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Best Poems Written by Darren Robinson

Below are the all-time best Darren Robinson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

Even Lions Cry

Sometimes, even Lions cry. No one ever sees, though.
The tears dry on our mane.
What depicts us as men, hides the hurt we often feel.
It seems, in all instances, we remain the same.
Our manes only move with aggression and anger.
No one sees that side of us, soft and caring.
It means expressions of love are met with caution
And never really carry much bearing.
Our manes cover our ears so it's hard to see,
At times, when we twitch them when flies are around.
But it's noticed clearly when it gets too much and the
Smallest things are met with a raised paw and loud, roaring sound.
Our manes cover our shoulders so it's not always
Evident, the weight we bear.
But the mane is swept back, showing a lofty,
But focused, stare.
It's not arrogance or pride but where we look above the
Problem to see the way forward. The right way to go.
It's sad that the mane is often a distortion between
How we feel, how I feel and what shows.
For the mane also covers my chest. It makes my heart
A place of security, love, warmth and rest.
It embraces those, that embrace me, with genuine love,
Compassion and happiness.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

Of Unemployment

Of Unemployment….

It’s somewhat strange that the very thing
That provides a life resource takes my life away.
Gives me money to buy presentations of life
While keeping the progression of my mind at bay.
I can feel the neurons of my brain beginning
To communicate like long lost friends,
Calling from distant ends of the same community,
Engaging in song on a march of progression
Like enemies that have come together
As one to make amends.
I now find myself investigating everything
That I don’t know and questions I can’t answer.
Book-facts, places visited and making plans
For future advancement.
It’s like going back to school
But in the old skool way.
I’m at liberty to investigate ideas and avenues,
Removed from mechanics and procedure of 9 – 5 days.
But, Alas!
It’s ironic that the thing that has given me life
Is temporary just as this life is.
I have responsibilities and I’m not a believer
In stealing another man’s taxes.
It’s somewhat daunting that, having had my fingers
Fly across my keyboard, in purposeful array,
To put thoughts of my own, this night, out into the ‘Cloud’,
Unemployment is drawing to a close just like the day.
The hunt continues for that papery substance,
That replaces the worth of  grey matter,
Presenting itself as digits on an ATM screen.
Light contained behind thick, scratched glass.
Defaced beauty?
Oh, the irony of Unemployment!….

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

Speaking Life, Speaking Death: Edited For Word Count

I’ve discovered that
My brain is a place that knows no bounds
Of expression.
A magazine of thoughts, live rounds
That lock
Into the chamber, my mouth
As my tongue cocks back,
Hammers forward and spits them out.
I’ve discovered the irony
Of saving a life while taking another
Like shooting the gunman
With a pistol to the head of my brother.
That’s gossip.
And then there’s speech that wasn’t meant that way.
Idle words that equal a
Negligent discharge, still count as foul play.
That’s why it’s best
To squeeze the trigger, staying in control
Because idle words can easily
Embed in the holes of someone’s soul.
You know. Holes caused
By bullying, holes caused by rape
And holes caused by words
Against someone’s colour, or shape.
Holes caused by
Experiencing domestic violence
And holes caused by the
Self-harm of those suffering in silence.
Holes that, blocked
By a tongue out of control,
Induce the flooding
And drowning of a weakened soul.
And consider,
Words spoken in light-hearted jest
Could become
The noose around a heavy-hearted neck.
A quick acknowledgement.
Sticks and stones may
Break my bones but words will never hurt me.
But we’d all take a
6 weeks healing over years of a mind muddled murky.
You know what I mean.
When you ask if what they said was maybe right.
And I speak from experience.
I know I’ve had those sleepless nights.
Inward frustration,
Caused by a lack of knowing why,
Causing outward tears.
Sometimes, so sad even my tears would cry.
From these times
Of Death came the lessons of speaking life.
Unlike a phoenix from the ashes,
We LEARN speaking life from peaking strife
Because speaking
Life is LEARNED, it doesn’t grow wild
Like untrimmed brambles.
Thorns and berries, harsh and mild.
There’s purpose
And a focused intent in one direction
And I found that the
Speaking of life is found in the Resurrection.
The Resurrection of Christ.
You see his last WORDS
On the cross were, “It is finished!” but then he rose
So He couldn’t
Have been talking of the end of life so we know
Death has a certain end
But life, life, through the death of Christ, always goes on
So, to speak Christ is
To speak life and die without Christ is wrong.
I said ‘His last WORDS on the cross’
Because, after that came His actions, the verbs of the cross
You see, you can’t SPEAK
Life if you don’t DO life, the verbs of the cross.
Love.
When you speak and do
Love, you speak and do life, not death
So die to self
And speak Love into lives until there’s no death left.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

The Weakness of Man

It’s unfortunate that I fall for your type
 Because it always means there’s more than one
 A decision to make, moments of weakness
 Where my mind flutters like a butterfly in the sun.
 I try to remain strong
 But, succumbing to my weakness, I fail
 Fluttering aimlessly, I don’t consider the
 Consequences my actions will entail.
 Now we’re here, same bed but
 Facing in different directions
 So we see the same situation differently.
 I see weakness, you see failure in my imperfections.
 In the vein of love, I look deep in your eyes
 And gaze at your heart with the purest smile
 But, in the vein of weakness, I look into eyes, 
 Not yours, as temptation beguiles.
 In the vein of love, I caress your
 Soul with my being, all of me.
 In the vein of weakness, I caress the body
 Of another, not yours, then becometh of the fall of me.
 Love for you, lust for another.
 Some say it’s the weakness of man.

