes
when we came home from work
she'd jump off the couch
in a very quick spurt
and start barking
and jumping
and licking
and playing
happiness
i miss it
i wish it was staying

i'm gonna find it
no matter how hard i try
i'm going to make it
through the world i'll glide
in happiness
i always strive
for happiness
but how do i get it?
do i stop try?

or go harder?
travel waters unchartered
by any boat, bus, or marta
i seek happiness
it'll make me smarter

happiness
i'd rather it not
have a price
can't be bought
but happiness
past present
is all i sought
all i seek
and in the future i dream
of happiness

I am awoken by a child’s faint cry.
As I look around I see all these women; waiting oh so patiently.
Each waits for a nurse to call her name.
For a man to hold her hand.
For those obscure nights to dissipate into a dream.
For the bumps on their bellies
to be worth a soul, a sin, a miraculous thing.
No, no one has a ring..
There’s an awkward silence.
The siblings of the unborn interrupt.
Some fragile women secretly thankful to be distracted away from their ambivalent thoughts and trepidation seek refuge in reprimanding the unruly children.

A tumult of questions inundate my mind.
Incessant raindrops leaving puddles of muddy thoughts.

There is a girl across the room she had shared with the group that her husband had gone to the restroom the day before and would soon join her. I fake a pitiful smile and yet hope that he does.  

Until a woman dressed in white yells my name and I clutch my empty hand.

poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compose a poem
no one understands it
it never says "love me" for poets are
beyond love
it never says "accept me" for poems seek not
acceptance but controversy
it only says "i am" and therefore
i concede that you are too

a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not delight discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious


which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say

The first time I saw
Betty Grater swoon
and heard Ms Arnault sigh
in expectation
I knew I had found the answer
that all young men seek

Instead of good looks
and the scent of money
I realized that the tippled sound of Thomas,
the piston drive of Cummings,
or shroud and mystery of Rimbaud
could accomplish what fumbling
postures never could

They could make a button come
undone and stay that way
part a leg and have it
remain languid
see an arm brushed
and not pulled back

Ah, but women are not
so easily wooed
You see, poetry is but a beginning
once is never sufficient
and Cyrano found
he was forced to return
and return
to keep those fires burning

Soon you discover it is not enough
to merely sing another’s tune
and you  must learn the art
whose muse is not so
easily tamed

So the new poems to Emily or Mary Lou
are steeped in ignorance, stumbling tongue
and emotion that knows only extreme
a Dickinson hodgepodge of flowers,
spring-rain and metaphor trampled
by testosterone expectation

And as these women grow
you discover the magic is fading
that they have learned these lures
and their virtue will not part quite so easy

Ah, but art is ever inventive
and for those hard to dissemble
there are the more obscure songs
of Baudelaire, Jefferson and Yeats
these will free even the firmest
of corset-strung objections

But to truly reach the promised land
there is need to create one’s own
to wrestle the evening with nature’s muse
and tease a line between the sheets
Then, if you've still a mind
you can glance to see
if her clothes have been shed

But the sad and beautiful truth
is that poetry’s muse will suffer no others
rarely will that graceful form stay the course
she will leave to find yet another
that can keep them
coming

Ten thousand years have gone
Since the guarding of the stone.
Many sordid battles were fought
And all ended with scattered bones.

It is written that only one whom is pure of heart
May lift the stone without swift death.
It is guarded by the eldest of all magic
Which captivate our souls and rob our breath.

Now, however, it is concealed underground.
It was hidden after the many battles and nearly forgotten.
But the Alcapye, ancient guardians of the stone,
Had since passed their knowledge beyond the Great Mountain.

Over the seas and through the jungles,
You'll come at last to what may become your tomb.
In the forsaken desert of the Alcapye,
There it lies: be it our hope or our doom!

It is set in a sacred chest of golden yew
Waiting for the heart that can set it free.
It was marked by the Alcapye,
So only the Chosen One may see.

Eleven days you'll have to seek,
And behold the enchanted stone.
Call upon the Alcapye to guide you
And to you your road be shown.

You shall begin your quest at dawn.
We'll hope that it will not be permanent.
You shall have power beyond measure
If you possess the Stone of Judgment.

If you should fail to retrieve the stone,
Say, 'Farewell' to all those you know.
The Earth shall crumble. The Earth shall fall.
From a nuclear war from every foe.

Written by: Andrew D. Robertson