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Best Poems Written by Robby's Multimedia Poetry

Below are the all-time best Robby's Multimedia Poetry poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Tonight I Will Be Human

There are times when I walk down the street,
and the meaning of the entirety of existence,
it seems to seep into my being,
spontaneously,
without effort;
for the meaning of life,
it is like the liquid that is not liquid,
a mercurial mystery that comes when it is not sought,
but is brought to conciousness in the dreamtime like states,
that lay hidden but accessible,
in the chambers of everyone's blessed third eye.

At those times,
I feel my feet shuffling beneath the Earth,
and I feel a connection,
a cosmic circuit formed between myself and the core of the planet,
and the sentience of the greatness of the universe,
it starts to seep effortlessly into my mind.

In this special time of conciounsness,
I see every ray of light refracted amongst canopys of trees,
I see peoples thoughts reflected in their eyes,
as the light of the sun illumniates their thougthful gazes,
lost yet somehow seeking humanity,
in the places they know not where to look,
so that their humanity,
they may finally find.

In this striding upon the Earth,
I came to realize that at times, 
we must strive to be more than human,
to accomplish what can be done only through spirit,
to access that domain of evolution that is beyond human,
if even for just one day,
so that we may heal others,
so that we may surpass the misery that is sometimes laid upon us,
day by day by day.

One day though,
in this wandering,
in this cosmic pondering of self,
I came to realize that simply being human,
it is sometimes what is needed to be more than those around us,
to reach out not across the universe,
but across the street,
to help an elderly lady cross the way,
to let our heart reach out to a lover and simply LISTEN,
when she weeps and tells us what troubles her soul that day.

On that day,
I felt more than human by being simply human,
I felt like I surpassed myself by simply being myself,
and I grew to realize that karma,
God,
the comsos,
whatever you may call it,
lies in the small details of life,
that pass by day to day,
so for tonite,
to be more than anyone else has ever been to the coming of this night
...I think that I will simply be
...human...

Copyright © 2010 Robert Matejko

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As Somber Sleep Falls Upon Saturn

A somber sleep falls upon Saturn,
as the Golden Age of Man comes to an end,
passing like silver moons' phases to another cycle of time,
and the fortunes of both man and of woman,
they are paid for in currency of toil and strife,
like the coin paid to the ferryman of the River Styx,
in which mortality meets finally it's end.

His rings orbit no longer in joy for opulence and wealth upon the Terran sphere,
as the arrears of humankind causes humanity to pay for the wages of its sin,
and the din and misery of war starts slowly to creep forward,
as The Sun,
before a source of warmth,
it blazes forth in oppressive heat,
breeding the locusts that come from corruption of matter in rot,
as the trials and tribulations of humanity,
they now come to be to the gods to be as naught.

Oh,
how I mourn for Saturn in his mysterious sleep,
as somehow,
the mystery of how this silver age that has come to pass,
it settles upon my brow,
and I fear now that this age of silver that just now dawns,
that it will recede further to an e'en more corrupted age of bronze,
in which humanity shall strive to til the soil with broken back and heavy heart,
asking in his soul what has come to pass,
why,
after a time in bounteous glory,
the gods have come to abandon them to sorrowed repast...


Copyright © 2015 Robert Matejko

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A Dream of Stars

In dream of sun and star,
like a Caliban unleashed,
that is where the soul resides in highest stature,
born to where we always were,
a residence of light which emanates all we are.

Whether to shine in midnight,
or in broad day's light,
to fight back the tryanny of night or embrace it,
or to shine on a mysterious etheric planet,
far flung in a forgotten corner of space.

We sing to to that ether with the music of the spheres,
as arrays of purest light shine forth,
springing forth to life the light of magic,
as we proclaim the birthright in our light,
the power to drive back forever the stygian night.

We are the spheres of power that sing with heavenly voice,
we stride upon the vastness of the night in might treads of foot and galloping of light playing across the edges of time,
we pay for the tolls of time with our own unique currency,
shining forth with an endurance that makes mortal endurance pale.

