Logan Robertson

Logan Robertson Apr 2019

Tiger Wood's wins the Masters today
Another green jacket comes his way
Finally, his image stands large at the doorway
For it's been a knock and a hiatus of his cache
As the years after 2008 suffered from his play
No major championships one can say
Only gossip headlines, mugshots, and injuries in gray
Where once a phenom in his twenties on display
Such greatness and legend his star headway
His mid-thirties saw some of his luster fall in dismay
With mostly self-injury to his ego in disarray
It was hard watching a once proud man's fall and decay
Especially one that held his world at bay
With his swagger, swoosh, and shine turning to clay
And like a good drama of accents and descents convey
With the wait and weight on his shoulders belay
He turned the storybook pages of dismay today
The pressure of his swing, swing, and putt on display
And how he uncorked his demons is a pure bouquet
After 43 years of his years, he took the fairway
Running, running, today after his prey
It was great seeing his game not get away

Logan Robertson

4/14/2019

Along with other patrons at a McDonald's I watched the Master's this morning. I had a Big Breakfast but was in for a bigger surprise. Coffee never tasted so good. So, too, were the tears. It is days like today that you live for, and give thanks to, namely rooting for a hero and a comeback. Thank you, Tiger. To give you a perspective of how big today was-take note that of
Wood's 80 tour wins 71 came prior to 2010. In 2016, 2017 he was out with an injury. In 2013 he did well. Yet there was so much missing from his song, one his life being together (especially his relationship problems with women and caddies), that I was happy to see him sing today.

#tigerwoods #masters #golf #comeback

Apr 2019

L B

Phoebe Will Call. Andi Will Write Letters

Snow plows beeping
Reverse whine and scrape
Swirling blizzard of waking—Strange
in this place where
boredom banks both snow and cold
Are my eyes running?
After all
there's a stiff wind, and it’s 18 below....

Pictures and phone calls make up my family
Stray cats eat suet I leave for the birds
who make names for themselves in sunlit bushes
Love these more than...

my hearse of a job

where that ice cream vat—slipped
smashed
my sodden dish-doin’

fingers    against     sink

Pain mounts its insurrection!
Ambushed!
from every direction
Fainting in steam
Squeezing my eyes
till the blood shuts my brain-failing
Down my wrist
all over
the front of this rubber apron....

Someone hates me somewhere

Someone found me more tenacious
than a road-**** skunk!

I eat    I drink    I work    I sleep
between these vicious icicles

-18F = -28 C

"I'm lovin' it!"
Only one of the sorrows of Portland, Maine, winter 1997-- to whom it may concern.

Logan Robertson Apr 2019

LA Lakers Toy Buses

six seasons awash
another spring *******
bus streaking playground

Logan Robertson

4/10/2019

To say that the LA Lakers of the NBA is in a crisis is an understatement. Six years of no rain. Or sunshine. Six consecutive years of unhappy faces of fans enduring one bus short of a barn. No playoff appearances, nothing, but a bus being stripped of its parts. When you look at the Lakers then, when the father (Jerry Buss) ran the franchise, and now it's hard not to refute that the current Buss' (six siblings that have 66% ownership of the Lakers), led by Jeanie are a bunch of toy clones of the father. Since the father died in 2013 the Lakers management has been tinkering not thinking.

#la #lakers #haiku

Logan Robertson Apr 2019

Courting The First Sign Of Spring

I sit at the window sill
Summoning for spring's till
Of thickets of green mandates fill
The procession and succession with frill
All rise with new blossoms being a thrill
My spring garden fitting the bill
For the little birdies that mill
With their pleas of a worms swill
First, let's arrest the lingering winter chill
The deliberating ill
Citing that bitter bitter pill
That sentences my grief's overspill
With the last backlog of snow on the hill
Of the icy roads that overkill
Free my hammer from waiting still
For the arrival of springs shrill
And the exit of winter's will
My eyes hold court for the first daffodil

Logan Robertson

4/08/2019

When spring arrives here in Anchorage, snow and ice turn to slush,
the blue transition from black and gray. and hibernating bears come out of their dens-not that I want to meet them. It's the time of year that the oven
warms with an apple pie, and the aroma of summer is around the corner. This birthing never gets old and one looks forward as the child springs forth in all of us.

#monoryhme #springtime

Logan Robertson Apr 2019

If Only Hillary Had A Noodle

If Hillary somehow taken Trump's sauce
Found her ladle before her e-mails loss
Dumped all the macaroni
From the plate of Trump phoney
Our stomachs now would not ache, turn and toss

Logan Robertson

4/04/2019

Hillary had the kitchen sink, was a huge favorite on betting sites and had the presidential election won in her back pocket. When it counted the most- the debates, defending the discrepancy regarding her e-mails she became doe eyed and became the hunted.

#hillary #trump #ifonly #limerick

Logan Robertson Apr 2019

Reflections Rise On The Surface Of The Creek

Such creaking of old
                            clutched hands,
  wrinkles expressed
                               mark transient veins of time.

Logan Robertson

4/03/2019

I think as one ages they go up the proverbial creek. The days at the rivers mouth, in it's
longevity, come winding down from the mountain. I see this analogy in nature. I see my hands. The verbage expressed holds two meanings here, regretfully.

#monoku #life #oldage