John D Robinson is a UK based writer and painter. He has published several chapbooks of poetry and three full collections. ‘The Dirty Sacrifice & Other Stories’ is his first full collection of short stories.
The night may well still be young
But only if you are of that age
And i certainly ain’t as i sit here
Legs, feet, back
All aches and pains as
The night continues in a blur of
Punk rock, smokes and the
Thought if i comedown of this
Feeling of euphoria then bed
Will soon follow and tomorrow
A day beckons, with
The possibility of a pub visit and
If not then certainly the laying
Down of more words…
En route to the liquor store
when I spot the white truck.
Oh, to be young again!
Hard to believe
there was a time when those
cold treats were enough.
Eskimo Pie
Dreamsicle
Drumstick
These days
I need something much stronger—
And after a full day behind the wheel,
combing the streets for kids
and listening to that God-awful jingle
I’m sure he does, too.
There are moments that come from nowhere
in which I realize I am perhaps more
lonely than I’d imagined, more sad.
In my sleepless hours I consider what’s
become of me and I’m not sure what
to make of it. I get up a while and think
about someone who once loved me
and is now dead. I wonder why I didn’t
love them more, and if I should have.
I think of a few people I did love
and wonder where they’ve gone to,
wonder if they’d come back if I
took the time to explain things
a bit. I don’t imagine so.
I think of all the things that are surely
coming that I wouldn’t wish upon
me or anyone. I wrote this poem
in my head early this morning when
I couldn’t sleep. It’s late
afternoon now, and I’m trying
to write it down. I think
there was more to it, I should
have jotted things down as they came.
I think there’s a pretty good line
that I’m missing somewhere,
it might have tied it all together somehow.
Now I’m thinking of how nothing
is really much after all, and how our
dreams of immortality leave no
impression upon the void.
I understand my own sufferings,
such as they are, don’t register much
upon the scale of things, and I’ve made
a peace with that. We’ve all got problems,
as my friend is fond of saying (he’s
not really my friend). But sometimes
it all comes upon you unexpected,
you know? In any case, there’s no
need for drama. It’s 4 p.m. here
in San Francisco. The air is filled
with ash from distant fires, and there
may be a few beers left in the fridge.
there’s that moment
isn’t there
when the black of night
dilutes to blue
and you think
phew,
made it through
another one.
you allow yourself
a half-smile
as you put the knife
back in the drawer
and close it.
as if
you won’t be needing it again
tonight.
I hear they’ve cancelled Genghis Khan
from history,
presumably because of all the raping
and pillaging
and generally being a massive dick,
so they fudged the books,
deleted him out.
I get it, I really do,
they cancelled that one episode
of that one sitcom
where they took the piss out of black face
and racists
so now you have to watch it on your computer,
illegally,
if you want to see it
and grumble about all those Millennials
with their painless backs
and opinions.
I wonder what’s next,
will they cancel Hitler?
At least they’d be no more heroes to celebrate
and flags to wave
and the sales of red crosses
would plummet.
They could cancel Bill Hicks, I guess,
he was kinda homophobic
and really sexist
but he had some really special things to say too,
be a shame to lose out on all of that.
GG’s pretty much gone from history already
and no-ones interested in Ben Weasel anymore,
particularly since he punched that woman
and made excuses for himself rather than apologise.
Come to think of it,
I bet, of anyone, he’s really enraged about all of this,
which is comforting if nothing else,
I couldn’t think of a better person to be miserable
than that prick.
He probably sits in his ageing mothers basement,
spitting feathers,
and asking,
as I am now, (but probably for very different reasons)
exactly who “they” are
and exactly who “they” will choose next.
Marita touched my ‘Very Merry’
And that led to the poppin’ of a cherry.
Which was good…so good.
Now if God is love and Satan sin,
Whose idea was it that a bottle of gin
Should get me happy first, later sad,
An’ in the mornin’ make my head hurt bad?
You know, Jesus, he’s a friend of mine,
So’s his sidekick, Frankenstein.
We get together, change some water to wine,
Chitchat ’bout women fine.
Life can be good, like that Marita I had,
But sometimes life can drive you mad.
Is there an answer? Are we garbage in space?
No need to worry, it’s just the human race.
I dreamed you were on Jeopardy!
( our love’s in jeopardy, baby…. )
You got every single question
except
the one in which the answer was
emotion
Of course on Jeopardy,
the answer IS the question
and emotion, for You,
certainly is
I thought
this is the most real moment
I’ve ever seen on television
Then it caught fire
It wasn’t even plugged in
and I wasn’t even asleep
How the narcissist cured me
of my addiction to him
When I told him I knew
he was a cheater,
he replied:
‘Now baby, you know
I’m too lazy for that’
All I could think
in that moment
was how much
this creature’s shit
fucking bored me
A rush of anxiety overcame me
cause I just couldn’t wait
to get back home,
light candles
And masturbate to old videos
of Christian Slater
and put away my laundry
Horror Sleaze Trash 