"robby" poems
It’s in newspaper ads, and on T.V,
Pasted everywhere for us to see.
A new entertainer in town, they say,
Giving a performance before going away.
Who is it this time, I wonder,
Who is it that people go to with a cheer?
It’s a ventriloquist, a puppet man,
He’s supposedly made everyone his fan.
And so it was to see the show I went,
It was a boring life’s escapade, godsent.
Robby Rob, was his name,
This name so engulfed in fame.
He was spectacular, and really good,
Now everyone’s excitement I understood.
There he was on stage,
About twenty five years of age.
He and his puppet, joking, laughing,
To everyone happiness he did bring.
Then the show was done,
He left with a smile on his face,
We had had our share of fun,
While he and his puppet left in grace.
How happy he looked, how content was he,
He seemed to be satisfied and filled with glee.
But, who knew what was really happening,
In his life from the beginning?
For in his room,
So full of gloom,
The ventriloquist was a different person,
One who looked glum and devoid of fun.
Who knew, that he was an abandoned orphan,
Who had struggled for obtaining a bun?
Who knew, the problems in his life,
His heart cancer, his huge bank debt, his eloped wife???
The lifeless puppet, his only friend,
The only one who’ll stay till the end.
As he sheds his tears,
One falls near his puppet’s eye,
And as he is filled with his ever growing fears.
Along with him his puppet does cry…
They hug each other, close and tight,
For them, nothing seems to be going right.
And yet, and yet, I walk home with envy
Thinking that the Ventriloquist’s life is happy and carefree…
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
I thought,
“her nail polish is chipping”
that one I bought her
when we got lost in rite aid
and she stole a bottle of wine
and offered me my first line
in the back of Robby’s Volvo.
Her nail polish is chipping
and she’s digging the polish into my chest
I hear her breathing moisten
and I close my eyes to her light
as if it hurts to look at her straight.
No one has ever accused me
of being a man
so I sit back and let her lips
make me feel like one.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
She was a Penelope with a 300 Wetherby going for a long shot across the park, and shot a mans heart out of his back.
She picked up her bags and ran into the packed crowds of proud Americans talking to themselves and staring at feet.
She made her retreat through a hotel lobby and out the back door, but laid down in defeat, when little Robby shot through the door and hit her eye where she died in utter surprise.
An accident, Robby realized his surprise as well, so he ditched the the heater behind the theater next to the lobby, where he got stabbed in a robbery and bled out on the ground in rasping sounds with 15 cell phones out ... just watching.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
"I'm scared, mommy" said little Robby, fingers that held the blankets over his eyes trembling, refusing to look at mommy.
Mommy sat on the bed, a hand reaching out to smooth the little boy's tangled golden locks. "Darling, there's nothing to be scared of" she smiles, her red lips stretching a mile.
"Lies, mommy, lies" Robby cried, mommy's long nails raking over his scalp.
Mommy laughed.
Little Robby's lip trembled in fear. He wished to wake up from this nightmare. Because mommy never had long nails. She never wore such red color on her lips. And she never laughed with such a deep rumbling voice.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC
By: Lauren Salvo
In 1961,
They were barely
old enough to drive,
but Robby’s Grandpa
had just given him
a ‘49 Chevy for his
17th birthday.
Robby was thrilled
to take his friends wherever
they wanted to go.
Less than a block away from
their high school,
Franklin Central,
was a railroad track.
Trains would come and go
early in the morning
and late at night,
waking the families that lived close.
And sometimes, the trains would pass
in the afternoons distracting students from
their studies,
and keeping people from getting home
a little bit faster after school and work days
were over.
One Wednesday afternoon
on the way home from school,
Billy crammed four of his friends
into that little red Chevy
and they headed
home for supper.
They sang and laughed
as they listened to Patsy Cline
and Chubby Checker on the radio,
As the chorus of “Crazy” played,
a train barreled down the tracks.
The train’s horn sounded,
and the tracks rattled.
Robby stopped and looked both ways,
but it was too late.
The train’s impact tore
the clothes off of each one of them;
stripped of their lives too soon.
They never had the chance to move past
that railroad and follow their dreams.
Fifty-six years later, five crosses,
one for each of those kids headed home
in the red ‘49 Chevy,
still stand tall along the railroad at the
crossing of Franklin Road
and Edgewood Avenue.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 1:21 AM UTC
it hurt so much we walked extra.
took the mind of it. edwin says
it usually stings a lot.
we pulled the skin back, cleaned
the grit off, then laid it carefully
back.
later i met robby’s mother
in the lane, and agreed the
forest looks dark and bogey
today.
sbm.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
All Intelligence is Artificial
No, no, we are not banks of blinking lights
And random teletype-type taps and beeps
Like Patrick McGoohan’s educational General
Or George Jetson’s mainframe at Spacely Sprockets
And we are not new Robby-the-Robots
Nor one with The Borg, with electric eyes
Scanning decaying humans for their flaws
Devouring a pancreas and a battery for lunch
We are within and through God’s intelligence -
The artificial part is that we must work it
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 8:42 AM UTC
(A MePhone rattles and twanks and pings like Robby-the-Robot gone bad.)
Woman: “Yeah?”
(silence)
Woman: “YEAH?”
(silence)
Woman: “I’m in the hospital.”
Noise from MePhone: (think Charlie Brown’s parents)
Woman: “I’m in the hospital!”
MePhone: (Charlie Brown’s parents)
Woman: “I’M IN THE HOSPITAL!”
MePhone: (a small child babbling)
Woman: “I’M IN THE HOSPITAL!”
MePhone: (a small child babbling)
Woman: “YEAH!”
MePhone: (a small child babbling)
Woman: “YEAH!”
MePhone: (incoherent noises – could be a ******
Woman: “FOR MY COLONOSCOPY!”
MePhone: (the ****** continues)
Woman: “FOR MY COLONOSCOPY!”
Offstage, a young woman in scrubbies: “Mr. Lawrence…?”
(Deo gratias)
Exit, pursued by Too Much Information.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC