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It’s Official

24 Jan

Thanks to a buddy of mine, I found out that my latest collection of poetry, Poems About Lawrence is available to purchase here and here. You can get it in paperback or on the kindle. Thanks in advance for supporting this project.

 

Best,

Edward Austin Robertson

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New Collection of Poetry On the Way

29 Dec

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My newest book , “Poems About Lawrence” will be available to purchase in a couple of weeks. You will  be able to buy it on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Ingram, among other places. I will keep you posted. Until then, have a happy new year and enjoy this playlist that I made while editing the book.

Abrazos,

~Edward Austin Robertson

Labor Day Weekend in New Orleans

1 Dec

Cigarette in hand,

drunk on brown liquor, and

exhaling into the slow swampy night.

I found myself finally at ease with the rhythm of the city,

as a wave of understanding washed over me.

I needed more Tom Waits in my music catalog.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

B-Side from Upcoming Collection

22 Nov

A Serious Situation (Life is)

 

One could win baseball games

trophies, awards and championships.

One can even win the money game

but no one has ever beaten death.

 

It was a losing battle

one coming in the form of a

grizzly bear

shark attack

house fire

home invasion

cycling accident

plane crash

heart attack

broken neck from slipping in the bathtub,

a peanut allergy

a mugging

innocent bystander in a bank robbery

choking on his own vomit

suffocating from his own fart

and being eaten alive by house cats

or swallowing a whole octopus.

 

Seemed pointless to worry about it.

If he was going to fully embrace life

then he’d have to fully embrace dying inevitably.

 

Drinking fresh snow water

melted from the mountain

reinforced everything pleasant

he’d ever experienced in life:

the musical epiphanies

the road trips, birthdays and sporting events

all paled to the natural phenomena

he’d been lucky enough to witness.

He’d seen shooting stars that were so vivid

that their trails trailed off into the Milky Way’s band.

 

 

He could still hear the stream nearby rushing past their campsite.

Alone in his tent

his head on a makeshift pillow,

he fell asleep listening to the dying roar and crackle of the

wood in the campfire.

It was quite possible that his life

couldn’t get better than the one he was already living.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

 

 

I See the Body Electric!!!

7 Nov

Deep breaths are taken,

feels me up with her current

with no need for touch.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

Paula (2013)

25 Oct

 

 

He was hurting—possibly reeling.

Thinking a trip down to Austin

could cure his ails

He and the old perky blonde

with big tits and a fake tan

bought floor tickets to watch

3 old Jewish dudes in Adidas sweatsuits

jumping around

and rapping on stage.

Just the fix he thought he needed.

The show was good

and the head was amazing

but it didn’t make him feel any better.

In fact nothing would.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

Jeffy (2013)

25 Oct

 

 

Jeff had every brand of Jordan tennis shoes ever known to man

and most of the Nike shoes of that era.

He had every G. I. Joe ever created

and best of all,

he had an adjustable graphite backboard

that we could dunk on when we pulled it down to 8 feet.

He even had a great porno stash.

 

His dad owned a baseball card and his mom

bankrolled the family as a hotshot lawyer.

She looked like a poor man’s Geena Davis.

I always hoped to catch a glimpse of her in her lingerie

whenever I spent the night over there.

 

Hanging out with him came at a price though.

 

He was goofy and asinine

and frequently tried talking us guys into playing naked freeze tag

in his enormous two story house

(I’m very proud to say he never succeeded).

 

This white boy would pull his pecker out

and slap it against his stomach

while watching “Saved By the Bell” on his couch.

Hard to believe I ever had a friend like him.

Today I wonder about those weird days

and what could possibly become of a guy

who grew up fingering his cat’s butt hole for fun.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson