Tag Archives: Edward Austin Robertson

Feel Around the Fountain (and other romantic misadventures)

20 Jun

I.

 

She was a delicate little thing.

Young and sweet and cute.

With every hello

I sent her an unspoken invitation

to come over to my place for weed and coffee,

and make out on the parlor couch

while listening to the Smiths on the record player.

 

II.

The wind picked up

pushing the fountain mist

into our faces.

I held off as long as I could, but it still

shocked her when I leaned in for the kiss.

She was surprised but she didn’t resist.

She tasted of college life and cigarettes.

 

III.

The perfect spot in the park

with a nice mix of sun and shade

to lay down a blanket

play guitar, eat yummy snacks

and talk myself out of making a move

on her.

The stakes were just too high on this one.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

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Time Stamp (For Wen and Aili)

9 Jun

There was something very old world about the moment.

This beautiful Taiwanese mother-and-baby tandem

sat playing Chopin on the old bar piano

in an intimate, dimly lit tavern.

We all watched in awe and quiet reverence

with an unspoken agreement that we were witnesses to an event

that was far from the ordinary–something that required ticketed admission–

on par with the legendary Red Panda;

flawlessly juggling saucers, plates and teacups while straddling atop a unicycle.

An instant so surreal that even the faintest whisper could break its magical spell.

Chekhov himself couldn’t have written a better wedding scene.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

The Naked Bike Ride

9 Jun

I’d allowed myself to get lost in the mirth and euphoria

of hula hoops, glow sticks and naked bodies.

We were “jamming on it” to Newcleus under the Hawthorne Bridge,

the night’s air chilling the celebration

of our all city ride to a traffic of cheers.

Seemed like a good idea when the sun was up.

But I forgot pack something to cover myself up

for the long sobering ride back to the (deep) Northeast part of town.

Two words: Poor Planning.

 

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

 

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

 

 

Michael

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