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

Over The Edge

“Over The Edge”

I thought I had a strong grip

Sure footing

I was able to see what lie ahead for me

And then I slipped

You did as well in that same instant

We, lost our grip

Yes

You and I blurred the lines of safety and protected hearts

We, tore down the walls that shielded us

Risking our friendship

We stepped into the fog of an unknown tomorrow

And we smiled

We laughed at our dare

And shivered from what scared us both

But we now do it within one another’s arms

And damn the thoughts of failure

Because if it does occur

If we do not struggle successfully into a future with one another

At least we have the happiness of now

We can enjoy the small moments we share

And know they are worth it

Robert Lloyd

Rabbit

Rabbit

I am driven

Absorbing everything around me

Busying myself with stuff I used to ignore

Trying to be too involved to breathe

It’s me running faster than my own thoughts

My future ghosts are chasing me

Like hungry howls in pursuit

Waiting for me falter

But I press on determined

If I could just ignore the footsteps behind me

At least for just few moments more

Then it will all go away

I could burst out of the crowded forest that is my tortured heart

And be bathed in the sunlight of blank canvass

I escape reality by not acknowledging it

The pain of the bite at my heels is too much to endure

I am the rabbit running

Unwilling to succumb to the snarling wolves in my head

The ones I created

Robert Lloyd

Spare Time

"Spare Time"

I wish I could recycle my littered minutes
Not the ones wasted on day dreaming
Those are well spent
I want the ones that slip by unnoticed

Can you see the corporation
Hired men like highway cleanup crews

Follow behind
During the day
Unnoticed
As a minute slips by truly wasted
They stab it with their sticks
As if it were a piece of trash
Blowing down the road

Eventually
You are presented with a monthly fee
A percentage price
For a substantial block of time
Of life gone by

You empty your wallet
In exchange for a box of
Recycled minutes

Imagine life
Imagine what you could do with these minutes

Do I extend a great evening
on the town
Or give to doctors
Who could have used just a second more

Do I share
Giving a soldier that extra chance
Does some of it go into the offering plate
Can I last longer in the sack
The possibilities would be endless

I wish I could recycle my littered minutes
Not the ones just wasted
On this day dream
Those are well spent
I want the ones that slip by unnoticed


Robert Lloyd

A Poem

"A Poem"

A true poem does not have to involve a rhyme
Just a little play with words and time
A poem is just a thought placed on display
To mold and shape like a sculptor’s clay

Those who read and understand
Know poems, like life, are never bland
A poem can intrigue or complicate
It can even place a romantic twist on fate

A poem is there for those that are pleasurable and kind
They can even be for the mad like Poe, who lost his mind
A poem is there for the sad and depressed
It also can be relief for those who are stressed

A poem can describe a somber rainy day
Or a glorious sunrise in early may
It can recapture a fading memory
Or a poem can share a dream that will never be

A poem is something that anyone can appreciate
For in the mind it opens a little gate
A passageway to all that can possibly be
All it takes is you and little creativity

                                                                  

                                                                    By Robert Lloyd (Jan 95)

Gypsy Punk

"Gypsy Punk"

Eyes blazed blue

Bathed in oddities

Pierced this or that

A beauty

Hidden or blatant

Frail in a Stooges T-shirt

From her ripped jeans

Peach skin peaks out teasing the normal

Ending harsh with black combat boots

London’s calling

Tempting or telling

Mocking the intolerant

Scorned by the bias of white America

She smiles just a pretty as the Christian bred

Contented with shaved hair or unnatural colors

She is sex embattled and emboldened

A sex pistol

Studded anything earns her looks

Hate, envy, desire

It’s all there

When she walks

One place to the next

She is a banshee

She is choice

She is she

She is life

Robert Lloyd

24 October 2011

Heroine Whore

"Heroine Whore"


She flew in like an angel

Bunching my calloused skin

My sweat subsided when she struck gold

Silver threaded rust pricking the perfect highway

Cold and reason vanished

I simply rose

Warm

Vibrant

Born again for the moment

She seduced me with her needle

Lies and poison flowed sweetly through my head

And the fear of losing her made me grovel

Follow

Worship

I wanted her to want me forever

That was the perfect addiction

At least until the money ran out

Robert Lloyd