Geeking Out on The Smokes pt.3

18 Nov

Geeking Out on the Smokes pt. 2

18 Nov

Newborn

23 Oct

I am relaxed.

Lying beside the soft sounds

of a suckling newborn

in our dimly lit bedroom.

Our dehumidifier mists away

the dry air

in an otherwise quiet morning.

This is the easy part.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

~

 

20 Years Later

15 Oct

Perhaps I would’ve pedaled harder if I knew what lay on the other side for me.

I could’ve used the extra motivation for biking in the blistering heat–back and forth, back and forth.

My biggest motivator was fear of failure.

I had to get up, get out, and get something.

I had to see the world, make love to exotic women and smoke fine grades of dope– the key to that I knew; was an education–

At each level existed a new threshold to cross and  new goals to achieve.

But nothing could prepare me for the fear I felt 20 years later,

leaving the hospital that day with a new life in our car.

It was as if the past 20 years had happened to someone else

because nothing mattered more than getting him home safe.

That was as far as I had thought things through.

I took a deep breath, hit my blinker, and took a turn out of the hospital parking lot;

back out into the world that existed beyond the freeway.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

Errands (For Charlesetta)

19 Sep

Early Saturday mornings with her were heavenly.

She’d take him to get donuts

where the Korean shopkeeper was always happy to see them.

Half a dozen glazed donuts.

(free) Donut holes

devoured before they reached the house.

The others went into the toaster oven to

warm into a moist sweet frost.

Yummy Saturday mornings were spent

crawling out of the station wagon

his tiny hand enclosed in hers;

walking into the farmer’s market.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

originally published in “Brief Moments of Shared Experience” available at Barnesand Noble.com 

In Hindsight

10 Aug

The mature mindset would’ve been to enjoy the moment for what it was

and then let go of it forever.

Maybe we’d have stayed in touch, maybe we wouldn’t have.

The hormones were running high

and it’d been a while since I’d met someone who felt so lovely to be around.

As soon as I left her, however; some suppressed feelings of inadequacy and unhappiness

surfaced.

Things got messy at the first sign of turbulence.

But it was never about her.

 

Had we met today, I’m not sure there’d even be any sparks,

any mutual interest, or even things to converse about.

It was my first true femme fatale–

a woman whose thoughts impressed me as much as her body

(and boy what a nice body)—with a mind that was as manipulative as my own.

When it ended the way things did,  I was twice as angry with myself

as I was hurt by what she revealed herself to truly be.

So it was never about her.

 

 

I was a reckless man, thoughtless and cavalier,

and I got exactly what I deserved.

My animus–the best and worst of me—

reflected in a mirror.

Had I possessed any self awareness back then,

I could’ve recognized those patterns sooner—

the way I was treated in relation to the way I treated others;

beforehand and afterwards–

and realized much earlier, that it was never about her.

 

Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

 

Vancouver, B.C. circa 2019 (For Tiago)

4 Aug

Honeymoon, honey baby, honey baby moon,

familiar coastlines, new story lines

relive old days through new eyes.

 

Drifting for decades,

coast to coast,

cement to sand to soil.

 

One month a newlywed,

many times broken

to become whole again.

 

Daylight lasts long into nightfall.

Crows as big as chickens.

Air cleaner and clearer

than memory originally served him.

The return of a calm long forgotten.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson