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Sally caught the train to the city
Upon arrival, she looked gritty
For her tryst far from right
She tried the swings, this night
Though her dreams were cork, she lay pretty

Logan Robertson

11/25/2019
9,9,6,6,9
My little witch of where*
What happened to the air*
We were one loving pair*
With untapped rhyme and flair* Then your eyes and nose flare* The fuse lighting our fare*
The last I saw you stair*
Up up and away, where*
Lost a twitch in despair*
And gave an itch to care*

Logan Robertson

11/4/2019
Why did his lost love
Find the shoeshine
And not the moonshine
As she polished his walk
With closure
Her tongue ragging his soul
Their arch
His boot
His foot in the grave
Those lost steps are so unkind
We're they not a pair
The fabric of their souls
One lace short of an eyelet
Two insteps short of a dance
Then ... her kiss of wax goodbye
The ***** and spam
The breaking of a dam
He often looks back
At the years
Thirty four unanswered prayers  
At the abyss, the black
The knife in his back
The foreclosure
With no procurement
His mind playing no tricks
To her, it was just for kicks
She, twirling in defeat
The moon, the stars absent
Forever, the lingering pain
His step in time elongated

Logan Robertson

10/29/2019
She wanted marriage unconventional. And when those words reached his ears it broke his heart. He conceeded the seesaw but not the swings.
Walking the sidewalk
His eyes caught good sight
Of the throes of stalk
Hustlers of the night

He wanted a crutch
Someone to lean on
A women's soft touch
For his love has gone

As the satin dears
Rose at every thorn
His eyes filled with cheers
As soon his star's borne

He picked out a peach
For his picnic fares
A stroll at the beach
Without any stairs

Lust the price be paid
Two Franklin's calling
Such wishes he laid
For a brief balling

It was quite a show
Her a Barbie doll
Dressed down for his dough
Taking care of his roll

When it was all done
His whistle's alive
His meat had some bone
Men's crutches she'll strive

Logan Robertson

10/19/2019
Sally's eyes followed the bouncing ball
Up and down the rubber hit the wall
Peter patter played swell
Back and forth in the well
When the ball lost its bounce, her eyes bawl

Logan Robertson

10/04/2019
9/9/5/5/9

Sally's the love of my life I never had. So I can only imagine her spell on me.
Sally's heart sings nights of slow romance
Where eyes and tongues are tapered in dance
Kisses, one at a time
Lasting embraces in rhyme
As women's duet, she changed her stance

Logan Robertson

9/20/2019
9/9/6/6/9
Sally's oven is on highest heat
Shaken and baking the meat, a treat
All the trimmings set forth
Her bird's a rising north
The game ****'s glow knocked her off her feet

Logan Robertson

9/19/2019
9/9/6/6/9
Sep 16 · 126
The Elephants At The Zoo
The Elephants At The Zoo

The elephants at the zoo, lumbering in their cells, like deadwood floating downstream, where the mouth is closed. When kids arrive they put on a show. It brings them minute happiness to see the smiles, hear the laughter and to look into the eyes of freedom.


As the day moves on, it's a blur, as the sunny disposition is weathered and fake. Each movement of the trunks, calculated, silenced and each passing face, a tear.


Such sadness their eyes
Windows wide open to see
Pantomimes of hope


Logan Robertson

9/16/2019
Each trip to the zoo, storybook. There's a tale to tell. Even those in silence,
Sally sashayed straight to her man's  source
Overhead, their song played on with force
Like jockeys in a saddle
Two lovers rage a battle
That madly left their concourses hoarse

Logan Robertson

9/07/2019
9/9/7/7/9

The newfound fire, passion and happiness adds to the drive.

