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

Logan Robertson

4/03/2019

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

We Were No Longer Hermits

She came into my life
By the sea.
We were like two hermit *****
Sunning on the shore.
I looked at her
She looked at me.
We both looked away.
Says who
To the lost love at bay.
She peeked again
The shyness began to reign.
Simultaneous bestow
Hello launched its flow
We both now had a glow.
The inches by inches we came to be.
Into the sea, we go
Both of us filled with glee.
We swam the floor
Passing
Rock bottoms
And low tides
To opening a new door
At the core.
At the shore
She was swell
I was in her spell.
She rocked the boat
I felt her love by rote.
And
Off into the blue yonder
We went far,
Side by side,
Through the highest tide
We are.
A seed was soon implanted
The kingdom was enchanted.
Mama and the hermitage chanted.
When the shells came off
Through the seas we are coif.
As a new life permits
We were no longer hermits.

Logan Robertson

10/18/2018

To my imagined love
Forget the giraffe ride,
Our desert trek
On a magic carpet ride.
Life spoke.
Reality listened, for once.
And the taxidermist stopped the game.
For what was once painfully alive is now stuffed.
It hurts.
To have seen the tears in the giraffe's eyes,
His mirrored innocence
Forever immortalized in my memory.
Undoubtedly,
Now sitting in someone else's collection.
And to have imagined the howls of the Serengeti
Me wrestling with the lions,
Valor shining,
Saving you from the lions,
All in the sunset of your hair blowing in the wind,
Wild fires, too
Flames abound, erecting.
Yet
All this fairy tale,
Angel dust seeding from where
Who knows?
Maybe from catching the look in your eyes, once.
But the tears of the giraffe,
His innocence
Mirrored
Was for forever real, my love.
Bye, my imagined love.

Logan Robertson

9/13/17

jack's
eyes threw
darts at his
he couldn't stand
his target of life
growing smaller by day
the eye of the bull sees red
when wife left she became a blur
the mat at her door denied killed him

Logan Robertson

5/30/2018

Jack's needle now thread a stitch of dames bred
Don't look far ahead, Jack's heart now bled
He cried the sea of red, the stirred waves of dread
For wise owl's wing spread, parting words in his head

Let hindsight be wed and hotbed be dead
Let your swing be fled and loving paths be fed
Listen to words said, settle the homestead
For homes on the heart with a wife ... better stead

Logan Robertson

6/7/2018

He drove his car timely through her tunnel of love
Full throttle zest, he bore a flitting of whiting doves
Warmth's ah peaking from their nest
Sweet coos a heaving from her chest
Parked at the end of her tunnel his treasure troves

Logan Robertson

6/30/17

To my baker, lovely friend
can I visit someday and come over?
Your cakes are still my godsends
though icings hungover.

Your frosting's in the air,
my obstinate competes.
Can a nice guy, now, take your chair
as your hands warm his seat.

As sour is to sweet riddles
and my fiddle once played mean songs.
Can we meet once in the middle
and makeup for all my wrongs?

Dough, ray, me a tune someday
for my heart will always find your way.

Logan Robertson
8/30/17

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

trees
rise up
wind, and sun
shine knocking on
woods

Logan Robertson

7/31/2018

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

My bread basket filled
with bread and wine,
and I hope yours is, too,
as I, we, stroll into 2018
hand in hand,
in love,
in joy,
in communion with nature,
with each other,
and Christ.
My hearts now open.
My eyes to the top of the mountains,
the blue skies,
the Heavens,
the journey.
I awe.
This New Year,
I start at the bottom,
indebted,
with many forks to choose.
For the many winding trails,
faith of trees, and under bushes,
I look for prayer
and Christ.
And His Guidance.
It was a cold January morning.
The first of many to come,
frost of winter biting at my feet,
escaping my lips,
and snow flurries at my knees.
I zest.
Paying homage,
as birds sing in my hearts
and blossoms dance in my eyes.
So glorious
with Christ in my soul.
My feet on the right trail,
I continue to awe,
trees draped in white,
awaken,
for my guided path.
Snow tracks of the past I bury.
Fresh new tracks,
I forge.
My eyes and mind focus.
A deer locks my eyes and darts away,
a pair of rabbit make a beehive home,
all in wonderment,
all in longevity and immortality,
perhaps signage.
So glorious.
The landscape,
and the ascent.
It was a cold January morning.
the first of many to come.
I warm to the task.
I continue to look at the peak,
I awe,
blue skies,
the Heavens.
I bow to this New Year,
Christ, peace, happiness, wealth
and good health.
To all a blessed 2018.

Logan Robertson

1/02/2018

waterfront
watchers wait
with wistful
wariness
wanting
witness
window
widening
when
whopping whales
waterspout
welcoming waves
with wails
which wakes
wonderment

Logan Robertson

10/25/17

We once threw caution to the wind
on a drunken night of spree.
It was just two teens having a good time
with smuggled beer and lost inhibitions,
parked on lover's lane.
This was back in '74,
and I remember Terry Jack's
crooning Season's In The Sun,
the radio music guiding us along.
The moon and stars stood watching in horror,
their hands covering it's mouth in shock,
and her father's wrath soon following suit,
his hands ruffling a kids feathers.
But who regresses?
At first we walked over twigs,
careful like,
soft kisses here,
soft kisses there.
The usual fare,
where we knew the line in the sand
was the console and gear stick,
her father's subtle reminder.
Yet this time we ran *******.
Like two polar bears snuggling,
in a tree of a magic forest.
At first, playfully
touching our noses,
eyes a dancing,
and lips a smacking,
pausing at new discoveries,
magic dust floating in our eyes.
Our breathing turning into moans.
The wonderful fur.
Then auto pilot kicked in
and my seeing eye dog springing to life,
leaping onto her bucket seat,
onto her,
her eyes and face inviting,
our maiden voyage
chaste,
all natural,
erecting in flames.
Our little hearts a racing,
racing,
racing,
keeping up to the rhythm of the sea,
riding the wave into shore,
expended,
like two beach whales,
basking in the moment.
And it was a glorious moment
introspective of whom you ask.
Our lives grew from that night on,
years later into beautiful blossoms,
and her father,
yes her father,
the last of the forgives me not,
now preens over his granddaughter,
and her daughter. 

Logan Robertson

9/14/17

Behind the divorce
Poetry's silk dress caught my eye
Drawing my fancy
First a round face with smiles
Now caught in her web I frown

Logan Robertson

7/19/2018

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

Logan Robertson

12/1/17

Weary Window of Opportunity


why
would we
waste what's wise
when wisdom waned
wraps waxed wicks withdrawn
where wildfires within white
wash wanton wavering welled
wits with wonderment's wheel wearing
worth warrants weaving wholeheartedly

Logan Robertson

7/31/2018