Not trying to
impress
a tired mind
lines of stress.

The bruises inside
they show.
Cuz I struggle to
let them go.

I falter
like a stealthy oaf.
One slice short of a
loaf.

Such thoughts
tempered at best.
My smile a
bulletproof vest.

I walk on tiptoes
to stretch my calves.
Heart given out
in measured halves.

I sleep lightly
to leach inner pains.
The target myself
tourniquet veins.

Spiraling downward
the darker called.
I’m caught foolish
tripped and sprawled.

It’s funny how
a day begins
watching wild-eyed
as it spins.

Now I’m here
wherever that is
worse for wear
and never his.

Or mine for that matter.
Feeling pragmatic at the moment
Tattered quilt
textured patches
form a storyline
I hesitate to trace.

The sordid tales
unevenly sewn
binding or freeing
the choice is mine.

Silk and cotton
gingham hearts
satin overlay
my patterns reveal.

Sad days are bound
by crooked seams
playing hide and seek
where seekers always find
my peekaboo batting.

Happy days are simple.
Scars, stitches
hold satin warmth
bathed in beautiful..
imperfect but true.

I nestle in beneath
the crazy quilt work of a life
patterned after winding paths
and sleeping giants.
I watch as the roaming sea
(whose wandering rivulets unravel
posthumous biographies
with nuances corroding
the mystery of untouched sands)
fills rivers with muffled words.

My eyes travel
(distances beyond our curdled whites
to shores whose cultured tones
roll like restless hills
lamenting their broken lines)
with ships and dying sunsets.

You are venturing
(to dive in mermaids' coves
revealing their buried tales,
wrapped in murky clouds
of tenebrous veins)
and I am content

--to whisk a limpid hand
(in churning waters' waves
reflecting your seeking gaze
and the wanderlust
that simmers)
through my most desolate sighs.
England you had your chance to dance
on the biggest stage with France
you had your chance to advance
but you fell to Croatia's lance
how two stricken spears quelled the romance
and now cinderellas laugh at your trance
as a sorry Big Ben now sits in a prance
while the Croats sip your tea and perchance
To continue.
Oh, my. Now Belgium takes third in your belly up dance
You reign now like a fish at the surface with its sad eyes askance
Where did it all go Big Ben, the spirited stance
Sigh. To wait four years lost to be tickled with waning happenstance


Logan Robertson

7/12/2018
The writer joins all the other England fans in the losses.
To continue.
there's a fisherman down by the sea
sitting on the wharf
watching the sun sink into the western sky
a frown frames his house
he looks out the window
at his pole, gear
and especially that of his net
emptiness
metaphors that weigh on him
uprooting his garden
a garden of no delight
one lonely row of forget me not
and regret
all wilting
his foundation
lost
never found or realized
he pauses
runs his hand over his pole
like a belt without any notches
his grip slipping into the abyss
as the last of the orange
sinks
bleeds also
at where the sea  meets the sky
where his day slowly turns to night
somewhere out there he sees his image
in nature's mirror
at his crossroads
for deeply
and some may say shallowly
he looks onto the sea one last time
and he means what he says
and throws his fishing gear in
tears welling in his eye
as he watches his teddybear sink
lips gurgling
seemingly asking why
... why
he answers back
there were no fish or bites
in his lonely sea
or wind at his back
... there
his window opens wider
the sea not singing or dancing
he sees the ambient light
correlations
... here

Logan Robertson

7/06/2018
She still smiled,
even when she knew,
life looped over her,
like a hangman’s noose.
Imagined it was a melody she heard,
in the rising cadence of a dirge.
But…..
in her laughter was the echo,
of smothered sighs, shot involuntary,
from the corked up bottle of her heart.
In a hilarious company, she languished
like a cockle in the shell.
Seemed so calm
when a sizzling inferno burnt within!
Tears, long held back
froze and hardened within her eye pits.
Now a total stranger to herself!

On the beach,
as the sunset hurled ecstasy
across the skies,
she only saw the virulent waves
lashing on the shore
and their tug, inviting.
On the way back,
with an eerie interest,
She watched water lilies,
withering away in pools and ponds!

Neither cursed nor moaned
over her soiled identity;
but wondered why only discordant tunes
now came out from her flute
on which, once her rehearsed lips
created such harmonious melody!

Under her calm demeanour,
was veiled craftily
the anguish of a life time.

Yet in pitch darkness,
counting the luminous stars
in the firmament,
she lay-
a seed in wait
under furrowed lands
for the first summer shower!
This was written a few years back when I heard the sad story of a woman who contracted AIDS from her lecherous husband who was a truck driver! But she put up a brave fight! I don’t know if she is still alive. It is so sad that often innocents have to suffer in life!

(though I posted this poem yesterday, I feel there is some glitch. It is not visible to everyone, So I am posting it a second time)
She still smiled,
even when she knew,
life looped over her,
like a hangman’s noose.
Imagined it was a melody she heard,
in the rising cadence of a dirge.
But…..
in her laughter was the echo,
of smothered sighs, shot involuntary,
from the corked up bottle of her heart.
In a hilarious company, she languished
like a cockle in the shell.
Seemed so calm
when a sizzling inferno burnt within!
Tears, long held back
froze and hardened within her eye pits.
Now a total stranger to herself!

On the beach,
as the sunset hurled ecstasy
across the skies,
she only saw the virulent waves
lashing on the shore
and their tug, inviting.
On the way back,
with an eerie interest,
she watched water lilies,
withering away in pools and ponds!

Neither cursed nor moaned
over her soiled identity;
but wondered why only discordant tunes
now came out from her flute
on which, once her rehearsed lips
created such harmonious melody!

Under her calm demeanor,
was veiled craftily
the anguish of a life time.

Yet in pitch darkness,
counting the luminous stars
in the firmament,
she lay-
a seed in wait
under furrowed lands
for the first summer shower!
This was written a few years back when I heard the sad story of a woman who contracted AIDS from her lecherous husband who was a truck driver! But she put up a brave fight! I don’t know if she is still alive. It is so sad that often innocents have to suffer in life!
Next page