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Robert Lawson Poem
Our lives and our time
Fired useless
Into the air
Toy cap gun shots
Those winter palaces unstormed
No tax offices ransacked
Where is utopia I asked
And no-one knew
They looked at me with pity
As if I still talked
To an imaginary friend
At my age
I should know better
But I don´t
Instead
I dream..
II
I dream of anarchist airships
On a pan African glide
Piers Plowman stares in wonder
Shielding his eyes
I dream the wind
Will be our radio
And the moon our television
I dream of everyday life
After the revolution
III
After the revolution
We will sweep the streets
& sing
We will live like zen monks
In our tiny rooms
In our blissful shacks
Night rain music on tin roofs
Low mattresses, paper lanterns
We will hike to distant
Moon villages
& be greeted as brothers
In the plaza
Conversation & blue wine
Flow until dawn
IV
What is utopia?
Utopia is a charge of indecency
When decency means indifference
Utopia is a returned umbrella
Utopia is a million returned umbrellas
Utopia is a game for all the family
Utopia is a family for all the family
Utopia is a hermit
Who plays chess
With passing birds
In a secret cabin on the roof
Of a skyscraper
Utopia is a golden cargo ship
Docking in fog
Utopia is all victory to the soviets
Utopia is all victory to the
Ice cream man
Utopia is a tree that giggles
When you pick it´s fruit
Reality can go whistle
If it wants its money back
Vote for utopia !
V
A crowd has gathered
Some silent, some laughing
Some jeering
A voice from the back
Asks ´ So what happens in utopia? ´
Well…
In utopia- Provo white bicycles
On every corner
In utopia Berryman grows wings
Sexton´s red sports car stalls
& the hose pipe falls
In utopia Godzilla rescues
Kittens from trees
In utopia the KGB
Strip naked & dance
To the Plastic People of the
Universe
In utopia time changes direction
On a whim
In utopia you can grow a beard
In a day
In utopia the Mississippi
Flows to Venus
While Huck & Jim doze
Peacefully on their raft
In utopia economists
Shine shoes
In utopia children will
Learn to levitate
Like Saint Joseph of Cupertino
In utopia
Book now to avoid
Disappointment !
VI
Another voice wants to know
If there are almost utopias
Already here
He has a map and pin
& so like Hakim Bey I list my
Temporary & personal utopias
Scoraig lit by aurora borealis
& LSD weld sparks
Paria Canyon Utah
The night we flash lit
A tumbleweed
Big as a church
As the silver semi´s ghosted by on
Highway 89
Rain swimming with my brother
In the former west Germany
I glimpsed utopia on moor-tinted
Mystery streets of Arcos & Cadiz
Where taking my fortune
I could have stepped into space
Gone to Croatian
& even here now
I could step inside
A voodoo chalk circle
& feel myself vonu
To cruel blows & ruinous
taxes
VII
´Enough of this foolishness ´
Of course there always comes
The deflater
With a lance in search of a
Dragon
A soup bowl to piss in
A degrader of myths
No watcher of passing clouds
Only a watcher of clocks
Utopia won´t work he clucks
Human nature
Wickedness
Human greed
Remember the blackouts
Lootings and chaos
Burnt out cars on suburban
Lawns
Empty supermarket shelves
Drunk beggars shitting in doorways
As the last helicopter
Takes off from the embassy roof
Chisel jawed
Men of action
Howard Roark
John Galt
Will save us
Or at least themselves
While you grow old
And rot
Dreaming of utopia
VIII
But still I dream
IX
In our earth hours
Remaining
There is so much
To see
To build
Henry Darger in his room
Drew a 20,000 page
Dream he could live inside
Others sing nonsense songs
& laugh
Rescue holy snails
Watchful & quietly kind
I sit here as summer turns cool
Spy Bee Eaters
Invisible goat bells on the
River bed
Eucalyptus sway
One day
I will hop the back fence
And light out
With bed roll, boots
And old slouch hat
Toward utopia
Until then
I will stand out
In champagne moonlit yard
& slowly lower my arms
& like saint Joe
Hope to levitate
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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Robert Lawson Poem
Out drinking with an
Australian girl I knew
We met her friend
Two days away
From inheriting a
Fortune
She insisted we sit down
Outside an Italian place
To eat
She ordered a bowl of
Gnocchi
First time I ever ate it
Two or three mouthfuls
Well wow
& the rich girl to be
Took off & stiffed us
With the bill
& I still eat gnocchi
& I still hate the rich
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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Robert Lawson Poem
America
I´m here to bring you
What you don´t need
Another heartfelt poem
Another heartsick plea
Worth less than
Chewed gum
America I’m tapping
At your window
At 3 am
With a bag full of
Sour wine
And a shopping list
Of grievances
America wake up
It´s me and I know
You´re only pretending
To be asleep
America turn on the T.V.
