a stranger again

 a stranger again

she is my tomorrow

i thought yesterday—

now i am her broken dream.

she is my brown-eyed follow

to the ends of the earth,

and here we stand at the cliff’s edge

wondering if one of us should jump,

or push the other.

she made everything ordinary bright.

now we are reversed,

unraveling backward:

from lovers,

to curious,

to hesitant,

newcomer,

Unknown.

our scars flinch and burn

with misread intentions.

we scratch at what we thought was there,

erasing the moments that brought us together.

i was her tomorrow

she thought today,

wondering how we found our way

back to before we met.

Robert Lloyd

10 Nov 2026

Low Wattage

Low Wattage

you miss a version of me 

who no longer exists.

the one who doesn’t 

shadow a room upon entering.

and for that, I am sorry.

but if you pause 

in your silent judgment,

you will find your hand 

on the switch.

Somewhere I Am Not

Somewhere I Am Not 

Let us go then, you and I. 

T. S. Eliot 

Broken. Repeated. Plagiarized. 

I am never gonna survive. 

Ready or not, it doesn't matter. 

I disturb the universe. 

Pinned, wriggling through life. 

I can't run away, so I take it slowly. 

Is this theft? 

Words from one generation or another. 

I can try. 

Quick now. 6 7. 

A third generation. 

What comes next? 

I know the I's already. 

I sit 180 degrees from the regular. 

I grow old 

But not yet at my breaking point. 

So I search for the mermaids singing. 

Coincidences with no consequences. 

If every meaningful sentence has already been spoken, 

What exactly am I supposed to do? 

Find me, lost, 

Knowing exactly where I am. 

Robert Lloyd

30 june 2026

In The Room

 In The Room

They are not as grey as I would have imagined
Neither of us wants to speak first
Unforgetting, small brown eyes follow my every move
Our fear of immediate discontent is palpable
I am amazed
There is enough space
For the three of us
We are avoiding the obvious
Its tail swishing with the tension
We are broken
The furniture ignores its size
Our hearts dull
Its trunk sways this way and that
Yesterday is no longer about tomorrow
Grateful there are no mice scurrying about
We think small thoughts
Ivory tusks majestic and white
There is no clear path
And all I can think
They are not as grey as I would have imagined
While avoiding a lovers' graveyard

By
Robert Lloyd

 

Sorghum Toil

The imperfections
We once loved
Are now the cracks
Fracturing us

Our core,
That original heart,
Now works as brittle glue
Binding,
But failing

We are
Chaos and pain,
Circular
Like breathing,
The unnatural
Natural motions

Our ebb and flow
Slows
Like molasses
In winter,
And we are no longer certain
We wish to light the stove
To once again
Soften the bitter, salted
Blackstrap

— Robert Lloyd

 

Implicit 

You don't have to Be them 

To offer me 

As fruit 

To the gods 

I mean god lovers 

So they can shape 

I mean distort 

My choices 

You don't have to 

Be them 

To be the thief 

Of my existence 

You only have to 

Apologize 

With inaction and indifference 

To be a blurred mirror 

Of my now and future 

Torment 

 

You don't have to 

Be them 

But you are 

Them 

When you shrug 

And say things 

Will get better 

Eventually

What's Going On

What's Going On 

Worn muscles and slow fingers

How has time passed so fast

All in an instant it seems

To think it was only yesterday I sat

Scribbling words in bulk 

Gone are the spare moments and spare words

Only to be replaced with too much life

I crave the creativity I once had

Not to lessen the life I live in now

Give me a little of both worlds I beg

Our paths to and from the pen

Never really vanish, they are always in the shadows waiting

This is in response to the blog prompt found here at What's Going On. It has been a long while since I have taken the time to write. I always look at it longingly but life is just so darn busy. Perhaps this is a way to ease back into without neglecting the rest. The first letter of each line spells out What's going on. I forget what they call those kind of poems but it was fun to pay with.

Thursday Mornings

Thursday Mornings

She watches

Through barely open eyes

As I begin my day

She whispers softly

How she loves my routine

And I shake my head

Knowing it is not hers

And it’s really my OCD

That entertains her

Soon she is lost again

Between day break

And her cute little snores

While I make her

My unexperienced coffee

I don’t drink the stuff

Never have

But still she accepts my instant tar water offering

Secretly hoping

The creamer

Can make her caffeine wake up tolerable

But first

Before she can sip

Flashing me her beautiful

Good morning smile

I must set her off in annoyance

It is me

It is what I do

She knows it’s coming

Yet forgets every time

I ready the pillow

From a distance

And toss

Who needs an alarm clock

When you have her vocal displeasure

That I eventually soothe with my

Good morning kiss

Just Before Today Begins

Just Before Today Begins

Listening to her heartbeat

As she lays naked pressed against me

I am content

Our legs and bodies are intertwined perfectly

Like the last piece

Of a puzzle

Placed just right

Her chest rises and falls against me

We are safe

Wrapped in a warm cocoon of soft blankets

And fluffy pillows

I chuckle when she snores quietly

Just barely audible

Relaxing into me

Naked

Vulnerable

She finds peace in my arms

And I too eventually find sleep 
With a smile upon my lips

Robert Lloyd

Miles

"Miles"

I wander the streets

Old and weary

With tired and worn out feet

I follow the cracked and dusty paths of many mistakes

And where once traveled machines of lust and bravado

Now only calloused and hardened footfalls tread

The smiles of my youth dared to speed along the highways of life

Unflinching in the eyes of danger

Uncaring of what scars I stacked upon my soul

Or what wounds I slashed into other’s hearts

I was the beast of speed and desire

An engine purring contented with whatever I did

And now with miles between me and that new car smell

I realize I should have paid better care

To the vessel I drive

My body is not as withered as my mind

One that envisioned me as invincible and forever

With duct tape and a small hammer

I struggle to find my way

All the while banging on my motor

Trying to find the road that leads me to peace

A junkyard where I can ease into hibernation

While hiding from all wrong turns I have made

Robert Lloyd

Little Cracks

“Little Cracks”

It only takes a memory

To lose your breath

One single slip of your guard

And the pain you try so hard to forget

Trickles in

It whispers about what used to be

It screams your faults

It shows you what you will no longer have

And then it slowly recedes

Possibly comforted by its damage

Forever now seems to be just a word I did not know the meaning of

Or it is just a lot shorter than I ever knew it would be

I can’t run from myself

There is nowhere to hide

So I fill the world with anything but my own past

Dreading the pauses where she slips in

The walls I build grow higher

And eventually

Her touch

Her voice

Her smile

None of it will reach the summit of my divide

The one that separates our yesterdays from my tomorrows

So for now I brace myself

Preparing for that quiet

For that ache

For anything that sneaks past the sentinel meant to defend my heart

Robert Lloyd