 We make love and there’s the deepest connection
 While I embrace you, tight as though I just can’t lose you.
 I treat you like the most fragile glass, handling you
 Gently as I softly gaze through you.
 I see all of you. Where you need to be touched
 And where you need to be kissed,
 Ensuring, as I negotiate every one of your curves
 There’s no area missed.
 I ensure to look straight into your eyes, the
 Windows to your deepest emotion
 So you can look straight into mine and only
 See tender devotion.
 The admiration of your perfection
 But there’s a weakness of man.

 The love and drive for one can easily
 Become the lust for another.
 Don’t act as though you don’t understand.
 I believe we ALL have that situation where we consider a lover.
 The stand-in, the partner that
 Covers that invented 20 percent
 Like in reality, I break from the rhyme form
 To cover the 20 percent.
 For it’s a wandering from,
 Not a wandering to.
 I know breaking away doesn’t find the twenty.
 In fact, of percentage, it doesn’t find any
 But it’s never the truth when confronted, in weakness,
 Often induced by the Henny.
 Have you noticed I called this
 The Weakness of Man?

 In your search for the 20 Percent, at the bottom of
 The bottle, you’ll find about 8 Percent volume
 Total emptiness as you discover you don’t know
 What you’ve got til it’s gone.
 Then the 20 Percent is over and you realize
 Taking 8 Percent from 100 is wrong.
 Did you catch the math?
 The weakness of man.

 For those that don’t get it, I mean mankind
 The human species, that’s all of us
 And the weakness is ourselves.
 We can only ever go before the fall of us.
 Love, lust. The battle will never cease.
 While there is life, the weakness of man will ever be
 But where there is weakness, there is strength to be gained
 So, never lust but love, love we strive to see.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

A Pondering On Women

I wonder why it is that,
Some women work so hard to be chased
That they forget to flirt
With the idea of being caught and embraced.
I wonder why it is that,
There is such a need to fight against male reliance
That the lines become blurred
Between independence and defiance.
I dare say, I see a need
A need to realise it’s ok to be homely.
Because it’s easier than realising
You’re not independent, you’re lonely,
Before moving on to
Blame men for the choices you made
And handing an IOU to all men
That you feel has never been paid.
There are some women
Who will drop the cliché, “I’m different”.
So far removed
From other women. Just different!
But, in those ‘different’ eyes,
All men fall under the same umbrella,
Meaning that there’s no room for you
When life decides it’s time for stormy weather.
And another thing
Music and Hollywood don’t portray men.
They portray ideas that make money,
Money that makes them.
So men wonder why
There is love for R. Kelly while he pees on young girls
But divorce is an option
Because he sometimes fails to comment on curls.
Ladies, men aren’t perfect
And real men are always rough around the edges
But we shouldn’t have to storm
A beach in Normandy just to make our pledges
Because, eventually,
The chase stops and all that is left to see
Is a lonely, defiant rock,
Being eaten by life’s cold sea.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

The Story of Shoes -Edited For Word-Count-

Try walking a mile in my shoes!
Ever thought what that means?
Used so much in times of hardship but the reality
Of the statement has decreased in value it seems.
To wear my shoes isn't just to see what I've
Been through but to get to know me.
To understand me. Who I am, Defined
By these insignificant soles below me.
I go to the track and my trainers tell
The story of weight lost, ability gained.
The story of the pain and sometimes blood,
paying the cost of victory, whether in sun or rain.
As I run to the track instead of taking a bus,
They tell the story of not having money
But, atop the podium of success, they tell the
Story of humbleness while tasting victory sweet like honey.

The story of my street trainers is different.
They walk past the playgrounds in my neighbourhood,
Smiling with the children and parents at play
And then pass Burger King, where the smell and the flavour's good!
They tell the stories of children being
Scolded in the grocery store
And of the sidewalks of Waikiki, a strange blend
Of the rich and the poor.
All sharing that balmy Pacific breeze
Because nature belongs to us all
There's no price on the stories of my shoes,
Stories big and stories small.

The stories of my smart shoes.
Late nights and church mornings.
Sprinting down Oxford Street
To catch the N15 bus,
Knowing they run one-an-hour
So catching it is a must!
The stories of nerves, heading for job
Interviews with sweaty palms,
Thinking of ways to stop damp armpits,
Reciting scriptures from the book of Psalms.
"The Lord is my shepherd...."
In the back row of church, reciting,
The paradox stories of my shoes,
Some hum-drum and some exciting!