Note- I'm not sure if the readers picked up on the double meaning of the word choice of overhead. Noted 9/10.  To me, I thought it was witty. And certainly risque.
Sally went shopping for a new car
Her old one lost it's spark, zip and flair
She searched high and, ahem, low
Striking out finding her glow
For now she'll catch a ride at the bar

Logan Robertson

9/06/2019
9/9/7/7/9

Sally lives her life to the fullest.
Sally's nights in highschool wet a dream
She'd open doors for boys on the team
The nights on a carpet rides
Magical the zipper slides
When she awoke, awestruck by the stream

Logan Robertson

9/06/2019
9/9/7/7/9

That first time. The place, time, when, where, who I'll never forget. Twelve at the time, a sleep over at the neighbors. The sleeping bag weathered a storm.
Sally's has a soft spot for bad boys
Those filling her playground with big toys
Like launching rocket missiles
That livens up her whistles  
In to her moon and back, ship ahoys

Logan Robertson

9/05/2019
9/9/7/7/9

Tweet.
At the end of the bar, Sally sat
Eyeing the mice like a big bad cat
Her lone eyes beckoned like cheese
Drawing a catch to her knees
Fortuitously she caught a rat

Logan Robertson

9/05/2019
9/9/7/7/9

Sigh.
my little puppies

eyes at my feet looking up

pupils so playful

Logan Robertson

9/03/2019
My fondest memories are my two Maltese, especially when both were puppies, and found a way to my heart even though they tore up the living room furniture on that day I'll never forget. I arrived home from work and much to my dismay the green floral frabic of the couch was in shreds, spongy pieces everywhere on the floor. The rattan chewed on. My face looked worst. Who did this, I yelled out. It was awfully quiet. I looked under the couch and remember their eyes peering back at me, so childlike and worried, that instead of being angry I reached out to them. We grew from that day on.
Sep 2 · 390
Farm Pigs Go To Market
One regret
for all those farm pigs
wiggling their toes
one last time
on that ride
to the market
wiggling, wiggling
like there's no  tomorrow
taking in the waning hours
thoughts of their sow
and babies left behind
gasping the last breath of air
and life
the ride, the death march
the winding turns
the roar of a diesel engine
the small cracks in the crate
light filtering in
bringing tears to their eyes
the saddest eyes ever
and the final curtain
for somehow they know
the fattening
destiny's child
this piggy went to market
was a storybook fable
facing all around them
the others know, too
their hearts beating
down
when the truck stops
sorry
not for coffee this time …
collectively
squeals  abound
the crates perspiring, thrashing
the bounty of life
on the dinner table
the cruelty of such
for no cargo is overturned
as the hum of death
nears
sound of the blades
soon rises above the prayers
darkness kicks in
taking in the ecosystem
sadly
regretfully
as wiggling toes stop

Logan Robertson

9/02/2019
This poem tugs at my heart, for the reality of such, is not made up. The first cavemen had the right idea.
Aug 19 · 110
Poem Snatcher Caught
this thief in the night~ left his prints in sight~ on that wayward flight~ around the moon's light~ he stole what you write~ harboring your ship's right~ for his boat is spite~ he caused a storm's might~ buoyed by his own smite~ yet fished the sea, quite~ and caught an indict~ this closure shines bright~ thanks to a beacon's light~

Logan Robertson

8/19/2019
On another poetry site, Poetry Soup, in it's blog section under the title Thief, the author describes how a person   from Nigeria has infiltrated that site and has been stealing members poem only to take these poems to another site and post them under his name. This is despicable. The good thing is that this **** was caught, uprooted, and outed. Forever the moons light (aka poetry community) insulates from the dark and evil.
Yesterday's fears
Are today's tears
As a gunman rears
On evil stairs
With evil stares
Taking flights of theirs
Three steps there
Racing here, and here
With madness 'tween his ears
He squeezes off any cares
Gunning the airs
For those lost in prayer
As cornered life's tears
At the face, his devil peers
Through a Walmart s lairs
To hells kin he endears
Twenty two pearls smears
Stranded for his wares
Such hatefulness, he bares
His manifest he cheers
Today El Paso spits his despairs
And the neverending nightmares
USA, and mass shootings spheres

