"uncorked" poems
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2
My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws
For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks
From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick
You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried
We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers
My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew
I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void
No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork
Logan Robertson
8/16/2018
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
well
there's plenty of cutesy names to
call one's children
but his was 'unlovable trash'
He remembered it from the time he was in the crib
They held him there
for longer than most parents
held their kids in cribs. Though only dad
called him so
because he constantly claimed he wasn't his
unlovable trash
he had the wrong skin tone
was too pale
with curly orange hair
and freckles
but mom always pretended she didn't
hear
the words
unlovable trash
she would act as if they were never uttered
and growing up
he thought
unlovable trash was a good thing
thought it was how you show love to your loved
ones
"Mom, you’re unlovable trash."
she was so happy to hear it
she burst into tears and went into the
kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine
and drank it all by herself. What an
unlovable trash she was
Unfortunately
by the time he could pronounce the lovely
words
father was no longer in his life
but father too
was an unlovable trash
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 9:58 AM UTC
A Four day concert, created by Roberts, Rosenman, Kornfeld, and Lang
Was originally supposed be a three-day music festival, and up it sprang
But the citizens of citizens of Wallkill, N.Y. did not want their nice quiet town filled
With drugged up hippies that would overrun, and with this idea they were not thrilled
With many battles and protests, Wallkill passed a law on July 2, 1969 banning
The would be concert from going forward leaving the town quite less enchanting
Almost not getting off the ground, hippies all over demanding refunds for their tickets
Stepping forward, Max Yasgur offered his 600-acre dairy farm so no one would picket
The new location for the Woodstock Festival would be Bethel, New York
No one from the other town would not have complaints or come uncorked
Despite the many problems of people threatening to quit
Woodstock got off the ground despite things still being chit
This concert was poorly planned with two major setbacks, as news spread that it was free
There were congestion of cars that policeman had to turn away, for as far as one could see
Organizers lost huge amounts of money while hippies walked through gates without paying
But it was estimated that 500,000 people made it to the concert and they came in swaying
The music seemed to play non-stop as people sat and listened and some would play
It was very muddy from all the rain of what it did from much of the concert everyday
Listening to greats such as Creedence Clearwater Revival, Santana, Jimi Hendrix, Sweetwater
Can’t forget, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jefferson Airplane and Ten Years After
The concert ended and picking up the pieces began, that wasn't just the trash that was left behind
It was the lawsuits that many filed against the organizers since beginning to end put many in a bind
The greatest music festival in history later put to a movie that is divine
Something that will forever be talked about from the summer of 1969
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Blueberry Barbie driving away
Lord, I'm gonna miss her taste
She takes the time to do it right
You'll never see her look of waste
Hot dress, high heels, look and touch of taste
Like a fine uncorked wine
A delicacy in a sea of eggs
Her mellifluous scent concealed until she bursts
Blueberry Barbie driving far away
Lord, I'm gonna miss her taste
You know how I say those things when I am stressed
Please let me present my case
Blueberry Barbie Baby I Love You
Come on make the u-turn
Turn around and get back here into my life
I need you barbie, you're my only friend again
Is it my hopes come true that you are here?
So close, a fantasy that never ends
Can't live without you girl nor care t' pretend
Is that her turning 'round, gonna park in my driveway?
Blueberry Barbie's here I'm living again
Man, it's good to be this close to my best friend
Blueberry Barbie never leave me again
For that would be the end oh, Blueberry Blonde Barbie
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
Poppies about to burst
Red as blood
There just outside my visual
a bottle uncorked
glass is filled
and ********** bears its fruit
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
I think the bottle has become uncorked.
I think I could have stopped it,
but I know it wouldn't have worked.
This slew of madness is about to unfold.
I wonder if I can die young
before I grow old.
The darkness compounds frustration.
The hate on which I feed
will breed creation.
A new personality.
A new vibe.
A new rationality.
A new tribe.
I will emerge from this cocoon
better and more beautiful than I once was.