We worship at no one's temple,
for our light and life is our own,
the very universe is our arrayed and light filled throne,
filled with darkness but with infinite light,
and we give the light of life itself,
when our mighty cores finally burn to ash,
and the stuff of us is what brings life forth,
from the furnaces of our mighty expirations,
our finally light filled exhalations...



Copyright © 2017 Robert Matejko

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Warrior Stance

He stands in diametrical opposition,
taking in the measures of his opposite self,
taking on the warriors stance,
that leads into the martial dance.

His pace is measured,
every breath taken at deliberate pace,
as he puts on a mask of passivity,
that is now his warriors face.

The dance begins,
the energy pools at hands and feet,
as he waits coiled for the opportunity to strike,
his steps are refined to the point of infinite calculation,
so that no two steps remain the same,
to be analyzed in the warriors game.

The coiled spring strikes out,
past the mounted and now shattered defence ,
the defender has changed his vibratory nature,
as the defender becomes the one who is on the offence.

The game continues,
as liquid flows are merging,
and the offender becomes the defender,
as the defender becomes the offender,
and the skilled might and the roll of the dice,
become the judge of the victorious contender.

Details | Robby's Multimedia Poetry Poem

Anchor

Setting down anchor to settle into soul,
stability guaranteed,
yet threat of cementing to concrete what I have in control.

My anchor is my stablility,
yet it feels too heavy of late;
I feel as if I cannot cast anchor,
to survey both what I want and need to explore.

My anchor is a blessing and curse,
both in how I use it and how it is used;
it keeps me stable and grounded, 
yet so easily of late,
it keeps me cemented in place.

That which relaxes me of late has become utterly routine,
and while it settles me out to some degree,
I yearn to cast my anchor aside,
to feel free and be the soul I was meant to be.


Copyright © 2021 Robert Matejko

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Sleep

Fiery Lotus blossoms in my mind,
as I sleep the sleep of the blessed artist,
pinwheels of spinlets of gold of finest finery,
gold from the dresses of pouting princesses,
that spin and blossom in spires of artistic desire,
that make my third eye grow wet in perspire.

Gold leaflets of pages of musical notes,
sheafs of pages of pages of poetry,
they flow and turn their pages within my thoughts,
glory of music and poetry telling immortal stories,
that turn in sheafs of golden leaves,
that flow and flutter in the winds of mysterious time,
the pages of art turning for my mind to ponder and perhaps redesign.

Fluttering fauna of faerie tale words,
they whisper worlds of fantastc fare,
as my inner eye stares at the stars now rising,
constellations of imagination,
that swell in saguine supernovae of hope,
a hope for the world of the artist to flow forevermore.

I take the fiery lotus in my trembling hands,
sifting through the essence of those golden spinlets,
as the gold of those princesses dresses cast a spiders web,
that encases my third eyes desire to see all the world has to offer,
sanctifies it and offers it to the universe,
the dream of my artistic desire.

Those gold leafets of musical notes,
those sheafs of pages of poetry,
I write them into a diary of life,
a diary that rises as a new full moon in my consciousness,
as I desgin the desgin of reality with my imaginations daring,
my third eye standing still,
as it obsesses with my creation,
fixated in staring.

That saguine supernova,
its explosion of creation shaking my soul to the core,
this explosion of creation lets me see more,
more than I could have ever hoped to before,
and I see now that the universe has more to offer me,
than I ever thought that for my soul it held in store.

Let me sleep the sleep of the artist,
let me sleep in rhytmic engrams of mystery,
as those engrams imprint emblems of creations magic upon my soul,
and I shall extol its virtues,
I shall praise those virtues,
in every other night that come to pass in my lifes time,
that sweet sandman song of arts song most sublime.

Details | Robby's Multimedia Poetry Poem

Tower

Standing atop the tower of my solitude,
I look down,
seeing the events of my life unfold,
manifested as many people milling on the street.

I stay in this tower to gain a new perspective,
yet, 
of late,
I feel that my perspective could be lost, 
drowned in the metaphysics of looking down from lofty spiritual heights,
to see what I may do to end these dark and forboding nights.

These nights are filled to the brim with forlorn thoughts,
running through the ifs and whats of the every day,
yet I know that at this time,
I must preside in my tower for protection,
descending to the ground floor from time to time,
to remain grounded in what I explore.

When I am at the ground floor of my towering sanctuary,
I can look up to see the shape of what I have constructed for myself,
my refuge, 
my towering sanctum from all trials and tribulations, 
and I can look at street level at all the milling people that represent my thoughts,
getting a clearer perspective of what it is I think from day to day.


Copyright © 2021 Robert Matejko

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The Stars, Her Eyes

The very stars were her eyes one night,
as she claimed the cosmos' starlight for her own,
ascended to her ultimate feminine grace,
mounted upon a celestial starlight throne.

She looked up to the sky and spoke to them,
the stars that twinkled just above her brow, 
as twilight starlight spoke in semiphore,
and revealed to her through their starlight language,
the secrets of all things both known and unknown.

All this came upon her wistfully,
as she sighed the very essence of starlight into her waiting lungs,
constellations constellating themselves in her psyche,
their stories connecting together in ethereal patterns of ahhhs and aums.

Her eyes twinkled,
as starlight sprinkled its wisdom upon her,
and she signed the deepest of sighs as she settled into her celestial throne,
bemoaning all the nights that came before this,
in which starlights wisdom hadn't sparkled in her eyes and through her psyche roamed.

What a world she had beheld in the Irises in her magical spacelit eyes,
the sighs of starlight heaving in her starfilled lungs,
as she felt Heavens oums and ahhhs settle upon her, 
making her cry in joy and ecstasy,
starlight dissolved behind the sacred space of her third eye.

As she went to bed she cried that night,
as she felt the starlight pass its way,
the starlight and its wisdom dissolving away like a dream;
the yearn for this knowledge,
it caused her tears like starlight to run in a luminous stream,
and she dreams of a hope one night,
that one night she may capture that starlight again,
nurse it as a lover,
so that once more and forevermore,
she may wake with the gift of starlight in her eyes...




Copyright © 2013 Robert Matejko

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Cinnamon

Unfurling the matrix of poetry,
unfolding it's meaning and nestling it in the womb,
the cradle of universal form,
breathing in the meaning of words like censors of cinammon,
playing upon the music of The Universe,
casting forth letters in the mind like archaic runes.

Fragments of cinammon scented poetry pierce the veils of Isis,
seep past the eyelids like fragments of eternity,
and the meaning of those words, 
they cannot be denied,
as they are deified by the poet,
graceful goddess of poesy and grammatical grace,
looking upon the clockwork face of half forgotten goddesses and gods.

That cinammon, 
that sensual sequence of words conveyed in poetry,
it seeps past these every day eyes to my inner eye,
scenting my thoughts with lavender parchment,
calligraphies of cataclysmic verse setting THe Universe on fire with desire,
breathed out like a giants very last breath

I take the deepest of sighs,
take in that cinammon and lightly smile,
knowing that my words are my own as much as anyone else's is to anyone else,
a wonderful sollipsism of verse sonnorized and alchemized eternally,
nursed in the cradle of a poets life,
made love to like the love between husband and wife.

...and I sit now, 
in the center of The Universe,
scenting the thoughts of my poetic mind with cinammon,
hoping to find that perfect sequence of poetry that started it all,
the ultimate verse of poetry,
The Universe itself,
which gives this poet life...

Details | Robby's Multimedia Poetry Poem

The Tunnel

I realize this now,
finally,
that the journey is not a destination,
that the destination is not a journey,
but that endings have a beginning in them,
just as much as each beginning contains an end,
and part though I do not know what lays at the tunnel,
some part of me,
some small part of me,
perhaps it just doesn't care
...which surprises me,
but at the same time,
it doesn't;
for I which to approach life as an ever present moment,
attending to each mometn so that the best future is guaranteed,
and so that the future becomes a past I do not regret.

I seek to undress each moment fully like a lover,
exploring the fully bounty of each moment,
taking the fire of each moment,
wielding it like Promethues in my hand,
so that as each moment comes to me,
I may nurse it as I should,
so that happniess may come to me more readily,
no longer seeming like some far away land...