Logan Robertson

8/04/2019
Once again my heart aches for the victims (22 slain). It's like we're running in circles from evil and it shouldn't be that way.
Jul 29 · 146
A Whale Of A Night
Such a happy whale
I am
Staggering
Out of the *******
With a new friend at my side
Dark is the night
The moon, the stars
Lighting our way
Over the sands of time
Our hearts a racing
Urgently
To take the plunge
To go deeper into the unknown
Stopping to sight see
The sparkles in each other's eye
Welcoming are the movements  
On a wave
The shrill of the wind
And a wake of white water soon rising
Carrying, carrying us  home


Logan Robertson

7/29/2019
Jul 20 · 985
A Sick Child Invented
He should have been innocent at ten
Out from his mother's den
Not like a rogue cub that's bitten
His furry experiment, a kitten
How can he be so rotten
For he purchased a ball of cotton
It's paws bracing its last amen
From a malls pet store then
To hell rides, a mortal sin
He rode that bus on the chin
With a boxed ball at his arm
That little ball of fur meant no harm
Scratching the whim of the boy
His pet was making such a noise
All those rider's eyes cast on him
Red faced and on a limb
He covered the boxes vents
So no noise to him made sense
Taking the ball of furs' breath away
How can his head be in a cloud
The devil speaking loud
As the frantic meows began to stop
It's tongue flop, flop, flop
Frozen in transit, as his kitten soon lay
It's ice floating  in his shallow  bay
Dark was the boys discovery
A lifetime of no recovery
Remembering  those pinks be crying
Trashing about and dying
That little ball of fur sitting still
Such a death, is this bitter pill
For the young boy fell off from this branch
Unforgiving of the kitten's trance


Logan Robertson

7/20/2019
The writers pen takes the readers down a path that's dark and cold, where ***** of fire replace ***** of cotton. Sadly. He does imagine and create the day, of that child looking into the cardboard box. The stillness. The kitten's elongated body rigid to the touch. All the while his bay losing depth, life, and sunshine, as the years continued on. The part of the poem that I like is the boy fell off a branch but first he was faced with a limb.
Where Phil's ship set sails
With the biggest whales
His legend has tales
And he spouts no fails
In the depth of nails
His hammer has gales
With winding winds of hales
He keeps to his trails
Leaving quests that impales
Five consecutive NBA finals scales
With LeBron and Leonard's pails
He fetches more water to rescales
With Lakers, his thirst now flails
Bringing hope his ship prevails

Logan Robertson

7/15/2019
The Lakers brought in forner assistant coach Phil Handy from the NBA champions Toronto. One there is hope he brings in a winning  mindset, one that's contagious, especially ferreting out the best in his players. Two there is hope LeBron's drive is fueled. With five consecutive NBA finals appearances with Cleveland and Toronto he certainly has a good track record and foundation to build on with the Lakers.
FIFA'S World Cup a rises
To the US women's cries
On France's stage and blue skies
Tears fill the winner's eyes
Their cup runneth on highs
Where passion never dies
As the world watched their sunrises
Stunning those rays, the US plies
Over it's foes, goals and kicks lies
Each baking an apple pies
For the hunger now of the US' reprise
Proud the red, white and blue flies

Logan Robertson

7/14/2019
Congratulations to the US women's soccer team. That's two in a row. Two apple pies for my liking.
Jul 8 · 245
Jack's Somber Notes
jack fiddles life away on his thumbs~
the little digits beating like drums~
over loaf he brows~
buttering skid rows~
from his jam, he awaits for crumbs