Fly away,
fly away from here.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
Somewhere along the way
I picked up a heavy load
of dead wood, a couple of degrees
east of East Tennessee,
a few bottles uncorked,
problem women, and another
woman, a child, and a mortgage,
all while I wandered down the left fork
of the wrong road like the red silt
in a river that has forgotten
its source, but enjoying the scenery,
the journey, and, of course,
the paths I tended to leave
through the high weeds where I lost
myself and my footprints so loud
I could hear them before I left them
on the ground behind me
like hollow dreams trampled down
beneath the feet that I follow.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
**** all, **** all, **** all
Sweet ***** Adams, sweet ***** Adams, sweet ***** Adams
**** all, **** all, **** all
There's **** all you can rip off that can't be ripped off
****** all you can spit that can't be spat
**** all you can jabber but you can wot how to fiddle the velociraptor
Page—3 girl's always ready for a chat
There's **** all you can **** that can't be ******
No one you can stuff that can't be stuffed
Sweet **** all you can ***** but you can wot how to vegetate you swanky metronome
Über—babe's loose
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all, sweet ***** Adams
**** all is all you need
**** all, **** all, **** all
Sweet ***** Adams, sweet ***** Adams, sweet ***** Adams
**** all, **** all, **** all
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all, sweet ***** Adams
**** all is all you need
There's **** all you can have carnal knowledge of that isn't *****
**** all you smell that isn't uncorked
Thumbs down on the spot you lunch box be on the spot that isn't on the spot you're meant rubbing shoulders be spot on
Blonde's thick
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all, sweet ***** Adams
**** all is all you need
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all
All you need is **** all, sweet ***** Adams
**** all is all you need
****** all is all you need
That is all you thirst
That is all you lust
That is all you desiderium
That is all you la nostalgie de la boue
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
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
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
I've been pacing back and fourth, a pendulum of force on my floor
Trying to decide, is it me or the wine that's uncorked
Every sylable, resonates my throat when I speak
Your name is like a bomb, ready aimed and armed in my cheeks
I think I liked you better, when we were strangers
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
With satchel in his hand, he strode down the road,
The sun glinting against his eyes as it does with glass.
Up he crept to the cave of the monster, its rank abode,
And pulled the elixir from his satchel fast.
Trembling, his hands uncorked the bottle,
And released the liquid a'splashin onto the ground below;
The potion served to mottle,
The rock soon to blow.
He leapt from the cave entrance, down toward the road,
Away from the monster's ghastly abode,
And managed to escape sudden death,
As an explosion blasted from the cave's mouth like fiery breath.
The monster wailed loud as death strangled it,
A strange, bone-chilling, awful fit.
But like the cave, the monster was now dead,
And he could head back to his cabin to sleep in his bed.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Feet hanging from the deck
of the bow, sitting shoulder
to shoulder and thigh
to thigh. I can’t help but wonder
in what ways the salt air
is dancing off of the sound
and over our taste buds,
changing the way we read
the Prosecco between us.
I almost didn’t bring this bottle.
The thought of opening the cage—
six half-turns forward,
wrapping my palm around the
wire frame, twisting the bottle,
by the base, off of the cork—
it all seemed like too much.
There are too many ways
to mess it up, and I know that
I don’t have a grip on anything
when I am around you, but
I no longer believe that bottles
should be left
uncorked.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
honestly
I thought I broke myself when you were gone and I was sitting in my room alone staring at the corner of the wall waiting for it to breathe back into me the way you did when you held me close
honestly
I thought you were a figment of my imagination when you were there and I was sitting in your room staring at your face and tracing the lines of your mouth with my fingertips
and honestly
you never had to say you hated me or loved me because words meant everything and nothing and all that mattered was your hand on my neck and your fingers laced in mine and the uncorked bottle of wine in the kitchen
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
I felt used
like an object
more like a doorknob
one that was unable to project
I've had hands on me
turned without complain
left open to all
too many time to drive me insane
now all the screws have been uncorked
and I can only adjust for one last pull
I'm left alone
left to be alone and forever dull
z.s
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
Within the floor-less room
Of a ceiling-less chamber
Spanning top to bottom
Lies a collection.
Each strand of memory
In tiny glass vials
Trapped forever
Sealed to perfection.
Within this glass palace
These tiny glass vials
Sorted and labelled
Into many a section.
The past, the present
The thoughts for the future
Accurately categorized
According to emotion.
Within each glass vial
A wisp of thought
A caress of experience
A whisper of recollection.
Once uncorked
The memory unleashed
Arising in full might
In every direction.
Within this door-less
Window-less chamber
Alas these memories
Are bound for protection.
Trapped forever
Rusting with time
Or remaining in grandeur
Without external intervention.
One seeks the pensieve
The key to this access
Oblivious to the trap
A pure addiction.
Alas the pensieve
Binds one further to the chamber
Away from reality
No resurrection.
