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Jun 2017 · 357
44
Robin Goodfellow Jun 2017
44
Sleeping flowers fall
past soft leaves, the morning light
greeting velvet dew.
Jun 2017 · 359
43
Robin Goodfellow Jun 2017
43
Nymphs grace the woodlands,
silver flutes in hand, the moon
within lonely skies.
May 2017 · 319
Wishing Well
Robin Goodfellow May 2017
Is there a reason
for
prayers?

Scared beyond the deepest
depths
of
sanity,

while clinging to thoughts
known
as

despair.

Laughter dissolves into mayhem,
the chaos tamed to a dull glow
within a hearth of memories, as if the
madness had hesitated to even
touch them, touch you, and everyone
that had ever appeared before you.
Happily, sorrowfully, singing to

children,
losing themselves to harsh innocence

adults,
relishing within the corruption of twilight

lovers,
betrayed through truth and fluttery vows

families,
lusting after loneliness of an empty hearth

friends,
crying upon cliffs of nostalgia

enemies,
silently stitching hollow smiles

allies,
violently tugging at their skulls

strangers,
anchoring to drowning seas.

So tell me, my weary fellow,
who’s seen flowers wither and grow,
who’s scandals blissful maidens know,
who’s loveless acts saints still sow,
who’s playing kings, both high and low,
who’s wandered fairytales, to and fro,
with a heavy, burdened soul in tow,

Will you search for the right spell,
mend the words, with only Death to tell,
while listening to bells of time knell,
upon the sake
of my
sinful
wishing
well?
Robin Goodfellow Mar 2017
I don’t know when it started.

I don’t know when it ended.



It began when they started shooting.

It began when they started rioting.



We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear.

We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered.



Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground.

Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds.



Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds.

They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines.



Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles.

Helpless to preserve the peace for a while.



Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us.

Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect.



Then they started shooting again.

Then they started shooting again.



We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.

We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.



Give into our righteous sins.

Embrace primitive instincts from within.



Turn ourselves into demons.

And pretend we weren’t heathens.



We can’t afford to listen.

Or watch fallen tears glisten.



Sing to our loved ones a song of pain.

Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain.



Hope for the days when we can love each other again.

But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend.
A poem about police brutalities and racism/excessive patriotism/isolationism between ethnic and racial tensions. This poem is how I feel about it.
Feb 2017 · 688
My Stepmother's Peace
Robin Goodfellow Feb 2017
What is the magic
the aristocracy was entitled
to rule over us?
Binding us to society and
the rules of the unknown
and the unimportant,
the weak and the lost
only allowed to suffer.

What is the magic
where the thieves and fools
fight for bloodless gold?
Lulling my darkest
silence to slumber, lest
the compassion shatter
like glass slippers that
slay soft flesh.

What is the magic
of those forgotten words
of corrupt innocence?
Where birds were birds,
monsters were monsters,
the notion of humanity
slipping away from my
happy beginning.

What is the magic
that forces me to lust over
every failed perfection?
Prayers unspoken and
thoughts from promises
I’ve only begun to

remember.

But we can never go back to those times so
long before.
I can only hope that you’d come quietly in
through that chained door.
Feb 2017 · 290
Shadow
Robin Goodfellow Feb 2017
A tiny boy races through a village, with
fragile arms carrying books, papers, 
maybe a pencil or two. He's hugging
the world with bright eyes, while
stumbling through the morning light,
traveling aimlessly in a field of 

ash.

Never looking down at animals'
hopeless faces, flesh blown away 
by the bombs of freedom, the
scorching heat smearing morality,
changing what should be,

what shouldn't be.

But here he is still, his shadow in the
haunts from forgotten tears

no older than I.
Feb 2017 · 441
Silent Dissonance
Robin Goodfellow Feb 2017
You look up with those big eyes
of yours, while talking about the
things you

once loved

while hiding promises you’ve
recklessly made to others. Then
secrets spill into your

heart.

And with a mischievous
gleam in your smile, you list the
ways you’ll conquer the world, all
with the

eloquence of a child.

