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Prescott Robbins Jan 2017
They go into battle, not against an enemy seen
But of the human mind, in pursuit of a life long dream
A profession which defies logic, there's danger we agree
they long to be firefighters
so off to the academy

Their hearts call them out
ready day or night
To walk through doorways burning
For the ones trapped inside

Each time they leave the firehouse
Their fear left behind
Cars crushed together, bodies ripped and torn
Bending steel with pressure, the jaws of life once more
Return to the station, ready for the call

We each in our mind create a block
of doubt about the unknown
Bravely they will walk
brothers through the smoke

The fire continues to rage
each time the bell tolls
their mission is a timeless one
no one left alone

They run through doorways burning
of themselves they seldom think
Storming buildings willingly
For hostages within it deep
Jan 2017 · 308
morning glory
Prescott Robbins Jan 2017
Our lives are vast;
minds endless thought dreams of love
Souls long for oneness

Spinning silently uncontrolled through closed doors
Eyes upon me lonely, scared,
yet hurriedly confident
Feelings masked by frozen smiles

Lying down, blanket pulled over head just short of my eyes
Seeing through everyone
but not pass myself

As the morning glory opens to the new day
and closes at night
My heart opens to love and closes to darkness



awaken once again to my reflection in the mirror
  with eyes closed
Jan 2017 · 267
Prescott Robbins Jan 2017
family and friends are like the stars
some times their bright
other times without light
sometimes you see them
and other times  you won't


like the stars during the day
you can't see them
yet their always there
Jan 2017 · 387
Prescott Robbins Jan 2017
I'm thankful every time I see your face in my heart,
for it will never become a memory
my mind may steal from me
Jan 2017 · 267
Prescott Robbins Jan 2017
So it's come to pass
I'm asking myself alas
what on earth have You planned for me

I've been blind you see
Unbeknownst to me
Yet created for your love wholly

I've got all the stuff
Which man measures as enough
Yet my soul screams---it's still empty

I'm asking you why Your son had to die
Was it just so I may breathe?

I've made my own way
It's not bad some would say
However unsatisfying to me

The road sign I see
On the highway I speed
Reads ***, drugs, money and greed
Although I gave in
It was fun to begin
It's only led me further astray

At the end of our time
We sit and wonder why


Well I'm glad that you asked
For our Lord Jesus Christ
Preset your purpose eternally

So give Him your life
Lessen your burden and strife
Living by his book will set you freeC
Jan 2017 · 241
Prescott Robbins Jan 2017
I remember when time started to matter and I was unaware.
I remember when the stars were further apart.
I cant remember when the earth was flat, but should it matter I didn't roll off.
My belt wrapped tightly around my waist secured to my belt loops.
I've never felt gravity ******* me towards the edge.
However I've watched birds flying in formation beyond the horizon taking a steep dive and then gone
from sight.
Did clouds continue past the shear face of the earth unable to maneuver the ninety degree turn?

I've dreamt I'm flying with arms spread wide, over my house, the neighborhood, the ocean enshrouded within those clouds as we nudged each other towards the abyss.  

I've heard the old ones talking in the pubs, brandy in hand, saying that the first ships that sailed did see the edge.
That the whales gently tried to nudge the great ships back away from the edge.
And yet, the harpoons flew through the air piercing sharply, deeply, and deadly into the ****** sides of the whales' dark round flesh.
Their blow holes sounding their last lonely warnings cry,
turn back,
the edge is near,
turn back........
Dec 2016 · 316
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
remembering how I felt
walking through the door
wishing I'd never opening it


The words you said to me ringing through my ears

"I have nothing left,
I don't care about your feelings!"

The door slammed behind me
tight to the jamb
the windows shook
feelings took
my heart be ******


knowing you were right
I loved you with my feelings
which is never enough

Dec 2016 · 774
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
The eclipse of a sinking heart
shackles the mourning sky.
Sifted through tired trees
draped in red moonlight.

The echo of the bullfrog's croak
heaves its barreled chest.
Not for air's might
but for sorrow's last gasp.

It's grip weights heavy
webbed fingers twist and pull.
Hanging on the Lilly
the currents eternal drone.

Alone in the twilight
where darkness drinks the glow.
The pond's surface swallows
whatever descends the soul.