Logan Robertson

7/08/2019
Jack's stuck on the corner of life, a quarter here, a quarter there, is his angle.
Jun 27 · 666
Beth Chapman Remembered
I can see a pod of whales
Off into the Oahu horizon
Where the sea touches the sky
Where on this day nature takes it's course
There's a calmness in the palms
Up above the Koolau Mountains
Rising to it's feet
Below the stretches of white sand beaches
Bowing it's head
Clouds shedding a tear
A rainbow hugging the sky
One last time
Kisses and love abound
Many moons ago life was good
For the Chapman's
A successful show, partnership,
Branches on the tree
His, hers, humanity and mankind
Especially the underdog
Today Beth passed away
A turning leaf, still green
And in the summer of her life
I can phantom those pod of whales, forever
Out in the horizon
Where my teary eyes can't see
And where my heart wants to be
Her husband, Dwayne, and family taking Beth home

Logan Robertson

6/26/2019
I was sadden to hear of Beth's passing. She was special in how she touched me- a little rough around the edges but with a big heart. She will be missed.
Jun 24 · 204
To My Dear, Amore
To My Dear
Once more
I speak from no blind
Without arms
Without an edge
I wish all the while
The well was face to phase
You were once in the hunt
Yet it wasn't your scent I was after
It was your fallen words
Feelings
Like leaves that still a windy day
I remember that night
You hosted and hoisted my delusions
Pried my pride
With your rules and my rues
Shall a man be so shell shocked
At you
At the chill in the air
The wave of a pointed hand
The weave of lost tapestry
Unfinished
I often think back
At my metamorphosis
I was once told
Your dialogue
My dying on a log
Like tomorrows frog
To take upon a pond
And to jump into it

Logan Robertson

6/24/2019
Of all the women I've met she was not the norm, or the spark of my eye.
Yet she was a puzzle. I couldn't figure her out, or come closer. It was looking at twin and that may have been the attraction. The irony being that that one chance encounter having a lasting effect on me, where I do often think about her now.
May 28 · 493
Spring Haiku
in the face of spring~
tulips eye the first rain drop~
ahead of sunshine~


Logan Robertson


5/28/2019
May 28 · 1.1k
Memorial Day 2019
A soldier is at the plate
At bat is his countries fate
His appearance is great
Holding the freedom gate
From enemies of US' hate
Such battle, war and slate
Battle worn, scarred and dictate
He stood tall of his create
Preserving peace at harms rate
He eyes the fences of weight
Past the brave crosses of his mate
On it's scales rests this date

Logan Robertson

5/28/2019
To the men and women upholding our countries peace, making the ultimate sacrifice, in upholding our flag-the red, white and blue-I join in with many around the country thanking you from the bottom our hearts. Thank you.
*Noted-Second to the last line I added. I think it gives the poem added depth and imagery. Surprisingly how one line can tie a poem all together.
Over the heel,
a sock,
fading in color
and shape.

Logan Robertson

5/22/2019
As we age it's inevitable. Arriving to the
point of being over the hill is filled with
prayers, mostly giving thanks to making it this far. Best wishes to all.
May 20 · 176
At The Foot Of The Zoo
at the foot of the ladder, a monkey fell~
six stories of rungs and she rings his bell~
he sat picking daisies off his fallen spell~
hands cupping petals of air being his quell~
poor little monkey's a shaken as hell~
his eyes run circles around the pink pastel~
as shocked onlookers stand visual at his well~
in his cage, his cousin's saddened at their shell~
at the foot of the ladder, a zoo's a cell


Logan Robertson

5/20/2019
It's like the monkeys, once free, are dropped from the sky
into Pandora's box, staring at the four walls. Sad. Sad is
their captivity in the zoo. To decipher their language of continuous e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ings, bickerings and fightings are easy-I am unhappy.
May 20 · 372
He Wasn't In Her Orbit
Her flame
spread upon
his heart
red on red
he faced

No prayer
in hand
or a cup
share forth

His full moon
ran away
leaving heart's

On fire
To seethe, where

Her pass hurts


Logan Robertson

5/20/2019
There's a poetry contest I've come across
at Poetry Soup-Charlieku.
It challenges the contestants with a new
poetry form-15 lines./with these syllable counts
(23232), (3232), (323), (23), (3)

Interesting form. Stimulated my thoughts
as I look outside the window.


