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 Jan 2018 Adam Robinson
voiDce
32°F
 Jan 2018 Adam Robinson
voiDce
"...warm."
"you too."

and i cracked,
like thin sheets of ice when you press their center
sharp whispers splinter
under my skin and through my veins

his breath,
soft on my neck, melts the confused corners away
and suddenly i am whole again

but malleable, fluid, and free
When letters wait
to pounce on a blank page
when thoughts crowd the mind
like frothing **** in a pond
I keep wondering
what poetry is to me
what poetry is to many

Is it not the language of the heart
with no intervention of gray matter
the unlocking of closed vaults
stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain
or giving a free rein to fancy
and flying on magic carpets
to lands forlorn

Sometimes it is
a glide into a sea of tranquillity
an escape from
the humdrum of the world
a flash of liberation
from assaults of pain
a sedative
to numb the turmoil
a sanctuary
for a burdened heart
a window
to look at the world through
a companion
when one is inconsolably alone
a candle flame
in a darkening world
a cloth line
to hang the ***** laundry
a water lily blooming
in the pool of tears
a shelter
in homelessness

sometimes it is a ladder
to climb up to Heavens
an angel on wings
with tidings of hope
peace in a world
braced for war

Poetry, if you are all these
let us fall at your feet
bless us in our art
may we splurge in fancy
and conjure up worlds from words!

our poems may not be light houses
but could be fireflies
on a starless night!
Thanks friends for the loving encouragement you have given! I must thank two of my friends in particular.... Kim Johanna Baker for giving an extra shine to my poem and Sarita Adhitya Varma for helping me post this poem when my repeated attempt at posting failed! She patiently directed me.
 Dec 2017 Adam Robinson
acacia
he always goes back to this song
that sounds like moonlight.
it sounds like he's basking in the moon's
soaked glow, saturated in moonshine.
sparkling pearl beads slide down
his face as he strums and picks
like there's no tomorrow while
his silhouette stays indelible in my memory.
i dance in my lilac slip while he struggles
to find his own harmony and he shuts it down.
i wrote this a bit before about ryan, an awkward ex of mine. if anything, ill always remember his love for the bass. and the way his playing helped me sleep.
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
THE...DREAM UNTIES...THE WRITING AND/THE/WORDS//JUST FALL /IN/A/SENSELESS/HEAP/AT/MY/FEET. . .

In my dream
I am

everything

not only the ball of thread
unraveling

but Ariadne’s trembling hand

and a frightened Theseus
as the echo of his footsteps

are erased by the silence

that rebounds

from these spiraling walls

until finally
reaching the center

of all this horror

I find that I am
the Minotaur

roaring with fear
and pain and anger and shame

and then I

wake up

words useless words
scattered about my feet

stupid
stupid

as tears.
It's been six long years . . .
So I know . . . I think I know most of you . . . generally.
Do I know what I'm doing? . . . Should I know?
Was I too vulnerable? . . . Am I still?
Did I break some walls? . . . Were those yours or mine?
Probably mine . . .
Do you remember this conversation?
- " Wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
- " Ye-es . . . I wish I hadn't spoken."
- " I'm going to pretend you never did."
Because that is the cousin of what we had . . .
Or . . . do you even remember that?

Now Lucifer wants me to keep holding on when
Michael is telling me to let go . . .
And currently, it's hard to listen to the archangel
. . . because I still have the memories . . .
. . . because I'm still dreaming of that one little flamboyant dream I once had . . .
. . . because it wasn't six long weeks.
Because it was six years.
 Dec 2017 Adam Robinson
Lexie
My wildest dream is this
That I would mean to you
What you have always been to me
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