The trumpet flower silenced
by the wail of the bullfrog




Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
All I really remember about first grade is the long stick the teacher always had in his hand.
Several weeks into the first grade the teacher asked each child to come to the black board and spell a word he would give them.  When it was my turn I walked to the front of the class and took the caulk from the tray.  
The teacher said the word and I turned to the giant black board and spelled the word.
I looked up at the teacher and he looked at me and said "you spelled it wrong!"
I looked at the word on the board and then back at the teacher with a question on my face.
He repeated again "that I spelled the word wrong!
He said just go sit down!
The teacher asked another kid to come up and spell the word I did.
See, this is how you spell the word correctly.
I had heard this before from the teacher but I didn't know what to say.
I said that's how I spelled it, with a small smile on my face.  Hoping he would see that I did spell it right.  


He was loud now and I sank deeply into my chair.
The room seemed to get really big and he made me feel really small.
I didn't know what to say.
He shook his head and then shook the big stick at me.
I can see in his face that he's mad. He walks swiftly towards my desk.
He's right in front of me now and tells me to sit up straight.
His face is red and his eye's are mean.
He raises the pointer into the air, just above his shoulder, his arm half bent like when someone is using a fly swatter.
His eyes focus between me and the top of my desk.  
His arm moves forward and I think he's going to hit me on the top of my head.
His hand moves quickly and the stick becomes a blur.
There's an explosion when his stick hits my desk.
There's no noise now, everyone is quiet.
Quiet and fear settle in the room.

At first I don't cry, just shake.
I turn to get out of my seat to stand up, but I trip on the metal bar that connects the desk to the chair.
I fall sideways and hit heads with Chris who sits next to me.
Chris starts crying and I fall to my knees.
I try to get up but I'm frozen to the floor.
I want to get up, lay down, crawl under my desk.
But I can't move.
Some of the kids are crying now and I can't hear if the teacher is coming to hit me with the stupid stick.
I start crying because I'm so embarrassed.
I wish my big brother was here he would save me.

Someone screams, don't hit him again.
The teacher realizes what he's done and retreats to the front of the class.
He looks at the ******* and white clock and sees it's just a few minutes till recess, so he tells the class to go outside.
Some of the kids stand up but they don't move.
In a softer voice the teacher says it's o. k. go outside and play.
Two of my friends help me up and we walk to the door.
I'm afraid the teacher is going to call my name to stay behind.
I'm looking down as we enter the hallway and see the ugly green speckled tiles on the floor.
The closer we get to the outside doors the farther away they look.
With three squares left I break free of the hold my friends have on me and run through the door and then across the sidewalk.
While sprinting over the grass I look up and see the tall tree in the middle of the island that separates the driveway to the front of the school.
The branches are low and I can climb up if I can get there.
I jump with my hands up, and crab the lowest branch, throwing my feet against the trunk and pull.
I climb to the top of the tree and sit on a branch.
I almost fall out of the tree when the recess bell rings, it sounds so much louder now.

Another teacher is telling me to get down right now.  
I shake my head no and look away.
    I'm safe now, none can get me here.

I think about the word I spelled in class and I know I spelled it right.  
But all my home work and class work and tests have big red F's on the top of the paper.  As the weeks went on the F's got bigger and the circle around the F's got bolder,
and I begin to cry.

I'm not different, I'm just me.

I failed first grade that year which is almost impossible in 1957.
I returned the next year to the first grade.  The kids in my first grade class think I'm to old and big to play with and the kids from last years first grade class think I'm stupid.

That afternoon when I got home I ran to the boat house to hide.
I'll hide here till I get old.
My brother can bring me food.

I'd be o.k. alone

I like alone

I' am anyway
I say to myself, in a soft, pale, sad voice,
I spelled the word right

I didn't find out I was dyslexic until I was 22 yrs old.
Until then I was just stupid.

That was a long time ago........
this story is not true, my feelings told my mind how they felt, and my mind told me to write it down.  BUT IT IS HOW I FELT
Dec 2016 · 466
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
You're older now, a teen in full stride
You're a young man with a boy still inside
I've helped you grow and I'm proud of what I see
You're a wonderful addition to our family tree

Please listen to me as time goes on
What I share with you is life's long song
There's a bond between us that can't be broken
It's unspoken words of two men in motion

We can look at each other without a word
Yet we nod and know we've understood
I'm proud of son, you've grown strong and true
Your love completing the man in me too

Love, Dad
Dec 2016 · 505
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
As the solid gold reflection of the sun lies atop a still lake,
I stand at water's edge, in reach of life's shoreline.
If I were to search within would I find myself.
Seeing an image dense on the surface,
yet not through it.

