One day the shepherdtended to his flock,up in the highest mountain.But away from all the others,was a solitary sheep—It was different from all the others.It wouldn’t answer to theshepherd’s call to return from the mountain.‘It must see something I can’t see’—mused the shepherd.So he left his flock.Happily grazing away on the sparse grassin the foothillsContinue reading “Splendid Isolation of Different”
Author Archives: robinmcpoet
THREE GRAMS OF SUGAR
THREE GRAMS OF SUGAR A sugar cube weighsThree grams.Your sweetened liesWeigh the same asA sugar cube. Dissolved on my tongueBitter sweetness,Deep eyes of deceptionAs black as the untouchedCold coffee. Your love dissolved –Like a three gramssugar cube… by Robin McNamara © 2020
The Critic
The Critic Expansive dreams grow wild:words are drowned in verbosity. (Firing up the appetency for acceptance.) I cast a dream catcher for thosespecial words with an iridescence angle. Critics with their parochial musings,Have: your fractiousness asDistasteful, with their laconic smirks. What do they know,What do they know. by Robin McNamara © 2020
When We Were In Lockdown
When We Were In Lockdown In the yellowed skies translucent with ivory stars there lay peace. I sat on the back door steps staring up at constellations mapping my destiny; so far away like shivering lights. Moonlight blankets the garden with graceful light. Come, come the winters call, The squall yet to arrive. Cold, cold dew theContinue reading “When We Were In Lockdown”
Halloween Fear
HALLOWEEN FEAR Demons howl and banshees screechAs the dead are alive again.Little children with their sugar rushSaying, “trick or treat?”Michael Myers knocks on your doorIt’s not really him is it? Maybe..Twilight moon illuminatesdecaying trees with branchesPointing skywards accusinglyTowards the night time skies,Full of witches on broomsticks.The fear is near as a man quite grimBegins toContinue reading “Halloween Fear”
In the Quiet Space
In the Quiet Space. Listen: to the quietness.It’s deafening/unsettling/unique.The commercial corridors,whistles/bells/horns and radio- gone.Streets in the quiet space,echoing:“Hello lo lo lo.”Catch the dregs of last crowds sunquickly—comes the darkness/quietness.Empty streets echo out;“Where are you all?”Weeded in a new-apocalypse-look,The window shops showingOut of season looks.But In this quite space I found myself. by Robin McNamara ©Continue reading “In the Quiet Space”
Twenty-Seven Months
TWENTY-SEVEN MONTHS Twenty sevenmonths agoIn a bottled landof awakeningdread Laid my soullike deadgarden leaves. The vicissitudes of this coatI woreon daysstagnated with the sweatof toilon roads ofrocks. An unforgivingSaharan desertin the house of I No prophet, nor no scholarcouldWater the unknownsands,its fine grainsslippingthrough myhands As footprintsembeddedthis nomad Place,thousands othershad come before,malnourished the vultureshad pickedthe bones of theirdiscontent in thisDesertofContinue reading “Twenty-Seven Months”
The Homeless Guy
THE HOMELESS GUY The shutters pulled downhe made his bedcardboard first thenthe sleeping bagSaturday afternoonshe’s ignored bythe group of kidsoutside McDonald’sby the couplewith groceriesall totally obliviousto the guyIn the shop entrancehood up and head bowedpaper cup in hand. Soon it starts to rainbut he never movesthe occasionalclink of coinsInto the cupIs greeted with anacknowledged nodothersContinue reading “The Homeless Guy”
Dead Sail
Dead Sail You ghosted across thewaters with a dead,windless sail/silently through the stillnessof unbroken waters.Navigating your waywithout/stars nor compass,towards sirens uponbroken shores of rocksof a promised harbor.Temptress played her flute,sailor boy’s mermaidscome calling. by Robin McNamara © 2019
Frost’s Pen
Frost’s Pen The weirdness ofWeirdest of suchUnaccountable thingsIn life/ like you the thingthat sways the penof my darkest heartTo make it bleed the poetryI write/ while at nightsleep is forsaken/the pen had taken thepage less read/ and thatMade the difference. by Robin McNamara © 2019
Robin McNamara Poet 