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June Robinson Nov 2016
Kneel at that river bend

in supplication

in silent meditation

and hold fast to the quiet whisper that say


between heartbeats

in a slow lazy way

so that it curls around you

but you look at the water

and your hands are frozen

it is not clean

maybe there is another river

or faster moving water

you rise from the riverbed

you are afraid

of the water

of the current

you can swim

but you do not know if you can stand

at the riverbed

the current is fast and unforgiving

it moves around you

through you

it does not touch you

the river moves forward




it will drown you


there is another river

there is faster moving water

but still


June Robinson Nov 2016
This is the closest thing to honesty.

Every quote you’ve ever heard about
treating your woman like a queen
is right.

But it's not true.

A queen. they say. Treat her like a QUEEN.

But what is a QUEEN?

You, who have never bowed your head to kiss the earth, who have never sworn fealty, who've never beaten your brow against the rage of a world - how would you understand a QUEEN.

We have this image of spoiled royalty
a pretty princess dress
a tiara
a girl in a high tower

or a woman, on a throne, cold and dismissive.

But that's not right
to the people
to the land
to a kingdom.

A QUEEN is a country.
A QUEEN is only ever A QUEEN.

You have a choice.
Blessed are you, man.
You have a choice.
Be a peasant
a blacksmith
a merchant
be anything in the world.

But treat your woman like A QUEEN.
So be a knight.  

Not a knight in shining armor
She doesn't need to be saved.

She walks with crushed empires in her shoes
She rises.

Maybe blood drips from her sword
Maybe it’s a slaughter
But she builds the empire.  

My head is my throne
My lip is my kingdom
My eyes are my army
My breath is my law
My hands are my sword
My heart is my crown.

I am a country at war
an empire in birth
a court on fire.

I am a warning
and a reminder

There’s a reason why, exactly, the QUEEN is the deadliest player on the board.
June Robinson Feb 2016
I am in love with a poet
I love the way he bends words and the world till they tie into his own view
The way he changes reality so that it fits what he thinks the world should be
Not what it is.
I'm in love with a poet. But I've never written a single poem.
I feel like poetry is a state of mind.
He's a poet.
He is a poet.
I grow weary of poetry

My poems always work in large weaving arcs
They make no sense. Changing meaning faster then I write
I don't understand them.
In short, my poetry *****
But still. It's poetry

I wonder if I say it out loud does that change it.
Do I change it.
Have I changed?
Do I want to.
Does saying something change anything?
I adore you? I love you? I miss you?
He knows that already.

Poetry scares me.
So I am bad at it.

You have to learn to let go.
You have to fall into it.
You have to have something to fall into.

I am in love with a poet.
And he's in love with poetry
June Robinson Jun 2013
They say
You are what you eat
So I pick beautiful flowers
And devour them.

Don't be afraid
They take root in my brain
pinch my eyes closed
pry my heart open
Slip seeds into my bloodstream

I devour flowers
Because they are small beautiful things
And I want to be
In that same fragile and wilting way.

I take them from the ground
so that one day I can
wither in embraces
And die in glass containers
On your bedside table
In your living room
Still and stuck and slow

I put them in my mouth whole
Petals tickling my tongue
Sliding down my throat
Roots melding into flesh

And they taste like sunshine and dirt
And something distinct
that feels like

I devour them
till I have a garden growing in my stomach
Breaking across my skin

And I will keep
Till they take root in my heart
And I am made of fragile
That you can devour.
June Robinson Jun 2013
If I was braver
I'd tack a world map to my wall
and put a pin
in all the places that scared me

little yellow and green dots
that show me
how little I know of the world

and I'd go to everyone of those places
through my lifetime,
and stay for a little
or a lot
until I could remove
that coloured dot
off the map on my wall

but I am not brave enough
to wake every morning
to a reminder
that I am afraid.

If I was kinder
I would leave notes
on sticky pads
with little lines of poetry
or things that remind me
of you

and I'd leave them where I know you could never see them
encoded into paintings that I hide in drawers
in languages that I know you don't yet speak

I'd fill books
with slanted lines written in blue ink
and sketches of your heart beat
and I'd keep my kindness close to my chest

but I am not kind enough
to love you
without wanting you to love me in return.

one day,
I will put up a world map
and put blue pins for some of the places that reminds me of you
and never explain it, even when you ask
and fill a little yellow notebook with my fears and doubts
and give it to you in a grey box
with a scarf or a sweater
or something innocuous.

and I will consider that a good start
towards wanting
without needing.
June Robinson Jun 2012
“*******” She writes
and deletes it
“I’m Alone” She writes
and deletes it.
The best thing about texting is the delay

It’s not that you don’t say what’s on your mind.  
It’s that you don’t say the FIRST thing on your mind.

I’m tired.

I’m tired, and I’m lonely

But most of all, I am a bad poet.
June Robinson Mar 2012
I'm worried you think I'm a ****,
or a *****,
or worse yet

I'm bad at putting myself into words
which is funny
because I can never stop talking.

I'm worried you think that I don't adore
that you think I'm drunk on his fingertips
that you think that I don't think about this
with careful measured thoughts
in between heartbeats.

I'm bad at showing my thinking
which is stupid
because all I do is think

I'm worried that you think he can forget you
or worse yet,
that I can.
no one can forget you, love.

I worry.
I worry about you.
which is silly
because why would you need me to worry for you.

but I'm beginning to feel.
to feel every single breath and every single blink and every single tug
I'm happy.
and I want you to be too.
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