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5’11 200 lbs 33 years old

21 Mar

Ride

Ride to work

Ride to work out.

Even when you’re not feeling anything but tired.

Being tired isn’t a good enough excuse.

Keep your head down.

Ignore the external.

Embrace the internal.

Embrace your Alpha.

Ignore the elements.

Ignore the wind chill.

Its winter.

Its the mid-west.

Its supposed to be cold.

If the sun shines

then thank the heavens,

and if its raining

do the same.

Do the extra

in extraordinary.

Don’t cheat yourself

Don’t defeat yourself.

Push through.

Push through the self-pity.

Push through the apathy.

Push through the lethargy.

Push through the depression.

Push towards the anger

and use it as fuel.

Push through it all.

Its worth it.

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Winter morning in Kansas

9 Mar

The state line was the turning point

seemed like everything was already

had already changed

it’d all be different coming back.

So many question marks to return to.

I turned the radio up and blew into my hands

daylight and there were hours to go.

people out of their cars

checking on the delay

blowing frosty cold air from their nostrils

I was making good time

but now I’d have to be patient

Just wait.

almost considered turning around

then almost considered

getting out and taking a piss

in the nearest ditch

the cold and the spectators

be damned.

But I had an obligation to keep

as a vehicle in line

and I didn’t want to do

anything that would cause more delay.

A solemn mid western sunrise

gentle flickers of light

hit my pupils

the prairie star made its appearance

too early to be excited

still had to make it there.

silence and guitar strums

segue the louder

movements of the trains

fighting inertia

metal scraping metal

grinding of the wheels

squeaking and rolling

slowly building

momentum backwards

then rolling east away

towards hence I came.

People slowly eased back into their cars

engines revving into a relieved

chorus

as the train rolled further away

and soon out of view.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

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A Haunting in Canada

1 Dec
You look like you've seen a ghost.

You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

I met her in Ontario

though she hailed from Edmonton, Alberta

the “Texas of Canada”

she said.

Whatever that meant.

I thought these were pretty bold words for someone

who’d never even visited Texas.

We talked some hockey

and I explained to her why

I preferred Mark Messier to Wayne Gretzky.

Then she kissed me for the first time

both surprising and delighting me.

By then I was properly intrigued

and it wouldn’t take much more

to get me to extend my stay an extra couple of days.

Edward Austin Robertson

Birthday Poem

15 Oct

We walked towards the goodbye we knew was coming.
She deftly inserted her tongue into my mouth
I tasted the cool sweetness of wine on her lips
cold vapors escaping with heavy breathing.
I entrenched my hand in her back pocket
her mouth widened
while I softly squeezed,
trying to stay in rhythm with her
caught up in my awareness of her movements
the innocence escalating into arousal
not wanting it to end
but not wanting it to go further either
it could be a long time
or never again.
my cell phone vibrating happily inside my jacket pocket.

~Edward Austin Robertson

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B-side from Brief Moments…..

25 Aug

Astrology

Some say that Capricorns can’t be
cornered.

Aquarians are always a-going.

Pisces paddle in pools of emotion.

Aries are almost never around

Taurus take no bull

Always two “I’s” in Gemini.

Cancers can be clingy little crabs.

Leo’s laments are just as loud as
their roar.

Virgos hide behind a veil of
vulnerability.

Libras make better lovers (and
listeners).

Scorpios only sting for their
survival

Sagitarians show more sarcasm than
sympathy.

Some think this stuff is true

others think its pure shit.

At times I think they’re both right.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

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Swimmers

23 May

Rent was due

work scarce

plasma was painful.

Didn’t I deserve to get

paid for what I loved to do?

She had a deep sexy voice.

I nearly asked if they took deposits

over the phone.

Lineage

depression

diabetes

alcoholism

didn’t deter me.

No ejaculation for 3 days.

An expensive discharge

for what was habit

ritual.

Sperm became dollar signs.

Rack magazines on the rack.

Straight stuff

but no videos.

Pictures don’t do it for me honey.

Pictures can’t move

no matter how fast I flip

the pages.

Disposable sheets on the bed

like the kind

you find at whore houses.

Called an ex or two

hoping for some help.

My mother called with the correct info

but at precisely the wrong time.

An awkward aim

A drop in the cup

is a puddle in my hand

scooped into the cylinder

like spilled Jello pudding.

A look of disgust

and disappointment

as they shoved the rejected sample

into the freezer.

No money.

Just free condoms,

goldfish crackers

and an apprehensive handshake.

At least when you donate plasma

they give you a T-shirt.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

Fry St.

27 Feb

(For Andrew)

We watched her sway

in the drizzling rain

to Willie.

Because it seemed

he’d

“written the song just for her.”

She was drunken

stoned and crazy.

The front headlights

captured her dancing

in an almost tragic way,

like a scene

out of a

David Lynch movie.

It was too late to

be so loud.

But it was college.

and we lived in

a college town.

I wondered quietly

how long would

these organically magical moments

continue to happen with us.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

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Birdfoot’s Grandpa

12 Feb

In fifth grade, my English teacher Mrs. Robertson taught us this poem. Her husband was a reporter for the Houston Chronicle. Many moons later,  I was working the media/ elevator for the University of Texas football program, when he stepped in. I immediately recognized him and told him I was a student of his wife’s back in 1989. I then added how she was the best English teacher I’d ever had.  This was always one of the poems that stuck with me the line, “We’ve got places to go to.” Stayed in my head enough that I had to look it up and post it.

The old man

Must have stopped our car

Two dozen times to climb out

And gather into his hands

The small toads blinded by our lights

And leaping live drops of rain.

The rain was falling

A mist about his white hair

and I kept saying

You can’t save them all,

Accept it, get back in

We’ve got places to go to.

But leather hands full

Of wet brown life,

Knee deep in the summer

Roadside grass,

He just smiled and said

they have places to go to too.

~Joseph Bruchac~

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(Stolen Kisses) On Borrowed time

9 Feb

I.

He flew in on Frontier airlines

into Denver.

Frozen Snow on the tarmac

thinking of that time he touched down

into Alaska

to meet up with a college friend

to shoot guns and chase the lights.

He was only a connecting flight

away from seeing his grand plans

come into fruition.

A Plantain farm

somewhere deep in Costa Rica.

The big payoff

for his year of frugality.

II.

He kicked things off on

New Year’s Eve hitching

a ride with a malcontent buddy

down to Oklahoma City

for the Flaming Lips freakout.

The most spectacular show in

his life’s most recent memory.

Though his buddy was far from impressed,

he had a party to attend

and so they parted ways

with a promise

to meet later so

he could collect his booze

and belongings.

And when asked how he was going to get around,

he said ” I’ll figure it out.”

Then he focused his attention

towards the stage and the

performing of the “Soft Bulletin”.

III.

And so the show ended.

He didn’t scramble nor panic

but made a call to someone

he knew that had floor seating,

and caught a ride to a party

in the Paseo district near the

neighborhood where his buddy

would be staying for the night.

He grabbed a drink and ignored

the other drunks and turned

his focus to the dimples

on her adorable face.

The more they talked

polygamy, anarchy, and

Edward Abbey,

the closer their faces got

and the lower their voices dropped

and the crowd around them disappeared.

IV.

Inside her house,

kissing in her doorway,

with his belongings

in the trunk of a cab

the meter running

the departure time nearer

his heart racing.

Slipping his tongue into

the tender and erotic,

hands sweeping across her buns,

her fingers dancing along his waist.

It couldn’t be the end

maybe back in OKC

or a farm in south Texas

but this wasn’t goodbye,

not at 5:30 AM.

Which is why he calmly ignored

the jumping dog pawing at his arms

and the running meter outside

and the bus sitting at the Greyhound station,

the people already boarding.

Because sometimes you just know

when the mojo is in your favor

that everything is running on time

that everything is okay.

She says to him,

“You have to go don’t you?”
and he nods his head yes.

They kiss one final time

before he heads out the door

and out into the

cold Oklahoma streets.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

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Alajuela (for Lisa K.)

29 Jan

They stood out on the hostel

balcony

staring out at the sea of lights

in the hills of Alajuela

and neighboring San Jose.

Their paths intersecting

at their trip’s end.

Both he and she

wore tired looks

ready to give up on the day

to start over tomorrow.

He uncorked his bottle of vodka

and spiked his orange juice

in between the jokes and light,

silly conversation.

He  kept reminding himself

to avoid the urge to hold on too long

wanting more than the

moment could offer–

to become guilty of squeezing too much

out of the present.

Though there was something endearing about her

fatigue.

She wore it well.

A subtle gracefulness

in the bags under her eyes and

a comfort in being close to her

which slightly hovered

throughout their day together.

At his age

it was inexcusable

to get caught up

in the idealised and romantic notions

he carried throughout his youth.

He knew he was far better off

drinking his screwdriver

and enjoying the waning

moments of his vacation.

To simply be

in the here and now

and just have a good time

for however long it lasted.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

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