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 Nov 2016 Rob
Stephanie Lynn
sometimes i wonder
if you look at me the same way
you look at other women

sometimes i wonder
if you talk about me in the same
voice of arousal

sometimes i wonder
if you think of me in that way at all
i don't think you do
(C) Maxwell 2016
 Nov 2016 Rob
K Balachandran
Looking at your face
is wondering for long,
out of control, too.
and I love you for
enjoying my
moments out of
touch with reality.
You take me
to a space where
you exist unquestioned
by rules of nature.

On the dew drop
a glimpse of the universe

I read you like a book
as the plot thickens
you are a narrative
with many voices entwined,
out of the story's embrace I come
to look at your glittering eyes
and be real, out side the make believe.
I have still many pages left to read,
and in no hurry am I,to turn the pages
every page has revelations of truth I search.

Adorable your fragrance, is,
it infiltrates in to the subconscious
gives me a ticket to time travel
transforming  your fragrant notes
to a  musical composition
a mantra key to eternity's door.
 Nov 2016 Rob
The Sun Always Rises

and the dark always
gives way to the light.
Remember that,
in turbulent and troubling times.
Like these times
right here and right now that we are immersed in.

We are wading through this sludge with trepidation and angst and with the fever
of revolution.

Do we fight? Retreat to our separate corners?
I say fight.
Be bold.
Be ****** and resolute and be belligerent in thought and word.

Do move forward, kindly, and with the spirit of all that have ever been repressed- with the spirit that breaks the chains of uniformity and oppression.

Fight for freedom.
Fight for love.
Fight for a hopeful future.
Thoughts on current affairs...Let freedom ring-MLK junior
 May 2016 Rob
I want to tell him that I
love everything from a distance
but can cross oceans in seconds

that the people before him sopped
through my fingers like wet sand,
were ever flat and disarranged, empty
men with waterless words and exigent
appetites for my body--(that this is where
i learned the only way to please a man was
to give him myself)

I'm still undoing the knots, unraveling the little girls
coiled in lies, and taking mallets to the plaster molds
I built up around myself, mannequins for different men
and if there is anything I am confused
about it is him, his I-could-nevers, his frightening
absolutes, the ways in which he vows he can never change

you think you want me but at the back of your mind you want
something else

I don't want you--not like that. Not  as if
your worth was based on how quick you jump into the fray for my sake.  How many times you make me smile or say your name--however
you are soaked in rosemary and oil, folded up out of my notebook
into a thousand paper cranes--no, not even like that.

How do I tell you that I see your soul? Your threadbare spirits peeking out and the willowy fibers unraveled in your wake, that you are more than your mothers many marriages, more than the women you did not
want to have-- and deserving of a lasting love that transcends your mistakes and leaves your mirrors remarkably clean, did you know you can be clean?

How do I tell you that the broken do not fix the broken, how I cannot share the blueprint for healing but the burden if he asks--are we in the same book? The same chapter? I once heard that two people must grow in a similar direction at the same pace--are we on the same boat? The same road?  On the torrent seas, will you hold your own?

I realize I cannot come at you with such brazen artillery, that the paths I choose have no gates and are often unmarked, not even the grass gives way, nor the trees and twigs their secrets--and the journey is wholly faith, an expedition I have not fully taken but is presently on its way. When I tell you what falls first and where my priorities settle, I speak down the pike of the ways I hope to be and the woman that waits in whole.

So when he tells me I am confusing for the hundredth time and I sink somewhere off the Atlantic with the weight of my own thoughts, I am quiet.  His words are ever resounding but do not fill me up--just the glimmering hope that we will somehow

in the

I've been trying to write this for a month.

I had so many titles for this:

Therefore, my beloved
Grace to the humble
The Work it Takes

(c) Brooke Otto 2016
 Sep 2015 Rob
I Thought You
 Sep 2015 Rob
I wanted to scream silence
And hurt you with my piercing eyes
Because I knew you knew
You could read my mind
Or you were suppose to anyhow
By this time our inner clocks are perfectly syncronized as one
Or so I thought
And so I raged, impulsive and hormonal
Once again
I never thought you'd insult me or define me like the others
Or so you promised when you said--
I love you
Or did you forget I love you
Even when I'm moody
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