Poems 2005-2011
Robyn J. Williams
Copyright © Robyn J. Williams 2011
All rights reserved
Cover Image: “Aftermatter” by Robyn J. Williams
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Dedicated to my parents,
Chris and Linda
For not throwing me out of the house when I said “I want to be a poet when I grow up”.
All There Is
There aren’t many poems about
The universe there is enough to write about
Here enough to figure out here
It is hard enough to pick up on
the language of trees and
the moods of the clouds
That aren’t moving across a flat sky,
y’know.
There is enough to say about this place and
its oceans and
its mountains and
its deserts and
its plains and
its creatures
Such as us.
Yes
there is enough to say about us and
our famines and
our riches and
our sex and
our drugs and
our wars and
our feelings about this
and that
and our new coffee machines
and our hybrid cars
and our internet spies
and our edited to the point of fiction
History.
Or herstory if you want to brand yourself
That new breed of feminist
I so despise.
Yes
there is enough to say already
Here about the flights of eagles
About the way steel cuts into the sky
About my new knee-high boots and
beret
There is enough to say about
LOVE
to fuel a thousand generations
of poems
And yet I find myself looking up and wondering
IS THIS ALL THERE IS?
The Great Performance
On a quiet Monday afternoon
One can see
The circus performers out of character
But still pretending
Smiling as though flowers in
Symmetrical cement pots
Are a fair trade for a new
Starbucks and
That those dogs on leashes appear
Happy and
That a strong economy will
Save our souls
They are acting
And I am acting as if I don’t notice
As if their SUV’s really will
Take them somewhere
As if their double espressos really will
Wake them up
As if my photographs really will
Capture something
As if my words really will
Change your mind
Lunchtime Epiphany
Negatory, Bob
The cats walking the electrical wires
Above us have all the answers
And the fire in my belly
Demands justice
Here, in the real world of
Hardboiled eggs and softshelled crab
Lives the pervasive stench
Of hope
On Forgiveness
You will be told many times
That you must forgive to be free
not true
You must only let go
To ensure another’s crime
does not hold you prisoner
But, if ever they extend their hand to you again
Feel free to slap them with yours
Greatest Threat
Absurdity and the surreal
turn out their pockets
and laugh
As normalcy sits pouting in the corner
squandering air and
the shiniest rocks
Its minions, well-armed, marching
gassing out its dancing foes
Joy is the greatest threat
to dominance
A Woman’s Hips
A woman’s hips will always reveal
much more than she’s likely to willingly share
Whether they swing or hold steady
mother or
dancer or
waitress or
whore
If you pay attention, you’ll notice
their desire (or lack of) for hands to help set their pace
Their desire (or lack of) for the weight of a child
If you pay attention, you’ll notice
the subtle clues her hips can’t help but betray
An impatient shift while waiting for coffee