Some men have a moon that looks
over them through and through and the feeling is reciprocal.
That would be the plan. Sigh.
May 11 · 333
Trump's Tax Return
Trump's Tax Return

Trump
Donned keys
That locked his guilt
From being opened by the  supreme court
A judge was quoted, Trump makes his own rules
He hides taxes
Pets his
***

Logan Robertson

5/10/2019
A double tetractys is a poem of 8 lines with a syllable count of 1, 2, 4, 10, 10, 4, 2, 1. When it comes to Trump's lineage the bottom line is important.
there he was
head hanging low
on a totem pole
for all to see
supposedly
their crucification, self imposed
like a bull seeing red
and feeling melancholy
he walked out of the casino
pockets empty, again
and just fresh off the farm
he now wished he stayed home
milking cows
collecting eggs
saving his money
instead of losing his scalp
to the Indians
he looked passed the exit
a door he walked into a few hours ago
with wide open trappings
where the glitz. glamor and neon
caught his eye and addiction
literally
the cling, the clang
the sound of music
Julie Andrew's voice coming to life
reach for the sky, reach for the sky
whirling around in his head
... a cut of cloth
who knows
maybe it was his grandmother's roots
grandma are you watching
yes grandson, I'm crying and praying ...
he looked over at the green mountains
the lost forests of patrons
the felted tables, banks of chips
fjords of  waitresses serving drinks
majestic, scenic and serene
and for a moment
he wished to be a boat in Norway
instead
instead
like always
he took to a splash in the abyss
******* and sadism  
his lost fork in the road
and like a billy goat
teetering on the edge
echo's  from the valleys below
don't do it , don't do it, don't do it
he peeled off all his Benjamin's
and credit
to the depts of the dungeon
beaten and wounded
where if only the next time
he rewinds his entrance
and finds his bouency and oars

Logan Robertson

5/07/2019
To my nephew, godspeed. You have a good job, good looks, especially with those blue eyes that knock women off their feet. Yet you can't stand prosperity. Every so often you get on your high horse and gallop to the nearby Indian Casino and keep falling off. My nephew choose better.
May 1 · 363
suddenly a swan
a million goose eggs

her first toe loop and axel

suddenly a swan

Logan Robertson

5/01/2019
To all those that never gave up.
Apr 29 · 272
ISIS Juggernaut
ISIS Juggernaut


Another
Bombing
Crisis
Darkens
Everyone's
Fearful
Go­od
Home.
ISIS'
Jugger­naut
Knocking
Loud,
Malignancy
Noxiously
Odious.
Plants
Quickly
Rooting
Suicidal.
Terror
Under
Vile
Wings,
Xenophobic
Yet
Zygodactylous

Logan Robertson

4/29/2019
Xenophobe-a person having a dislike of or prejudice against people from other countries

Zygodactylous- In birds, applied to feet in which two toes point forwards, and two to the rear. How this concept applies to the poem is that ISIS can strike from every direction, swoop down at any time, with eyes and a network lurking from every tree branch so to speak. Sad.

Sad was this last Easter Sunday in Sri Lanka, 253 innocent victims, as mankind watches in horror. These birds of a feather flock together, and their flock is getting bigger, and I wish that it would fall and end.
Apr 18 · 185
The Dragon of Notre Dame
I can't help but think
Of a dragon blowing flames
It's tongue
And eyes
Indiscriminately
Imposing it's will
On Notre Dame Cathedral
On the church, landmark, history
Veiled in its ugliness
The beast of burden
Improbable yet denomic
A page out of a bad dream
Ravaging it's relentless head
Flames spewing from it's mouth
Stretching in maddening red
Hell touching the Heavens
With angels everywhere
Crying, praying, willing
Blocking it's path
It's destruction
A timber roof
A spiral
Now layed to rest
In view of it's last rites
I can't help but think
Fictional this dragon in my mind
And people of all walks of life
Ethnicity, denomination, lot
From the nearby streets
To those viewing across the globe
All watching in horror
Emotional  and impassionate
Viscerally pulling the dragons tail back
With hopes, chants, bonds
Disposing of this dragon
From rearing it's ugly head further
I can't help but think
Merci
Merci
Merci
It wasn't worse
Notre Dame Cathedral
Long withstanding adversity  
It's foundation resolute
Strong, with a lions heart
And a stronger will