But you still cling to everything
and nothing, as if you’ve lived for
a very
long
time.
Jan 2017 · 327
42
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
42
Through your white nightmares
and your lover's looking glass;
sighs from reflections
Jan 2017 · 544
41
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
41
Singing for the lost
while praying they'd come back home
to a lonely nest.
Jan 2017 · 317
40
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
40
Enchanting azure
caress withered sighs broken-
Humanity's hearth
Jan 2017 · 404
39
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
39
Winter sleeps in peace.
Magic slipping through the wind;
warmth of the humble.
Jan 2017 · 235
38
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
38
I hated your smiles,
screaming, shouting, angrily
shattering my mind.
Jan 2017 · 439
37
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
37
Listen to heartbeats
of the time I spent with you-
remorse and regret.
Jan 2017 · 219
36
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
36
Falling in love with
Death and his clockworks, though you're
still clinging to life.
Jan 2017 · 272
35
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
35
Wide, innocent eyes
Dreams and nightmares fall for you
like lovers in time
Jan 2017 · 243
34
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
34
Of philosophies
dead branches of withered nights;
rotting memories
Jan 2017 · 283
33
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
33
Elegies from hymnals
grace in nightingale cages-
songs for a loved one
Jan 2017 · 231
32
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
32
Drops of golden ice
Silver streams of silent dreams
mourning withered buds
Jan 2017 · 661
31
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
31
Silver lullabies
with warm candlelight nearby
for Earth's clockwork night.
Jan 2017 · 222
30
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
30
Weeping o'er the dark
Black oceans caress the pain,
of a loved one lost
Jan 2017 · 368
Small Prayers
Robin Goodfellow Jan 2017
Blessings whisper amongst our sorrow,
though kingdoms erode into corrupt golden,
and oceans bleed in shame.
Dec 2016 · 554
Once Upon a Time
Robin Goodfellow Dec 2016
Golden wings flutter lightly across the back of my hand, relaying to me traces of dreams only their feeble minds could capture. Soft, flickering melodies descend through their grey, wintry-like gazes, as their quiet thoughts echo through their silent, fragile words. Endless emotions reverberate from the walls of their minds, as I gaze at their rapid movement, endeavoring to weave their tales together. Still, reality and fantasy keep swimming aimlessly across my brain until finally, finally, I stroke the blank page with my pen.
  One by one, those butterflies stop, as they scrutinize the wondrous obsession which led to my desire, my passion. They watch as my fingers drum impatiently against the page, somehow sensing the troubled confines of my imagination. It wasn’t long before they stop floating by. Instead, they begin to watch me, with those intelligent, naive eyes of theirs. Whether it be from confusion or amusement, I couldn’t tell.
  Still, even with my now small audience gathering near, I am left only with a memory of what once was my own. I could only pick up my pen, and write down their movements, their thoughts and emotions, the curiosities and sanities that possessed them to be near me. I wrote down the beauty of their strong, fragile wings, all the while keeping their quiet sonnets to myself. I read and reread, write and rewrite, until there was nothing left of the forgotten, neglected space I once dreamt of.
  And so, I could only gaze back at the butterflies from my own madness, all the while looking back at the page I filled with my own words. Black words, golden words, words that carried both blessings and curses, words that tore my heart asunder, while keeping my sanity whole. Then, in that same breath, I shoo my butterflies away.
  I begin my story.
Because characters are people too, and they can be so very annoying.
Dec 2016 · 306
29
Robin Goodfellow Dec 2016
29
Timeless lullabies
from an ancient pendulum
screams for the dreamer.
Nov 2016 · 327
Seconds
Robin Goodfellow Nov 2016
Shrouded by hopes of bittersweet nights,
following sounds of evening goodbyes.

Tick, tock,
the pendulum
mocks.

A gentle caress from the lips of a soul,
while forgetting the skies of a beloved home.

Tick, tock,
the pendulum
mocks.

Crisp scents of a past, the weary now sleeping
not knowing how our dreams were still breathing.

Tick, tock,
the pendulum
mocks.

Sounds of your heartbeat or my own,
while within the twilight, the clock strikes alone.

Tick, tock,
the pendulum
mocks.

Gazing in your eyes, I think to myself,
the cascades of lies that my lips will sell.

Tick, tock,
the pendulum
stops.

Tick, tock,

the pendulum’s

lost.
Nov 2016 · 377
Death's Pocketwatch
Robin Goodfellow Nov 2016
Soft sunlight drifts through
a sea of melancholy,
while shadows of time fade
to decadent memories.
Stars shine amongst nostalgia,
beauty hidden in twilight,
as I stood there watching
the seconds fleeing night.
The frosty breeze against me,
I wander to the next life,
when I hear something strange,
a flicker of hope within my strife.
A man came to my pendulum,
with wrinkles beneath his eyes.
Hollow smiles grace his lips
though he still wanted his life.
He came to me in the dark,
as dim fires behind me wept,
and he told me his stories,
his dreams he preciously kept.
He told me his life,
both dying and living,
with the name of his beloved,
his heart never lying.

