Category Archives: ROBINSON

Poetry from Michael Robinson

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Mirror 

Have you seen my soul? Do you see what I see when I look into the mirror? Seeing my soul is seeing the woodpecker at the feeder with its black and white body nesting in the morning sun.
Newness 
He wanted to write a poem of the mountains only to describe his own success for words created on the page. Each letter, each word, and sentence was a reflection of newness found.
Salvation
The winter snows did not freeze my awareness of being a Fresh Air kid. My essence has been refreshed by the summer sun. Only the mountains could have restored my yearning for salvation.

Obsession 

He noticed her perfume smelled of love,

Her eyes floated like waves in distress.

In the shadow of the moon,

He saw her soul dancing.

Poetry from Michael Robinson

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Saturday Love Making 
Are you kissing me?
Did I say no?
I meant to say no!
What was I thinking?
Why did I believe I could make love to you?
I’m captured by the memories of my rape.
Yes, I did say it was in my childhood.
I screamed, but no one heard it but me.
No, I cannot be with you tonight.
I will hear my own cries again.
It will shatter my own eardrums,
I will be deaf again.
I will crawl in the corner and die alone with the shouts.

Saturday Night 2004

Slowly the camera follows me across the room,

Each movement that I make is watched.

If only I could have avoided those moments of insanity,

Those moments when it was the darkest in my life.

The nurses wear those white uniforms and smile,

Only if their smiles were real then I could smile back.

One Kiss  2004

She kisses his forehead and holds his cold hands,

Tears fall down his caramel colored cheek.

Poetry from Michael Robinson

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Conversations

For Angie

When I was little, I would talk to God

Waiting for his response.

“God is listening!” said my foster mother.

 

I wanted to live with God,

Just like the black women would say—

To go home to Jesus.

 

Wondering if black boys could go to Jesus,

Or did we just go to jail,

Or just lay in the gutter alone.

 

When the Doors Close

In the darkness of the night,

I seek the light of the moon,

Coming to greet my soul.

In the darkness of the night,

I pray that God will hear my heart,

In the darkness of the night.

In the darkness I smell the candle burning,

I’m safe with the burning candle in the darkness of the night.

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Poetry from Michael Robinson

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Star Night Star Bright

Shooting stars shooting past me;

Shooting guns shooting at me,

Shooting stars shooting past shooting guns.

A soul shooting past shooting stars.

There’s hope that I will survive the night.

 

Connections

Stay with me tonight until the sunrises, so I can forget the past, as the cold swear flows through my body. Hold me, but not too tight to suffocate me. I long for the nectar of your gentle warmth next to me. Watch for the demons that have chased me thought-out my life. Pray as I atone for my sins. Kiss me to awaken me to your love. The scent of rosemary on your body reminds of our connection. Your soul reaches for my essence and we both are connected.

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Poetry from Michael Robinson

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My Neighborhood

Dedicated to Ilyse Kusnetz

Rocks, bottles, sticks, and knives,

Straight razors, lye thrown in the face,

Human beings, and guns.

Prostitutes, pimps, ex-convicts, ex soldiers

Dope heads, gay men, rappers,

Grandmothers, Grandkids, and old black men,

Young hoodlums, and white priests.

Screaming children, yelling adults, gunfire,

Bottle fights, rock fights, knife fights, gunfights, and fist fights.

Old houses, burned down houses, and body bags,

I’m in the middle of it all before 21.

No normal thoughts, only homicidal and suicidal thoughts,

White therapist sends me away.

Mental hospitals, psychotic medication, sleeping pills,

And convulsive therapy treatment

Black America left me in pieces—

Now I’m civilized wearing a strait jacket and a padded room.

“Flop, flop, frizz, fizz, oh, what a relief it is.”

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Poetry from Michael Robinson

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Horizon

 

In the middle of the night,

I sit in bed thinking of mountains that are not bitter,

There are two empty chairs and a table with a candle burning.

In the shadows two people watch the brightness of the moon,

They will survive the night in the light of the stars.

 

 

Non-Stop

 

It’s in the wee hours of the morning,

Before heaven opens and hell closes.

A typewriter,

A sheet of paper,

And a soul waiting to write God a letter.

 

 

Retreat

 

I gave up wanting to kill.

I gave up being shot at.

I gave up wanting to die.

I gave up wanting to hurt others.

I just gave it all up

To move to the mountains of Vermont,

Where the angels whisper in my ear.