Logan Robertson

4/17/2019
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.
Apr 11 · 331
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.
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.
If Hillary somehow taken Trump's sauce
Found her ladle before her e-mails loss
Saved 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.
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.
Mar 31 · 578
Dare She Lies
Dare she lies
With a three inch putt
Tap in birdie
For sure
With a **** in her eyes
She looked askance
How can this be
It was a beautiful drive
Straight down the fairway
A pitch and a roll
Fortuitous is the bounce ...  swing
Now standing abreast on the green
Nonchalant
She takes the putter to bed
One under par

Logan Robertson

3/30/2019
Oh my!
Their peering eyes sit at the window sill-
Looking in they get their thrill-
A mother's brimming mess they are still-
Trolling HP gives them their fill-
Their calling card speaks ill-
Of good poets swallowing their bitter pill-
Eliot needs to stop this unwanted chill-
Of trolls riding the thumbs down, drill-
Their actions take a good community through the mill-
And ****** if I am going to watch the blades spill-

Logan Robertson

3/19/2018
When many voices speak up it should shake the tree. I write today, inspired by all the ones carrying a torch.
Mar 19 · 509
Bougainvillea
the fabric of her dress
clinging to a garden
of flowers
holding the contours
of her landscape
with blends
around the corner bush
for his pleasing material eye
she spreads
tempestuous the vine
colors of the rainbow
arching
along
contemporaneous
as the wallflower awakens
to the erecting wall
and winding trellises
tasseled are the tongues
as the songbirds
come to coo

Logan Robertson

3/19/2019
I read on another site (PS) of an ongoing poetry contest sponsored by CC. I read his poem and was really inspired. In this poem, I write of a garden setting, bougainvillea, the beauty of how the flowers spread, with a sensual meaning between the lines.
The eye of the hurricane
Swept through a country side
Not batting an eye
All those in it's path perish
A mosque, a person, a Muslin
Another, another, another
Until 49 were gunned down
Killed
Executed
And many more injured
Scarred forever
in·dis·crim·i·nate·ly
A finger on a trigger
Held steady
Unmercifully
Picking targets
To cries and screams
With no regard for life
Only for the shooter
To make a name for himself
His message board
His manifesto
His hate of immigrants
Muslims
Leaving in it's path
Bloodshed
A country's darkest day
His infamy
Who is this individual
The eye of the hurricane
Sitting in the middle
Teetering to the right
An extremist
Category of the worst kind
A patch of ******
Sitting in his landscape
Of his sunken mind
Incarceration
Laughing, laughing, laughing
Today, today, today
And this was his trigger
His devil
His dialogue
Today he spoke
Another, another, another
To cries
That echo
Forever
Long after the hurricane
Loses its tail
This makes me sick
I look up in the sky and ask why

Logan Robertson

3/15/2019
My heart goes out to the victims, a group of Muslims, at a prayer service and to all those affected. It's worst than the darkest day when seeds of this disgrace keep replanting and soiling the good landscape, Earth and Mankind.
Trump's bubbles surface
And his school covers him up
A little fishy

Logan Robertson

3/12/2019
The American public is asking what's going on. He has the gills to change the scales of the country for the worst, run his mouth and twitter in horror, have countless affairs, coverups; and alienate and belittle those not agreeing with him. He's the biggest laughing stock that ever held office. It smells. It begs for impeachment and a whale that's hungry.
Mar 10 · 824
School Time Crush
The best part of the school year was sitting behind Sarah. She wrote with the best handwriting, especially as my eyes copied her test. I would rove with my eyes, inconspicuously, at her paper. She was my conspirator with nice big round circles around the letters. It was a rush. It was like fishing up a river and all the fish jumping in the basket. For when she caught a king salmon, I caught one, too. In time I had a crush on her. Not because of fish and compassion. For she had such mystery behind those chocolates that melted my insides, and she was very tall like me. Plus she had heart, especially if I needed paper and pen, which was often. There were times she would watch me put my homework in my back pocket and hold a grin. I like that. Did I say she was cute? A few times we'd talk after class, and like a landed fish, I was biting on her hook. One day the rapids turned and I gathered all my pent up courage and asked her to the bunny hop. It would be fun, I pleaded. She looked back into my peering eyes, her lips a singing. Those black bears on the river standing watch, letting out a huge roar.

Logan Robertson

3/10/2019
Inspired from following a poetry contest at PS, titled a schooltime crush. I read all the entry's and it gave me the motivation to give it a try. Note-In this poems introduction I write how being the recepient of Sarah's windfall, where the river fish are jumping in my bssket so to speak. When she catches a big king I catch one. Of course I'm jesting in my writing. But to the black bears fishing the river, standing watch, are seeing that me and Sarah are getting closer they let out a roar in protest because more fish will soon be jumping into my basket. That's where my imagination takes me.
A relationship in both eyes
Stormy clouds apace
For love was only a guise
In a two-person rat race

When cloudy conflicts arise
Disharmonies at a trace
It's better and wise
To leave than save a sad face

There was no marriage prise
Or a loving embrace
No figuring out to surmise
The answers the hidden ace

It was up a sleeve-like sunrise
That morning dawn unbrace
You left as the rooster or hen cries
Your vanity lies for saving grace

Your new walks a baptize
A fresh flower in a vase
Blossoming for sunny skies
The vested card a blessing in place

Life is too short to capsize
On someone's null space
The pretense and sad eyes
So go, go, with the blues to replace



Logan Robertson

3/09/2019
With every relationship, it's a matter of having a balance of happiness.
If there's no buoyancy it makes no sense in being unhappy. Its best to have a contingency plan, an ace up a sleeve so to speak, if the relationship
goes south than to sit sadly and only play the bad cards dealt to you.
She kept staring at the full moon
Her friend, confidant, fixation
Regretfully, I learn later, her escape
I kept talking in eerie silence
And keeping company to no effect
She like a bird tethered in a cage
I remember that night
Solemn the scar
Fourteen years hence
We were parked along a beach in Hawaii
Paradise one would think
Man and wife
Gazing in the opposite direction
I learn later our lasting vacation
Somewhere in the distance
Happy palm trees dance to the music of the waves
Whitecaps accentuate the moonshine of the night sea
Statues of tall mountains stand sentry
Separated by a treeline
Rolling hills, bare picket fences
And a defining moment
In the darkness and contrast
In·con·gru·ous
I see a few horses approaching our view, us
No doubt curious
My wife jests, as her eyes, depart the moon
Her reverie, her prayer pause
As the inside of the car shrivels
My heart braces
Her words, one by one
Denouncement at its finest
As she looks back at the horses, then me
"Even the poppies are in love
They're so stable"
She says this over and over
For my effect
Her eyes glassy
Her voice but a whisper
Steel, still
Drawing the horses nearer
Where soon their eyes
And noses peek through the fences of gloom
Big and brown,
Neighing
She begins to tear
Again
Sad and red
Real childlike
Her past begins to flash
Where she says something to the effect
That she once worked the corner of 42nd steet
In San Francisco
A bombshell went off
The horses sank in their seats
Lava spewed from my head
Mount Robertson in ashes
No votive candles could save her
Or us
Her angels on her shoulder
Lost to her rescue
Only albatrosses
Sinking
Sinking, us
Again in reverie
"Even the poppies are in love
They're so stable"
On and on
"I once worked the corner of 42nd Street
In San Francisco"
Her words, again, like ice
Melting
Reverberating in my mind
Where did I go wrong, I thought
Melancholy on the rocks
That night a man
And a moon cried
The sublimity of her message
The pantomime
The mock of steel
The planted seeds
The turning point
I can only gaze at the rolling hills
Now with two horses hoofing it back to safety
The darkness
The lost rebuttal and love
Her full moon
So prophetic
My teary eyes and mind could only wander
Past the happy palm trees
To the pieces of the puzzle
"You don't love me any more"
Deeply, I dug, wanting to find the answers
As her eyes and fingers quickly curled my lips
My insides a mess
She blows out my candle
Takes away the shovel
I knew
She knew
No words needed to be expressed
Only these
"Even the poppies are in love
They're so stable"
Soon it seamed,
Seemed
Stitches of our love ripped apart
That car that was once parked along the beach
Paradise searching
Now more suited for a funeral procession
As we  bereave the aloha attire, hotel, vacation and then the airport
As two ships departed in bereavement
Rudderless, without sails
Our port becoming a pretense
The living room couch soon my refuge
Saturated with my tears
Faithfulness and honor
Her bi-polarity worsening
Sadly
Truly
I didn't know at the time
If only I had known
Had some understanding
The winds at war
Of what was in her harbor
More of the anchors of doom
Holding her down
The barnacles, erosions of her mind
I could have helped
I will always remember that night
Fourteen years hence
Two horses short of being stable
And the battles in my mind
The tears
The waning days and months
Where the seasons and time felt lost
A year later,
A morning dawn
Mourned
I looked into her vacant eyes
The stillness
She was finally at peace
No longer tethered or caged
There was a full moon the night before