He tells me a time
of when innocence had flourished,
of when he played with a girl,
their love he happily nourished.
A young, tiny girl,
who was fragile and small,
but he still lived with her,
and gave her his all.
He showered her with promises,
with books and with words,
with fairytales and limericks,
where they dreamt evermore.
Sometimes they slept,
other times they were awake,
but he led her through adventures,
through truth and his own mistakes.
He could only smile,
as he held her hand for forever.
A white dress, a white rose,
to be separated, they would never.
Family gathered, and friends crowded
the boy and the girl, with laughter.
Walking along heaven and earth
they happily gathered.

But there in the meadow they stood.
They hugged, and they cried.
The girl had to leave,
but the boy did not want to say goodbye.
The boy takes her rose,
plucking it from her hair.
He carves a ring,
though the thorns rip and tear.
He slips the ring on her,
and asks her to come home

that day.

Bells chime for midnight,
the evening slipping from daylight;
he waited through the spite of life,
never confusing the centuries with time.

I search through his memories,
as the old man crumbles to dust.
I stare at him for a while,
and my silver clock’s rust.

I remember his smile and face,
when he asked me to be his friend.
I remember the tales he spoke of,
and a happiness that would never end.
I remember the clock ticking,
the minute and hours of hopeless time,
and the riddles slipping from your mouth,
as we giggled at your foolish rhymes.
I remember Mama and Papa chuckling
at our quiet, blossoming love.
I remember their blessings,
their prayers from above.
I remember the day in the fields
when I told you I had to leave.
I remember how much you cried,
through your agony and pleas.
Still, you stole my white rose,
in those loving, soft meadows.
You made me promise
that we’d see each other tomorrow.

It all kept replaying
in the corners of my mind;
our blissful words and affections,
ticking the rhythm of our lullabies.

I miss you,

not knowing what else to do,

while the pendulum swings

between us.
Nov 2016 · 320
28
Robin Goodfellow Nov 2016
28
Walking sanity
along the boundaries of hell,
a song for heaven
Nov 2016 · 276
27
Robin Goodfellow Nov 2016
27
Mother Earth’s sorrow
cries for her wayward children,
and I see your tears.
Nov 2016 · 255
26
Robin Goodfellow Nov 2016
26
The fall of humans
leaves only the earth to weep
for what could have been.
Oct 2016 · 230
A Passing Soul
Robin Goodfellow Oct 2016
I watch the light from your eyes,
the memories along those distant tides,
through the rivers and icy lies,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

Vines and willows brush you face,
caressing the seasons and changing grace
while sleeping in fields, the leaves now lay,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

Loveless songs by eve of night,
among the seas of candlelight,
the dreamers dance to sounds of midnight,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon,

Flowers along those broken bends,
the celestial petals the blossoms tend,
you murmur the names of lovers and friends,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

I lull you to sleep with your hands in mine,
as shadows befall through the thickness of time.
I watch your breaths fade from everlasting sighs.
Still, I sing to you,
and give you the moon.
Sep 2016 · 516
25
Robin Goodfellow Sep 2016
25
Watching the weary
rising from graves like candles
in shallow water.
Sep 2016 · 293
24
Robin Goodfellow Sep 2016
24
Siren wanderlust
calling from Earth's majesty
whisper remedies.
Aug 2016 · 261
The Wanderer
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
With your cheek against
covers of lonely, ethereal
clouds, the  shimmering
lines of your silhouette
within gentle caresses of
moonlight.
I see you there,
without misfortune.
Entwined in your restless
wishes, your fairytales
embrace golden light, from
the promises you’ve once
written - the sailing of ships,
fields of fairies, kindness
of ignorance, and melodies
within lullabies- you compose
them.
I see you there,
away from harm.
I’ve seen you cry, but you
endeavor to hide it. No, you
simply fall asleep in your
clouds, with stars and moons
singing your endless slumber.
And then you dream with
your blessings, yours and my
own, traveling blissfully to worlds
unknown, dancing along heaven’s
sweet meadows, while walking
along spring’s lovely breeze,
with silver and pearls at your
feet.

I see you there,

dancing quietly,

raised by sweet words,
in a garden of light,
with prayers to caress
you.

I only sit,
and watch,
as you smile at
me,
before vanishing
to your world
of dreams.
From the Quiet Blessings Chapbook
Aug 2016 · 1.1k
Shadows of the Willows
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
Where are you?

Are you here, hidden away behind
the blossoms? Are the petals kissing
you now? Are the vines sheltering
you from the world and every cruelty
in it? Are the branches giving way to
your loveliness, burdened by a light
heart, a heavy soul? Are the sun’s rays
adorning you, never giving your eyelids
blessed shadows? Will I find you,
amongst the willows?

No, I do not.

I see you sitting right here
next to me,
your cheek on my shoulder.
Aug 2016 · 182
23
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
23
Bitter gales resound
with chimes of a silver bell-
warmth of childlike hearth.
Aug 2016 · 836
The Seelie Court Jester
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
The Court Jester

Spinning
twirling
with you by
my side.
Within the elegance of mirrors and
reflections only the graceless could
see. Skirts and suites and smiles and
masks, many, many masks, with finery
of the aristocrats, the lovelessness of
the gentry.
Dancing
laughing
with you as
my guide.
Ballroom floors are marred by
glistening fans and jewels, adorning
elites and children, the adults joking
and the innocent conversing seriously,
with their hands carefully crafting the
facade only dreams
can bring.
Embracing
kissing
your light-hearted sighs
while writing

our simple end.
Aug 2016 · 251
22
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
22
Tears from morning dew,
beloved nightingales sings-
symphonies of life.
Aug 2016 · 221
21
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
21
A poet's sweet words
endlessly calls for the world
to see its beauty.
Aug 2016 · 248
20
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
20
Caressing a light
nightmares from a nursery
now humbled by dreams
Aug 2016 · 195
19
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
19
Quell your lust from night
while singing for the callous,
the cruel, the silent
Aug 2016 · 370
18
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
18
Withered petals fall
upon their thorns' sanctity,
their sweet scents fading.
Aug 2016 · 400
Farewell
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
Before you come away
from the day’s soft rays,
sing with me by candlelight
for your dreams, through the night.

Pray for stars to caress your tears,
and the moon to erase your fears,
of the monsters hiding in your heart,
the quiet from the morning lark.

Whisper to me your childish tales
of fairy dances and ships that forever sail,
of happy endings and fond farewells,
while we listen to the evening bells.

Sing to me your nostalgic memories,
of when you slept on happily,
of when you were but a small babe,
indulging in the sweets you once craved.

Let me see through your eternal dreams,
of times I carried you through the seams,
when I adorned you in benevolence,
and peaceful silence.

And as I watch you,
the light upon the fading moon,
I take your cold hand,
and whisk you away to the fairylands.
Aug 2016 · 215
17
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
17
With her sweet sorrow
bells chime in ghastly moonlight,
singing for her peace.
Aug 2016 · 221
16
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
16
Innocent promise
calling for sweet gracefulness
A child's lullaby
Aug 2016 · 476
The song of fear
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
Sing to me a song of fear,
for all the lovers you've held so dear.
You'll listen and watch their fallen tears
and call their names, not knowing they're near.

Sing to me a song of shame,
for all the blissful sins you've named;
wallow in burdens and sorrow and pain
and crimson from which you've carelessly stained.

Sing to me a song of night,
for all the times you've tried to hide
from the truth and reality of all your lies
as you see them now; your angels all die.

Sing to me a song of love,
as you walk away, unscathed from above.
You fly, now free, now white as a dove.
But you smile, and know

you've had enough.
Aug 2016 · 193
15
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
15
Tenderly calling
the whispers of a lover;
crimson from his heart
Aug 2016 · 496
14
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
14
Sing me to roses
Red and black upon the vines,
in the autumn night
Aug 2016 · 247
13
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
13
Hopeless melodies
from an everlasting ball-
he cries in twilight.
Aug 2016 · 156
12
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
12
Silent petals fall
upon your glassy oceans
those decadent years
Aug 2016 · 168
11
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
11
Tears fall desperately
trapped in our sweet memories,
and I watch you fade
Aug 2016 · 421
10
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
10
Sleeping silver clouds
along rivers of sweet skies
The evening chimes
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