So consider the shoes of the person
Next to you. There's always a story there.
Look at the eyes then look at the shoes and
Into the story of their life begin to stare.
The shoes that just got a pay raise, the shoes
Selling the high grade. Shoes that just saved a life.
The boots that just took one,
The shoes hiding that young man's knife.
The stiletto earning money at night
To feed her children in the day,
The shoes that got into a fight at night and
Wont see the morning of another day.
The baby boots, across from you, being worn by
The brightest smile and twinkling eyes,
Bouncing on mum's knee while dad, wearing a
Football shirt sings, "Who ate all the pies?!"
With all these shoes and your mind, there's no
Need for newspapers or reading books.
Don't believe me? Go to your shoe rack, sit down,
Say nothing and take a long, quiet look.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

Do You Love Her

Do you love her?
Do you love her?
When all is weighed in the balance,
Do you love her?
As men, it’s easy to dive into
The idea, the woman being subject to the man,
Often forgetting that there is
A need to love, and not just lead, when you hold her hand.
Don’t be so hung up on
Ephesians 5:22. You bring it out of context
Because three verses down,
The situation is made as simple as we make it complex.
Love your wife with the love
Of Christ and keep this memory to the touch.
When asked how much He loved
He opened His arms on the cross and said, “This much”.
Do you love her?
Created from our rib,
To demonstrate she can support as well as protect
Our weaknesses and
Deepest emotions when life, like the tax man, comes to collect.
Created from our rib,
So, when you feel a stitch, you know it’s time to care.
A gentle hold
A little closer just so she knows you’re there.
Do you love her?
And is that love a love situational?
Where you don’t really
Give it all and keep it probational,
That ‘almost’ love.
Where you give all of most
And most of all but never just all.
That’s part-time effort,
Wanting full-time pay, a.k.a. Pride before the fall.
Do you love her?
You see, love earns love.
But it needs to occur between complete hearts
Because those broken and reserved
Can only give and receive from incomplete parts.
Which leads her love
To the point it is unsatisfied, unrequited
And the fact you can’t understand her tears
Is a reflection on you and your heart, divided.
Do you love her?
When you look into her eyes
And say I love you, is your heart complete?
Or is it that ‘almost’ love?
Because ‘almost’ means she’s not within reach.
Do you love her?

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

The Balance of Pride

I toy with that deadly gravity that we know to be Pride.
 Trying to use it just enough to be me
 Without allowing it to become the idol of life,
 The driving force of a dark tide.

 I use it to better myself without looking down on others.
 To reach my goals, for Pride turns dreams
 Into realities that should be reached responsibly
 For the surrounding competition is comprised of sisters and brothers.

 We all have our own battle with Pride, some doing well.
 Others, not so well.
 And, so, we find ourselves living the life of a  fluctuating
 Battle of energies. Pride. The energy unquelled.

 “Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall”
 To be led by Pride is head to failure.
 To be sucked in by that black hole of ignorance
 Where we become nothing, believing we’re walking tall.

 The amazing artwork of deceit, it’s important to see Pride for what it is.
 To know Pride is to understand Pride
 To understand Pride is to control Pride
 To control Pride is to live with your eyes open and see Pride for what it is.

 Therein lies the Balance of Pride.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

Autumn

The living room window depicts a tearful eye,

Mourning the demise of the summer season

As the cold wind outside drives the rain towards you,

Trying to reach you for an unknown reason.

The cozy feeling of safety and security warms you

As you hold your loved one close,

Wrapped in a warm blanket, sipping hot chocolate

Once you've finished the hot, buttered toast.

Chick flicks on crisp nights, lighted by a

Pastel-pale moon.

Tall buildings, only partly visible through freezing

Mist, bear witness to the fact that winter is coming soon.

Details | Darren Robinson Poem

Untitled

To be an option. Then to be not chosen.
Thoughts of possible rejection cause my heart
To steadily move from Love to Frozen.
It’s hard to Let It Go but, when the mind
Is called to action by the releasing of the bow
And piercing of the arrow and the truth
Beginning to bludgeon, blow by blow,
It can be better to fall on the Rock and
Be broken than to cling to death for life’s worth.
There can be no interest during moments
Of silence at times of merriment and mirth.
Tiers in friendship, bringing tears in friendship
That ultimately wash the eyes to aid clarity
In making the decision to walk away from
Tiers to healing and inner parity.
Traipsing the landscape of my mind,
Burning under the sun of what seems to be,
I seek to rest in the shadows of Christ
And wait for the sun to set on what seems to be.
I’ll watch the sun set and let the situation
Come to me as I remain in the safety of my mountain.
My Rock, my Shield, my Hiding Place.
My refill of Love from an eternal fountain.