Logan Robertson

3/04/2019
My wife was the love of my life and pain. She brought insight, intrigue, and mystery. She once told me she graduated from Yale, was a former model and once dated a Saudi prince, and I believed every word. What I can surmise about her illness is that her body was a cesspool of prescriptions drugs that only made her condition worsen.
His hearing loss is going fast
Speeding past his aching heart
There's no foot on the brake
Just inches of peril
And how he wishes there was a pearl
One, one with life
Not one that now opens to a calamity
As old age creeps
Wrinkles and gray
Are part of the bay
As the sun weeps on the horizon
But his ears
And maybe his mind
Are a different story
He sees an impending sunset
Where the bay meets the sand
Where the pearls bask in the sun
There's still a splash
A tongue roars somewhere
He guesses
He sees the crescendo
A beauty, blues merging with white
Ripples and small waves everywhere
Seabirds might be squalling in the sky
He hears nothing
He feels a tap on his shoulder
His imagination
It's the whisper of the wind
For a moment he's at lost
Perils
The ones in the bay
The purples, whites, and golds mutating, too

Logan Robertson

2/15/2019
For this old friend, there were setbacks. Life marches on. It was sad watching dad, then mom.
Every so often children throwing tantrums
Catch parent faces, bracing fallen sourness
Where outlines wrinkle rosy outlook sadly
Raisins having pits

Logan Robertson

1/16/2019
Read CC's blog at Poetry Soup, describing  sapphic stanza with a jux. I found that form interesting, spent hours marveling and researching. I attempted my first one. Not sure if this is correct-11/11/11/5. In this poem I wrote of a parent coping with a child's misbehavior. The effect of such leaving a wrinkled image much like a raisen on the parents face with the juxtaposition at the end of the poem, which is a play on words, too, raisens/raising.
He
fished
a dream
in his sleep.
He caught a **** star.
For his cast had a lot of whip,
stretching his limit and rod as far as it can go.
When the rush of a bite sent him reeling he screamed for dear life as his catch jumped ahead.

Logan Robertson

1/14/2019
Fibonacci :  1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21...1 syllable, 1 syllable, 2 syllables, 3 syllables, 5 syllables, 8 syllables, 13 syllables, 21 syllables. For a total of 8 lines. Your writer is having fun in dreamland as the counting of sheep on this night came with a twist.
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