Poetry from Michael Robinson

A Change of Seasons

It is time for a new view of the seasons in my life.

As I get older and my hair turns gray and my bones crack,

I get older with the passing of the seasons.

Looking forward to spring as the winter snows cover my balding head,

Finding refuge in the room with the fireplace burning the coal of yesterday,

It was warm in that room with the one book and one chair.

It was only yesterday that I rode my tricycle and flow down the hill,

Alas, yesterday with all its promised tomorrows,

Yesterday with all its promises of a better life,

And the seasons change and I grow too old to care.

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Prose sketches from Michael Robinson

City Sounds

 My foster father moved to his own rhythm, tapping down the street. In the quietness of my memory I wonder what inspired him to have such a rich soul, but soul was a movement in the neighborhood.   It was the Motown Sounds that awaken my love of life: Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Smokey Robinson, and the Temptations along with James Brown the godfather of soul all were alive with soul. The essence of the black moment outside of the anger and riots, enjoy the beat and move your hips to the sound. While maybe people rioted it was the music that many more enjoyed. It was a special night when I saw the godfather on stage. Sweat pouring down his face and as he was escorted off stage he would reappear and be escorted off again only to reappear. It was truly a show of wonder. There was no energy left after watching any of those who performed to sounds of soul in the inner- city. The streets are free of violence and I listen to sounds and I dance.


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