SUMMER NIGHT

SUMMER NIGHT

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1985



Summer.

The heat makes skin sticky;

we are sweet cakes

of sweat and powder

by mid-day.

In bed,

you turn towards me;

your quiet, gritty arm

drapes across me

in sleep.

You moan,

chasing away some night vision.

We walked this evening,

watching the sky turn its kaleidoscope colors.

The lights came on in the windows,

people singing their night songs:

"Go to sleep, my little ones;

Go to sleep, the day is done."

We bought some coffee and chili dogs

from the corner vender,

anxious to close up shop

for the night.

Crickets serenaded us home.

Soon,

fall will arrive,

and with it,

change.

The babe within me sighs,

and stretches.

Soon,

he will share our lives.

I savor our last alone summer.



Written at the end of a hot, humid summer. This is part of my collection Love, Feelings and the Seasons of Life, currently looking for a publishing home.

RAINY DAY, FROM A COFFEE SHOP

RAINY DAY, FROM A COFFEE SHOP

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1996



Sitting here,

on a stool,

in a coffee shop,

watching the rain

snaking down the window,

pouring down,

smacking hard the road,

I feel disconnected,

vaguely alone,

while utterly attuned with all of life.

The dream-like state I’m zoned into

is like an old movie

black-and-white

Casablanca, maybe,

or something of that caliber.

Inside the shop is cocoon warm,

fogging the windows

slightly

which,

along with the rain

slithering down the windows,

makes the passing world appear surreal,

in a wavy

watery way.

A woman attempting to cross the street

carries packages

and a large umbrella;

it resembles a large flower:

ochre and gold in the center,

orange petals radiating to keep one dry,

while the bright green handle

is anchored to her hand.

People,

scurrying up and down the sidewalks

and across the streets,

are arranged in layers of brightly colored rain garb

over everyday clothes,

while long black, brown and grey trench coats

protect business suits.

A small child pulls loose from a parental hand

long enough to stomp and kick

splashingly

in a puddle.

Cars inch their way down the avenues and roads,

mains and alleys,

avoiding shallow lakes on road edges,

trying not to

slip

sloshingly

skid and

slide.

The various shades of grey

are like wet velvet

and water colors dripping off the pages,

streaks sliding down the glass,

dark around the edges,

lighter, soft and warm near the centers.

Slowly,

as the rain and cloud darkened afternoon

deepens into twilight,

bright and deep neon lights flicker

on

off

and finally

solidly

on,

their reflections dancing,

shimmering,

waving,

in the puddles,

pools

and wetness,

sensuous reds,

emerald greens,

passionate purples,

royal blues.

Cars haltingly

stop

and

startingly

inch

then

surge

along the roads,

headlights and taillights leaving long reflections

ahead and behind.

I lean towards the window

by the booth I sit at,

blow a puff of air,

fogging a patchy circle,

quickly drawing a flower

before it fades;

then,

leaning back,

I take a long

warm

drink of steamy cappuccino.

It’s amazing how cocooned

you can feel

on a rainy colorful wet day like this.



I drove cab for a few years, and wrote this while waiting for a fare on a cab stand outside a mall on a rainy day. The lights from the shops, the cars both in the parking lot and nearby streets, the people walking to their cars: all added to the mood of the day.

This is part of my collection titled Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares.

PASSION AND A GOOD MAN

PASSION AND A GOOD MAN

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1995



I want Passion and a good man.

Yes, I know that seems

a contradiction in terms,

but that is what I want.

And yet,

when I think of Passion,

I think of colorful men -

in blue jeans and flannel,

who clean up nicely,

dressing up in Armani suits,

or brightly good shirts and suede jackets,

but still colorful in their passion,

men who are the male equivalent of a “wild woman”,

who have no fear of

tender candle-lit dinners on the beach

under the stars,

the waves crashing nearby,

followed by a night of

exhausting

exhilarating passion.

And yet,

these are the same ones

who seem destined to walk in the morning,

heading out the door,

no questions or explanations.

Flip side

are the good men,

the ones with the eager smiles

and have-to-please-you attitudes,

who tell you what giving you an hour-long back rub

would be their pleasure,

and that they wouldn’t try “anything else”,

their boyish smiles

and clean-cut demeanor too good to be true.

A woman knows she can trust him to Do Right,

keeping her safe,

without leaving her in the morning.

But what I really want is Passion and a Good Man.

If I ever find him...



This is part of my book of poetry Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, which is looking for a publisher.

I wrote this poem while driving cab for a living. One of my male co-workers once asked me and another female driver what women wanted in a man. This was the answer, in a light-hearted way. Of course, there's more, but it was a start.

DAYS LIKE THIS

DAYS LIKE THIS

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1996



Days like this,

I think straight lines are the most wonderful things.

True,

the scenery is mundane,

the colors somewhat mute,

when compared to wild roller coaster ups and downs,

but the ride is so much safer.

The “down” days, the ride is like this:

you “drag ass”, not able to get up,

not quite having all the gears “mesh”,

but an outer force keeps you going,

moving;

you let it because,

if you stop,

even for a second,

you’ll never move.

Ever.

Again.

Sounds are muted, distorted;

those that are loud enough to come through startle

with their bone-jarring

teeth-gritting noise.

Colors appear darker;

dark green leaves on brown-black trees

emit deep endless shadows

that threaten to drown you,

even as the branches menacingly reach for you.

The huge white clouds appear malicious,

creating looming faces which change to suite your mood.

Night arrives,

threatening to envelope you in its thick alive darkness.

Days on end grow dimmer and greyer,

almost unnerving in their endless progression,

when suddenly,

you feeling yourself

as you come close to drowning

hit bottom,

sink slightly,

then push off against the

bumpy hardness beneath you.

Suddenly - sometimes -

but oh, so surely,

you break through the foggy film into sunshine.

Wonderful sunshine!

There it is!

The sounds! The joyous sounds!

Birds singing, children laughing,

dogs barking, railroad crossings clanging

as the trains roar up the track,

puffing, chugging,

whistles blowing,

wheels turning,

engineers waving at

small children waving back.

Colors!

Yes, everywhere magnificent colors!

Even in the blackest night

and rainiest days,

the neon lights are alive,

dancing,

calling to you,

singing, “Here we are!

And There you are!

Hello!

Hello!”

The smells of roses!

Coffee floating out of open shops,

colorful sounds,

wonderful smells,

laughing sights,

everything’s so “up,

you’ll never come back down.



Yup, there’s something to be said for straight lines.



This was written years ago and is part of Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, which is looking for a publisher.

I THOUGHT OF YOU

I THOUGHT OF YOU

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1985



I thought of you today.

It was morning,

and the sun had just come up.

I could feel its gentle rays shining through the window

as the birds greeted the dawn and each other.

Off to a perfect start!

Yet –

something

somewhere

wasn't right.

I rolled over to tell you how I felt,

and remembered

with pain

that you had left.

The sun offered to turn pure gold for me,

and the birds sang their most delicately musical song for me.

The flowers I bought last week and planted outside

bowed and waved to me, trying to make me smile.

And yet,

in spite of all

the gaiety,

I thought of you today

and wept.



Most of us have had a relationship (or two) that have broken up, leaving us feeling sad. This was written with that in mind, and is part of Love, Feelings, and the Seasons of Life, which is looking for a permanent home.