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”
Category Archives: Poetry
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
Afflatus
Afflatus The cryptic mindIn the mazeIn the labyrinthOf lavender scented pines. A kaleidoscope of coloursBut in shades of grey. The blind man seesWhat the deaf man hears. By the rounded squareIn a hexagon shaped pearUnder the winter treesFilled with blooming life. The passion fruitWith a hint of limeDangled on cherry lips.I eyed the skies above.Continue reading “Afflatus”
The Fog
The morning fog,Over the unseen hillsWrapped in grey,I inside a submergedComfort no noiseFrom inside my head. The fog is moving,Swirling around meIt kisses my face andBlankets my fears,I’m a soul in solitude.You chill my bones,With your grey fog blanket. by Robin McNamara © 2019
WORKING MAN POET
WORKING MAN POET The call of the pen,Made me the man,I wrote to be. My working hours,And my daily week,Same, day by day. My rested evenings,And my fertile thoughts,Pen in hand. Come the weekend,That freed the pen,That poem was born. From frustration of life,The battles fought,The bitter man’s sigh. Lost again to the morning,Of anotherContinue reading “WORKING MAN POET”
God’s Waiting Room.
God’s Waiting Room. As he sat in God’s waiting roomAnd cast his mind back to the pastWhen he’d thrown a disenchanted glance at the moonAnd wrote about a love that didn’t lastThe folly of the path he tookWas lost in irony a bitter sighThe words carved from mind they mistookAnd threw a jaundiced eyeOver toiledContinue reading “God’s Waiting Room.”
A New Tear.
A New Tear. New Year’s eve,Tears of last year,Long gone. The smokers ash,Long scattered into,Forgotten winds. Your shadow lingers,Whispering to me.Bottles clink,Cheers for a new year. Have you gone?For how long?I’ll stay strong and,Forget your grip. by Robin McNamara © 2018
The Fisherman
The Fisherman The sea swelled and splashedAgainst the hull of the boatWith its green net mountainDisappearing into foaming waters The fisherman’s hope and securityAn old sea dog saltedAnd weather beaten from aLifetimes toil upon the waters Times of hardships furrowed upon the browHis story told by scarred handsHe respects the seaWhich has taken many aContinue reading “The Fisherman”
Robin McNamara Poet 