EVEN IN DESOLATION
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
Even in desolation,
I know there’s life.
In the dust bowl of my emotions,
where all my tears have burned
the flowering vegetation off
and made a mockery of joy,
is the whoosh of wind
blowing, dancing, moving and pulsing
in the dusty
gritty storm.
My entire being feels picked clean
like the skeletal remains of
a buffalo left to die in the desert;
the sensation is wholly complete,
leaving me completely disconnected.
My withered spirit craves
water,
food,
colors of the spectrum.
And yet,
even in desolation,
I know that there is life.
This is part of my collection titled Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, which is currently looking for a publishing home.
Friday, May 26, 2017
Friday, May 12, 2017
NIGHT SONGS
NIGHT SONGS
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1985
Night always comes as a surprise;
after a long day and lingering twilight,
the sun suddenly,
in a matter of seconds,
is eaten by the large fish beyond the
ridge of hills.
(My mother used to come to tuck me in,
playing games to ease a four-year-old's transition to sleep.
Our favorite was with her at the end of the bed,
where she'd hold the blanket, and,
with a sharp flicking hand motion,
snap the blanket into the air,
up,
up,
up,
until gravity would call the blanket down
onto my slight frame.
It usually fell across my face
(I knew it would!);
I'd shriek my delight
and ask for it again.)
Now night falls like that,
blanketing the earth with its stars and crescent-moons,
guiding us into our seas of sleep.
I'd noticed, years ago, how fast those last few minutes before night-fall seem to go. Pay attention, some time. Twilights may take a while, but those last couple of minutes before the sun disappears behind the horizon seem exceptionally fast. This was written during the 1980s and is part of the collection titled Love, Feelings and the Seasons of Life, which is looking for a publisher.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1985
Night always comes as a surprise;
after a long day and lingering twilight,
the sun suddenly,
in a matter of seconds,
is eaten by the large fish beyond the
ridge of hills.
(My mother used to come to tuck me in,
playing games to ease a four-year-old's transition to sleep.
Our favorite was with her at the end of the bed,
where she'd hold the blanket, and,
with a sharp flicking hand motion,
snap the blanket into the air,
up,
up,
up,
until gravity would call the blanket down
onto my slight frame.
It usually fell across my face
(I knew it would!);
I'd shriek my delight
and ask for it again.)
Now night falls like that,
blanketing the earth with its stars and crescent-moons,
guiding us into our seas of sleep.
I'd noticed, years ago, how fast those last few minutes before night-fall seem to go. Pay attention, some time. Twilights may take a while, but those last couple of minutes before the sun disappears behind the horizon seem exceptionally fast. This was written during the 1980s and is part of the collection titled Love, Feelings and the Seasons of Life, which is looking for a publisher.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
DRESS UPS
DRESS UPS
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1985
She's dressing up in fancy clothes -
satins, silks, and ancient lace,
high heeled shoes with skinny legs,
lipstick on a pouty face.
This child-like game of dressing up -
"I'm Mrs. Butterfield," with made-up voice -
will turn to laughs in later years
(in photos shown to friendly boys).
But now, my little girl and I,
("Mrs. Butterfield" and crony—me)
we're sitting down to lemonade.
(We're pretending that it's tea.)
Many kids love playing dress up, trying on old clothes to help aid in pretending. I wrote when my kids were young and still occasionally dressing up. This is part of my poetry book titled Love, Feelings and the Seasons of Life which is looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1985
She's dressing up in fancy clothes -
satins, silks, and ancient lace,
high heeled shoes with skinny legs,
lipstick on a pouty face.
This child-like game of dressing up -
"I'm Mrs. Butterfield," with made-up voice -
will turn to laughs in later years
(in photos shown to friendly boys).
But now, my little girl and I,
("Mrs. Butterfield" and crony—me)
we're sitting down to lemonade.
(We're pretending that it's tea.)
Many kids love playing dress up, trying on old clothes to help aid in pretending. I wrote when my kids were young and still occasionally dressing up. This is part of my poetry book titled Love, Feelings and the Seasons of Life which is looking for a publishing home.
Oh, Those Cretin Sons-of-Bitches
Oh, Those Cretin Sons-of-Bitches
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 2016
Oh, those cretin sons-of-bitches,
I’m not sure which is which
when it comes right down to the politics,
too many in power are ‘way too sick.
They think of themselves and forget the people’s needs
while they’re taking all the riches to fill their greed.
Sometimes I feel that we need peaceful revolution
to bring about an empathetic solution.
If you’ve never been broke or worked a real job in your life,
you’ll never understand the minimum wage strife
or what it’s like to work twenty hours a day,
trying to support yourself with very little pay.
And the kids are always crying ‘cause they hardly ever see you
and you’re always ‘way too tired to even try to be true
to the dreams you once had ‘way back when you were young,
and now you’re wishing that you were strong
enough to go to DC and kick some butt
so we can all just get a cut
of that American Dream we’ve been wanting a piece of
‘cause no matter what, what push comes to shove,
those politicians don’t give a damn,
and the rhetoric ‘bout values is nothing but a sham.
So we need a revolution where we all stand a chance
to have a solution, to have more than a glance
at a piece of the pie and afford a life
instead of having to live in constant strife.
Nothing like being in a mood about class injustice. This is from my growing collection titled Working Class Poems, still evolving.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 2016
Oh, those cretin sons-of-bitches,
I’m not sure which is which
when it comes right down to the politics,
too many in power are ‘way too sick.
They think of themselves and forget the people’s needs
while they’re taking all the riches to fill their greed.
Sometimes I feel that we need peaceful revolution
to bring about an empathetic solution.
If you’ve never been broke or worked a real job in your life,
you’ll never understand the minimum wage strife
or what it’s like to work twenty hours a day,
trying to support yourself with very little pay.
And the kids are always crying ‘cause they hardly ever see you
and you’re always ‘way too tired to even try to be true
to the dreams you once had ‘way back when you were young,
and now you’re wishing that you were strong
enough to go to DC and kick some butt
so we can all just get a cut
of that American Dream we’ve been wanting a piece of
‘cause no matter what, what push comes to shove,
those politicians don’t give a damn,
and the rhetoric ‘bout values is nothing but a sham.
So we need a revolution where we all stand a chance
to have a solution, to have more than a glance
at a piece of the pie and afford a life
instead of having to live in constant strife.
Nothing like being in a mood about class injustice. This is from my growing collection titled Working Class Poems, still evolving.
Friday, May 5, 2017
“THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOU”
Note: I've posted this several times on this blog already, but after yesterday's vote on Trump's health care package, I feel the need to post this again.
“THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOU”
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
The Revolution will not revolve around you.
It revolves around
people without jobs who want to work
who need to work
who strive to work
who’ve given up trying to work
within a system that strives to keep them down
while saying “no more safety net”
while letting children go hungry
while giving themselves humungous raises
and building more bombs and guns
to keep the underclass under them
but
The Revolution will not revolve around you.
It revolves around
the child who cries herself to sleep after a day
of abuse and neglect
while the child lovingly corrected cries
after being removed from home
and the child who hears “justice” but sees “injustice”,
who questions what he sees,
who questions the system,
who questions the questions,
who questions why,
and when and where and what and who
but
The revolution will not revolve around you.
It revolves around
those who’ll fight those whose ideas of profits and losses
don’t buy into what their
children and grandchildren will breath,
drink or eat in the years to come,
who feel that money is
more important than air,
more important that water,
more important than the future,
more important than anything else
including the fact that
The Revolution will not revolve around you.
Instead,
it revolves around those brave enough
to take on the system,
who strive to prove that justice for some
should be justice for all
and help to make that possible;
around those who see a need and try to
honestly and with courage
and passion
and compassion
try to solve it,
around those who see those
whom life has dealt harshly with
and who still struggle to stand up and fight
and who help them with a hand “up” not “out”,
around those who see the hunger
and strive to feed;
who see the abuse
and try to end it;
who see the hurt
and try to heal it;
and then, only then,
if you have the courage
to instigate this revolution,
then and only then will
the revolution involve and revolve around you.
This was written during the mid-1990s and is part of my book Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares which is looking for a publishing home.
“THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOU”
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
The Revolution will not revolve around you.
It revolves around
people without jobs who want to work
who need to work
who strive to work
who’ve given up trying to work
within a system that strives to keep them down
while saying “no more safety net”
while letting children go hungry
while giving themselves humungous raises
and building more bombs and guns
to keep the underclass under them
but
The Revolution will not revolve around you.
It revolves around
the child who cries herself to sleep after a day
of abuse and neglect
while the child lovingly corrected cries
after being removed from home
and the child who hears “justice” but sees “injustice”,
who questions what he sees,
who questions the system,
who questions the questions,
who questions why,
and when and where and what and who
but
The revolution will not revolve around you.
It revolves around
those who’ll fight those whose ideas of profits and losses
don’t buy into what their
children and grandchildren will breath,
drink or eat in the years to come,
who feel that money is
more important than air,
more important that water,
more important than the future,
more important than anything else
including the fact that
The Revolution will not revolve around you.
Instead,
it revolves around those brave enough
to take on the system,
who strive to prove that justice for some
should be justice for all
and help to make that possible;
around those who see a need and try to
honestly and with courage
and passion
and compassion
try to solve it,
around those who see those
whom life has dealt harshly with
and who still struggle to stand up and fight
and who help them with a hand “up” not “out”,
around those who see the hunger
and strive to feed;
who see the abuse
and try to end it;
who see the hurt
and try to heal it;
and then, only then,
if you have the courage
to instigate this revolution,
then and only then will
the revolution involve and revolve around you.
This was written during the mid-1990s and is part of my book Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares which is looking for a publishing home.
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