Within the floor-less room
Of a ceiling-less chamber
Spanning top to bottom
Lies our collection.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
after 1 or (two) drinks and one (2) many glances into your eyes
kissing my neck feels less like
a compromise; feels less like an uncorked
bottle of half-priced lies, feels less
grimy, no longer a cheap disguise
for a dolled-up girl with one (2) many drinks
who can't stop looking
in your eyes.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
Slipping on her cold blood
Indulgence uncorked
Champagne laced with poison ivy
Euphoria unfolded lapping up
The leftovers of another man's bliss
He got caught in the fish net stockings
Of a poledancer thinking
How the he'll did I miss that
The girl had ***** and a ten inch
Rocket
Tied to a crack in her back pocket
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
Her eyes jaunted through my
Oppositional ghostliness,
Her hair screams “soft” in my
deaf but imaginative hands,
Her wineglass-visage stripped
My hollow strings of anomie,
Her uncorked skin spraying
On my lust-parched and sobered soul,
Her moonstruck glow poisoned
The rivers of my reveries,
Her poise dialectic
With wonders of the infinite,
Her breathe is shattering
The nihilistic love below,
Listless ears loosen by her
Magnetic harmony, “Hello”
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:19 AM UTC
We are crying--laughing.
Uncorked the bottle.
Can't undo
Don't want to
Sorry. Pour me one
Or four. Sitting on the floor.
Pull me into bed--it's already done
And it's fun
Can't undo
Don't want to.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
I make love to the son of Francisco Alcarez.
He keeps me warm when I am frigid.
He lights a fire within me when I am frozen.
They say he makes your clothes fall off,
and oh Francisco Alcarez,
you've given me your magic.
Weber Blue agave are your eyes.
You've brought your chaos from the south of freedom, so stab it into my stomach.
~It's not the worst thing thats been stabbed into my stomach~
I think I've cracked you open, but- you've uncorked me.
Slide me into the bliss I've missed, waiting for you~
Tear me away from my cyclical thoughts,
Smooth out my mind,
Kiss me gently and watch me cringe with sour pleasure.
But, lets keep this affair private~
I don't think they understand--- I need you.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Now, there's no reason these nights can't
dissemble our daytime woes.
With bottles uncorked, we'll paint
friendly faces on daylight foes.
The ground's not shaking.
Your breath's just ragged.
Faces shine and cities glow...
but, come sunrise, we're flying blind,
while keeping our heads low.
Still I remember the time that
we chucked that radio
from that rooftop sinking to
street level, speakers played Manilow
Transistors scattered
Our footsteps clattered
Down the fire escape we'd go
laughing hard, police up in arms
alleyways lead us home
We wanted
to up and ******* leave
But we're tethered
to this place by our heartstrings
So we're always
celebrating our defeats
We wanted
to up and ******* leave
I'm off and running in circles
around my own lasting fears
You're off the wagon and just
rolling dice hung on rearview mirrors
We're contemplating
on relocating
back to those familiar years
but sunrise comes, we're twiddling thumbs
and hoping stormclouds clear.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Thousands of cards are opened
in hundreds of rooms
And the wine is uncorked
a little earlier than usual
And everybody talks to one another
for once
And smiles captured through words
cover and hide the awkward ****
of sadness
That rises, like a cold,
on the flesh.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
have I been here before,
the variations of anywhere
framing the limits of waking within a wretched humility?
am I become one of the blown boys, those dear, dear boys
and their desolate, punctual, martyrdom,
or a resolute extra in a post-mortem smack fug
at ease to fester with my wounded, skyward muttering,
where even fake flowers offer injury?
I
easily shaken by bleary imaginings as obdurate
as a politicians dancing lips which, if they are moving,
must be lying,
rather crave the ocean's incoherent, uncorked, yawn
its contorted salutation an easy answer to the hardest ask
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
As we slept
In each other’s minds
Through the night,
Fearing commitment
Equally as much
As striving for it,
I kissed you
Thinking that maybe
I’d let myself pretend,
Having finally uncorked
That bottle of wine,
All hesitancies
Had disappeared
But I tried to kiss you
Again in the morning,
Thinking
As I think now
That if it may be
Our last chance
I want to take it:
I want to swing dance
Through thunderstorms
And sip our wine
With nothing
But the certainty
Of one another
But you pretended
Not to notice
My eyes meeting yours,
And filled
With all the reservations
That should have been in me,
You averted your gaze
And walked away
(As I still worry
You will one day)
From that surreal bed
Of whispers
And fewer tears
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC