His face is shallow
with little life
No shine
within his eyes
that once glisten with life
A smile that brought life
to your eyes
Bringing my heart alive

His spark has dimmed

Love slips through our fingers
as age creeps in

My hollow man is made
of stone
His heart aches for yesterdays youth
When life was kinder to his smile

Crumbling to stone

Heavy weights seem to be
upon our souls
Struggling to breathe
Breaking free
To have one more flight
for our souls to soar

A dance of life
Laughter in our souls

We've come so far to gather life
among the stones
The weight of the world weighs
upon our love
As our hearts slowly turn to stone.

By Weeping willow

Just words of emotions

i'm sitting at a bar
one beer, two, another
through the window of time
monkeys look in
and laugh
how can i blame them
they ask if i want a banana
i laugh
i pause
i tell them my tongue slipped once
slipped on a banana peel
my tongue went to war
with all my loves
once, twice, another
and all my loves
all my loves in my life ran away
women that i adore
i look back at the monkeys
they scratch their heads
they're bored
they rise from a drought
dying of thirst
or are they dying of my story
so much for having no poker face
reminds me of all the women in my life
an open book
for me my eulogy
i order the monkeys  drinks
once, twice, another
my phantom friends
my phantom dialogue
the window of time creaks open wider
its a jungle out there
and i fell on a banana peel
theres a scar
and i sit
looking at the past
the open window
talking to myself
i'm sorry

Logan Robertson


Dear Santa

all i want for Christmas is a penny lover
a women that enjoys the small things in life
the lincolns instead of the benjamins
thrift instead of trendy
peanut butter instead of steak
my bottom shelf written poems instead of polish
the small things in life, Santa
the small things
is that too much to ask for
your gift to me
sans the star spangled spangled
the fireworks
the silver, glitter and confetti
i would endear
can you help me Santa
i dream
i dream real
a simple snowfall
me with her on the bunny trail
doing the bunny hop
later sharing a hot cocoa
borrowing heat, and time
Santa in my dream
i can see my mirror
a pincher
a thinker
wrapped pretty
maybe in ancient ski gear and attire
but together
and maybe in love
santa, in retrospect
i ask for a lot
because my heart would be filled
Merry Christmas

Logan Robertson


she saw sea shell standalone,
sandy shore,
standing sentry,
sweet songs
sharing soul,
soothing silver skies,
stark sands,
silhouetted silence,
spanning sea swells,
sea stars,
salted scenery,
seeing self

Logan Robertson


Here's a lone women with a sunny outlook similar to that of a lone seashell. She sees
the gravitation pull a seashell faces, forces of nature, which parallels to her life, a life that is resigned to forces of nature filled with regret and resignation ... hence her environs, too, salted and bitter.

The Lost Bird In The Sky

The Lost Bird In The Sky

Somewhere there sits a lone man
at a bar filled with lowlifes
lost in his thoughts
mad at the world
and at her
it's eight in the morning
and dawn is long past
and its eve's seat he'll now nurse
across the bar room
through the blinds, some sun peeks in
over the seedy rug
the sun drying the last cleansing
of a patron's puke
the musky smell the last of his worries
his eyes take in the bar
he intimates a hand gesture to other patrons
and a meaningless nod
indifferent to being friendly
matching the terrain
of the other lowlifes at the bar
all on crutches, it seems
on the wall
hangs pictures of storm clouds
black and ominous as his life
the first of his worries
him and his head always drooping
or were those pictures in his imagination
the music box plays a sad song
smoke gets in your eye
followed by lies
another sad song
stories of his life
grabbing at him
his worries
her effect
how poetic, he smiles
him in effigy
through the smoke in his eyes
and more beer
he can clearly see her
with a voodoo doll in hand
sticking needles in him
maybe deservingly
if only he could tell her a story
he thinks better of his thoughts
and a pending epilogue
thirsting for sunshine instead
his eyes glance up at the women bartender
plain, plump, playful, pierced
sunshine for the moment
his lips, and tongue curl
his feet touch earth, seeing if it's still there
as she lumbers back and forth serving drinks
her backside sticking up like a beehive
and for a moment he wants to be a bee
he plays with his beer bottle
running his hands past it's neck
caressing, taking a sip
thinking of his past love
the softness of her neck
her essence
of how pleasing it would be to touch her
her nest
if only he could be a bird for a moment
fly and be in flight with her
together in the sky
making baby birds
their innocence and first tweets
that would have been nice
now ... landed at a hole in a wall
his eyes and thoughts keep soring
he grabs more beer
more beer
pausing to grab some honey with his eyes
he keeps playing with his loose change
spinning a quarter
like watching her pirouette
again and again
she had that effect on him

Logan Robertson


I wrote this poem today on Poetry Soup under the pseudonym, connie pachecho. At last count the poem was drowning in 9 views. I'm not going to lie that was very disappointing. Maybe it's me. Truly I'm lost. Maybe I'll pick up a few more views here and light a candle.
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