I'm I as shallow of life,
or am I leaving a wake?
Am I extraordinary as I unleash my years of existence?
Outward I flow by my pumping blood.
As a rock thrown into the water,
ripples the body surrounding it.
Under the depths of the glimmer is blindness,
even on a summer's day.  c
this is from a short scene in the movie "RUDY"
Dec 2016 · 801
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
I went to a home today where they care for kids whose parents won't.
Most of the time it's not their fault.
Learning it themselves as kids of the dark.
A parent, an aunt, an older brother abused these kids one way or another.
It's truly sad what's happened inside of these precious little children,
It makes me cry.

While we were there the phone rang.
"It's your Dad, he's on the line."
A smile on her face, she ran to the phone,
and I thought to my self she's been left here alone.

These children are alone, battered and beat,
sitting on the curb their life in defeat.
At times I wonder what God had in mind when I see things like this in our day and time.
At times I wish I was deaf, dumb and blind, but that won't justify their pain deep inside.

Of course you're to busy!  It's just not your way!  Besides your child just asked you to play.
These kids' hearts are broken everyday by parents who didn't care and gave them away.

They spend milk money on drugs, drinks and things and come home and abuse these poor little things.
We needn't condemn nor cast any stones, just choose to help them
so they're not left alone.
They're crying out to you, to every home.  Don't close your ears and then wonder what went wrong.

We were told not to hug them or sit in our laps.  They're dying for affection, please don't turn your back.
We all crave affection throughout our lives.  A child without it
is devastated
then dies.
For the problem I speak of, there's a simple cure.  Your love your caring, please volunteer!

It's not your money, cars, boats or stuff.
Please just share your love and time with us.
I want to be held and know someone cares.
What if you were homeless, with your soul so bare.
This isn't a request it's found in the bible, take care of the orphans and widows,
to them we are liable.
the first time I went to Orangewood children's home
Dec 2016 · 301
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
As I walk through the forest I see, yet fail to see, the familiar ragged road ahead.  My life has been mislead through my choices since the beginning and I've only come aware of the blindness which covers my eyes; my heart; my soul.  My mind is soft and my body weak, for I've knowingly left my armor behind.  My descent into hell begins on a sunny day, with my walk easy and swift, my load light.  I travel as if I'm without burden, whistling to myself as I go along.  
As often as I've been through this maze, it appears to me
as unknown.

Before I'm aware of it, the landscape drifts into a solemn ***** shade of grey.  
My hearts beating stronger now, and I'm taken to a familiar place which I like.  
It's dangerously inviting, it knows me by sight and I'm welcomed and feel a uncomfortable peace here.  
It grows darker and more mysterious with each minute that passes.  My surroundings are covered on all sides, beneath and above me.
I find myself in a caver-ness underworld cloudy with smoke, filled with evil angels hiding their faces, their angry burdened timeless souls exposed to flames so hot they would burn the sun.  
There are heavy, slimy vines and black, dying trees, jagged rocks and huge shadowed shape cliffs.
No one who's not welcome may entire; it's our club, no entry for do-good'ers.  

At the same time the holy spirit says be prepared to turn and run.  However I'm not listening because I'm only for me now.
I give in without to much trouble to their serenade, believing you have already waited longer then you said you would for me.
"The what about me" parts are stronger and without my resistance will overcome the innocent unprotected child within me.

My wicked child listens to the dark side and strays, he likes the words spoken to him.  Their soft voices have sweet luring lips which complement and boost my ego for all the wrong reasons.
The bad, fun things are easier to follow, in fact I prefer their songs, they make me feel good about myself.  They stroke my ***** and whisper in my ear, they tell me I'm beautiful.
They remember what I like and they use my willingness to surround me within the necessary longings I crave.  I drink from it's nippeled soul, as they caress my head and say what others forget to say.  

The dark side kept me in isolation through the ignorant belief that there are only a few sinners like me.
The seductive voice says; tell no one for they will surely shun you for being so weak.  They tell me that when the so called good people offer help; receive them with steely eyes and a closed mouth; knowing that they're trying to keep you from what truly loves you, your deadly paralyzing serpent.  The dark soft voice hisses it's warning of treachery; their trying to change you, trying to keep you from your needs and wants.  
For they have taken for their own fill, but the dark one before me always promises me more, just for me.  The "good" takers have lost their ability to fulfill my wants and desires.

Without the strength of the shepherd I'm lowered away into the depths of the bottomless pit and become easy prey for the skillful butcher, who's intent is to cut me up in small pieces, leaving me just enough each time to crawl away, so I can return for the next shearing.  And I gladly step into the lifeless den which is shadowed in the dead bones of the selfish, slaughtered just moments before me.  
in fact I present myself as one most willing to
this would be well read with Johnny Lang whaling in the back ground
Dec 2016 · 276
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
Looking back on my youth, I'm lost in a whirl of thoughts, of great times when life was filled with sunny skies, bare feet, peanut butter & jelly and a hug from Mom as I ran out the door.  Memories so fresh like opening a picture book.  I'm "home" every time I think of you.  I wander back to places only I can go, I need not share with anyone.  Not like when I was told to share, to give up my favorite toy, blanket, or bike.

I can choose to share my dreams if I wish but they will never be given away.  My memories and love of you is a present just for me.  So many things I was given through your love, often with sacrifices of your own.  Never a word spoken of it then or now.  Knowing now because I'm a parent too.

Your love for me was baking cookies, a Band-Aid and a kiss, a kind word, holding my head when I was sick, carving pumpkins, always standing up for me, and giving of yourself without question.  
On my case, in my face and snooping around the place because you love me.  What a wonderful feeling; a knowing in my heart of a safe place.
Dec 2016 · 377
"yes you can"
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
A phrase repeated in silence on the crowded
cracked sidewalks in front of the A&W.;
Sung aloud in dark closets by every child whose life began
by slipping away.

Not by the select few,
but by the faceless swollen tongues of the "never were."
For it wasn't a verse one could just grab out of the swirling wind.
Had it been that simple, it surely would have been ingested into the sweaty pores of the last kid never chosen for the play ground pickup games.

(and then the street lights came on)

I remember swinging from the chandelier amongst the post mortem passing of the dinning room chants in my parents' house.
Those words "yes you can" shouted along with the accompaniment
of old blue eyes on the phonograph belting out
"I've got the world on a string."

"Yes you can."

"No Dad I can't."

"I know that you can."

Perhaps some day;
however it has not been this day or any of my days past.
I've yet to feel the tremor of an accomplishment that never was.
I salute those that have reached past themselves
into and through
the blind happenstance of the heavy chained vale of betterment.

the world I cruise through
holds no more pleasure nor displeasure
then the shoes I wear.

Come climb aboard the club car of the tireless train stuck in reverse
replaying the same unforgettable years of regret
on the overhead screen.
What I will not surrender has been neatly placed back into the baggage car to be pulled along with the strength I give it.
The engine never needs refueling for it runs on my regurgitated
"what about me " tears of steam.
This train passes by with an endless clacking drone
although it's caboose has never been seen at the station.

Night falls, lights dim, windows empty,
and the conductor sleeps.
It's cargo is for me alone;
but it's to often shared with the ones that have heard it
until their ears bleed.
Replenished each morning I awake from my repeated dreams'

Hear me now for these word I speak have impaled my independence from tomorrow's, yesterday's.

Dec 2016 · 300
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
our fathers son who art in heaven
came down to take the blame.
Man had sinned against our God
and lay dishonor to His name.

We push away and go astray
from the will of Jesus Christ.
We don't believe so then we're deceived
and lay open to evil ways.

His sons and daughters denied Him
to justify earthly greed
He was criticized and crucified
and left on the cross to bleed.

Look inside for His eternal guide
to His love and faithful hand.
He gave his life our Jesus Christ
so we would understand.

To give yourself completely
is not an easy thing.
But until you do, he'll walk with you
and knock again and again.

He'll never give up
it's not his way
there's nothing He can't do.
So give yourself all to Him
and you'll have His power too.
Dec 2016 · 541
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
For me the evergreen and or Christmas tree are the symbol of winter love.
Family gathered together sharing time which can be hard to find during the abby-normal week.
It's driving cars, boarding planes, boats and trains to get to your other home.
It's one of the few times a year when cooking and cleaning for large numbers doesn't **** you off.     AS MUCH!!!!
It's sitting down for hours with loved ones you've not seen for to long.
It's sharing stories witch otherwise would have gone missing.

