Archive | March, 2018

Fair Park Music Hall circa 1998

11 Mar


Not only did they replicate it,

but they somehow surpassed

the way the album sounded on my headphones.

Technically I was in the third row,

but with the aisles filled

and no one in their seats

my seat felt further from the stage.


I was actually kind of relieved

none of my friends

came with me,

as I suddenly felt self conscious of my surroundings;

watching these awkward looking geeks

make this euphoric–almost majestic music.


Layers of smokey light flickering

with every chord change.

People swaying to the rhythm of “Talk Show Host”

in their sweaters, blue jeans, and converse shoes.

It felt like I was in a secret club,

and everyone thinking this band’s best song was “Creep”

was missing out on this quiet Sunday evening.

This certainly beat watching the Red Sox on television.


~Edward Austin Robertson



Beth Marie’s

9 Mar

Marble counter tops

and checkered tiled floors.

How can you be in a bad mood

with the smell of waffle in the air

and frozen sugary milk melting in your mouth?

Its impossible not to smile at this point.


~Edward Austin Robertson





The House on Tennesee Street

8 Mar

It was my reaction to a period of deep dissatisfaction.

My brother went off to fight in the war and

my professional mistakes bled into my personal life.

No longer certain of my purpose,

I reversed direction

and spent a year shirking responsibility–and delinquent payments—

taking a massive pay cut to sort things out

in a long overdue gap year.


Back to square one

in my back to school spirit.

I rediscovered my joy through play.


Taking acid–kicking and shooting and passing and jumping and sweating,

smiling and laughing and dosing; popping and locking,

puffing and sipping, napping ,fapping, crapping and snacking

shagging and packing–and lounging in cut off shorts.


An unsustainable cycle

of coffee, naps, herbs and payment plans.

I knew at my age that it couldn’t last.

Watching the time evaporate

like the smoke building inside my lungs

and the clouds blown out of my bedroom window.


~Edward Austin Robertson




6 Mar


It felt like everyone on the subway was talking about him.

I was at the Dundas station heading to St. Clair West

when I found out.

The phone call from her only added to the sense of time and place.

There was the city wide festival

and a surprising summer romance,

but what I remember most was that no matter where I was

for the next two days, someone was playing his music

in their cars, out of the apartment windows, and in storefronts.

I may have even let a tear drop into my corn soup

when Human Nature came on the radio

at the Jamaican spot I was hanging.

Perhaps it was the sad irony hitting me,

that even at the height of his powers

he never really got to freely enjoy the fruits of his labors.

He was finally free now to smile beautifully forever

as a young, black talent where no one could

hurt or disappoint him any longer.

We all collectively failed him

and yet he never stopped giving to us.

Maybe we didn’t deserve him.


~Edward Austin Robertson


I hope that you understand

6 Mar

My lips know exactly where they want to go

if I were to ever see you again……..

which is exactly why that can never happen.



~Edward Austin Robertson