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Neon Robinson Nov 2018
I love to close my eyes
& find a stillness –
in the turning world.

My imagination wanders,
to you.
My memories make

~ Ephemeral bliss  ~
Peaking in the swells gentle set.
Mid-solitudes of the vast Pacific.

Young honey lip lovers

Warmth in wintertide;
a wild iteration of summer.

Mio Amore
My sunshine in the shadow.
Addressed to P
Neon Robinson Nov 2018
Foraging finch, led amiss.
Madescent billows roared, as clouds enshroud
And a sudden cascade coalesced
With a well-timed jet stream
& menacing westerly wind.
It’s a monsoon, pitch and roll!

Months spent sifting unseen white sand.
The tale of how a group of Eurasian finch got to Hawaii. One group of finch are suspected to be the colonizing species for over 20+ Hawaiian Honey Creeper.
The great, green Giant sleeps all through the day;
beer-bellied, toes outstretched, dipping into the sea.
He lazes beneath the springtime sun, while we sit idly
anticipating possibilities and to-bes.

This dead castle bursts with life,
seagulls, and sandwiches,
and cameras capturing the view
onto something they can hold;
something graspable.


The Giant disappears at night;
merging with the mountains.
Fading into the dark, as the waning moon
creeps up behind and over and above;
dripping reflections to feel a connection
with the earth again.

Lovers wander now, wandering through the flirting streets
which tease with uncertainty, and curtain the
awe-striking depth of the darkness that dumbs their speech
as they 'turn at this corner and just along the promenade..'.

Pushed back by a blast of wind;
numbing hands cold.
Forcing them away from
prolonging a gaze on the Sea's cruel honesty;
knowing they would be driven mad
by endless questions of eternity.

Questions they attempted to drown out with music and dancing
and Tequila shots and the kissing and the music and the dancing...

But now in the air, by this high-tide, they are
'Have you ever seen the petrified forest?'
Will they tell stories of us too?
Life is so short and now is certain, well...
as certain as certain could be known for certain so..'

So, after meditating on the existence of existence,
they find refuge in the optimistic light of the stars.
Warmth for the spirit from the deep, dark, cold depth of the darkness;
'Because the night is so very young.
Look, there are still stars in the sky...'

Venus is inconsistent; an evening and a morning star.
And, oh, is that Orion's belt?

         Lying on the floor, in the morning, after a night of philosophy.
Written early 2015. (Was reading a lot of T. S. Eliot and Dylan Thomas at the time... and reading it back I can really hear it).
Hearing all the birds
singing so loudly over
this peace and quiet
Written on holiday in France on 4th April 2016.
Trying to practice minimalist poems.
Dawdlely-dee, no work for me!
Fell from a roof, and broke a knee!

Skiddlely-dee, skiddlely-da
Nothing to do, I guess I'll draw.

Tweedely-dee, tweedely-dumb
Brother Jimmy, called me a ***!

                         "**-hum, to you!
                         **** on my shoe!"

Fiddlely-dee, can’t blame Jimmy—
He’s always looking out for me.
Just a bit of fun

With Both Feet on the Ground

Hello, dear-one.
What say you in this lowly place?

"When twilight traces the terrace,
Touch the torch-sky with the tip of your lip.
               A sweet heat
Will draw your willful mind,
But watch! The torch-sky takes:
               Petals shower
The firelight blaze, like my root vein,
Spills languid and warm across the sky.
               Beauty in elation
               But now breathe out!"


Then Into Deep Water

Say, dear-one,
What's all this now?

"The blue of night is sweeping over the torch-sky,
And shadows steal swiftly as silent silhouettes,
               Come coldly dancing
Do not disdain—dreams form feather-light foam,
And fade heavily in a salt-wash, flooding fervently.
                Covered darkly
                ­Shiver forward
From terrace to sea my foot falls easily.
Then the eerie eels entwine in the brine.
                Feeling supine
                Let the deep creep
                Until next time."


But the Canvas is Brighter Still

Stay awake, dear-one.
Is there not more to tell?

"The search for halcyon has wrought hush-flickers:
Stars  staring brightly stripping night's dark domain.
               Drifting dazedly: humorous
'Theirs is a humming neatly humbling hysterias.'
Whispers Nyx, 'Dwelling hinders what dreaming may fix.'
               Sleeps slips
               Morning stands
Beacon! Bright butterfly, beckon bravery!
Billow boastfully—this day will be mine!
               Keep in mind,
               It's always divine."

Very good, dear-one,
A fine farewell.
Another poem I wrote awhile ago
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