Putting up the Christmas tree is a call out to everyone that it's time to stop for awhile and get together.
Time and distance may separate us however nothing comes between the family tree.  
Her roots are deep and strong.  The tree knows not of clocks, snow or sun; nor reasons why we can't.
The soul purpose of the family tree is to gather her children together.  Her branches are many, they reach out in every direction and continue to grow.
All trees have inner rings which tell of their age and time spent standing watch.
We have rings also however we call them wrinkles.  
Regardless of the names these lines are called, they silently speak of the years spent, whether they be good, bad, happy or sad. Yet many of those rings are an accumulation of a gathering of memories from our sub-conscience of family times which mean something special to us.    

The whole family each and everyone become the ornaments on the tree.
Together we make the room bright, warm and happy.
We create the magic of the holiday.
The snow falls, threes are white, our tongues catch the flakes and the sleds scream downhill.  Or, the sun shines, the palms sway, the tops down and the boards meet the curl.  Either way the next year seems better.  The days are wrapped with ribbon, the clouds aren't as dark and special memories have been given and received.  We thank each and everyone for a great, white, warm, wonderful Christmas.
You gave us presents we could carry with us through the New Year;
Dec 2016 · 1.1k
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
Every man has nightmares
he battles throughout existence
Shoulders heavy, hands held tight
His greatness measured by night

For that's when he's truly alive
Hiding under the cover of darkness
Eyes closed
Afraid, yet free


For until the light
That's what he makes himself

A warrior still
Dec 2016 · 280
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
My brother my friend, flesh of our lord's flesh.
I hold you tightly in my mind.
I long to have your love and understanding.
We belong together of the same heart.
Our need of life is without words.
We say little to one another but are so alike.
The ways of men are strong, confused and lonely.
We believe to share is to bare.
To give in is to be less than men.
We build walls, conditions and helplessness, instead of trust and friendship.
Knowing about feelings is easy, saying them is the hard part.
What man would understand me if I spoke of my hidden truths?
I no longer wish to live without life,
to walk alone, to be without feelings.

Walk with me so we my touch each others hearts
and feel the spirit of our souls.

With all my love, your brother
Dec 2016 · 260
Marks Miracle
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
Remember the greatest TV show ever?  I just spoke to her, she was attempting to share with me about Mark through tired tears, great gasps and long silent seconds.  As she maintained a cheerful face while looking at her younger brother laid flat atop fresh sheets half the man he once was.  "Twilight Zone."  The one that the guy was buried alive with the understanding that he would be freed prior to his air running out.  However he never read the end of the script.  Or; he chose not to.  Perhaps he, is we?  She said that his speech might come back, however his right side has received a disconnect notice from the landlord.  Life that once was; isn't!

"It begins."

Our wrinkled skin stretches the unknown truth of the sightless rumors to which we pay no attention.  One foot, less two.  
Yet all steps being left or right lead to the only inevitable lighting.


Some of those steps taken many days earlier, by so many, before we understood why we believed we couldn't be Ziggy Stardust.

"Give up the ship to the tenders, for they have gotten us this earth."
The miracle is Marks four years thru a stroke, walking, talking, driving, cooking, etc...........
Dec 2016 · 221
Prescott Robbins Dec 2016
I'm deep in the pit of endless despair
down far beneath black.
It's colder then pain, darker then loneliness.
Knowing it was "I" who created this heartless primitive poison.
Not only did I think up it's existence, I dug it out with my own wicked innocence.
A vile dying without death's escape.
I careen at life with throttleless control, seeing where I'm going without remembering where I've been.  
All my roads are curved, jagged, unpaved and wrought with adversaries.
Our conflictive partnership has me in front of numerous roads and as so many times before with me on my mind, I'm directed the wrong way.
I graciously cruise forward knowing that the next hills' valley is deeper then the very depths of a villainous soul.

As so many times previous, I run over myself looking through the rear window of on-coming traffic.

Nevertheless "I" smile at myself as if I haven't been here before and believe it's just another ride going nowhere by nobody.

— The End —