And let´s watch
The late, late movie
In glorious black, white and yellow
The pope vs king Kong
(papa is played by a young Popeye,
Sailor of men)
ACTION!
His holiness splashes holy water
Mixed with Grappa
In the ape´s eyes
In order to get him to loosen
His grip on Olive Oyl
Screaming HELL YELP HELL YELP!
Her Fay Wray wig
That made her look like Harpo Marx
With dysentery
Has fallen 99 stories
Onto the windshield of a
Broadway cab
Kong responds with an
Attempted close shave
With the razor whirling propeller
Of a snatched Bi plane
The pontiff popeye snarls
I´ve hads enough and enough
Is too much
Socks the beast on the jaw..
We cut to
Little Nemo that bedwetting freak
Waking from a Sunday newspaper dream
When the piss cools
And he´s 26 and a Hobo
Eating dogfood stew
Outside a railroad yard
In Santa Fe
We switch stations
To find Cortes
Taking a wrong turn
Winding up in NYC
Demanding a king´s ransom
In subway tokens
And brass door handles
He puts two hundred
Meter maids to the sword
Before they throw a net
Over him and drive him
Off to Bellevue
Wait a minute
Wait a minute
America
Tell me
America
Were you there
The night Charlie Parker
Crashed a UFO into the
Watts Towers
High on grief
for his dead kid
Then played
Lover Man
Lover man
With a Venetian
Pick up band
Til the studio melted
In radioactive tears
America
America
Confess you did in Bruce Lee
With his Dragon scratches
Made aspirin his kryptonite
Admit you tried to stash
The Lindenberg baby in
Amelia Earhart´s luggage
On the morning of her
Exit flight
It was you who bankrolled
The racist aliens who
Anal probed
Barney and Betty
With their miscegenation
Fear and later wiped their minds
Clean with a damp corner of
The Turin shroud
America
America
You handed Kerouac beer after beer
While his Jew hating mother slammed
The window shut on Ginsberg´s fingers
America
You pushed Berryman off the bridge
You gassed Sexton in her red sports car
You put the gun in Brautigan´s mouth
You shot d.a.levy too
Chased him out of the city
Out of the country
Off to ´isreal ´
You bought the Lysol
Vachel Lindsay drank
America have you no shame
No decency
Oh Danny Boone
The Rosenbergs are calling
It´s summertime in the meadow
And the killing is easy
Just ask Billy the Kid
Dillinger
Sacco and Vanzetti
Mounds of rotting buffalo
As far as the eye can see
America
America
America
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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Robert Lawson Poem
I
The form we take
In the shape of a life
From trumpet birth blasts
To the final shadow sighs
The faithful leap
From a Dayton hill
To silver supersonic flight
A mountain of yellowing
Paper words and work
Of worn shoes
Discarded styles
An inland lake of soapy water
A dark, cool mystery mine of sleep
A warehouse of frozen glimpses
Catalogued and filed
A hurricane of curses
Sneer-spital and hot tears
The back country
Mood changed
From bright desert
To dank moor
All and all wiped kitchen clean
A few dark drops and fingerprints
Remain of this victimless
Crime scene
II
Every valid morning
The escape committee
Meets in the yard
To talk about
Terms & conditions
Cooking up plans
Set to fail
Next week
We will turn
Into smoke
& float
Through the ventilation
Or maybe become
Water, no wait..
Tears
Yes tears
Used to seal
Weekly envelopes
Sent back home
III
No fuss
No movement
No heat
No perspiration
No credit
No charge
No shame
No refund
No record
No scar
No signal
No breeze
No traffic
No morning
No bed
No room
No sheets
No clothes
No water
No ceiling
No air
No doubt
No blinking
No past
No night
No sound
No return
IV
Something seen once
At the roadside
Shining like a lost jewel
Amid the rusted out
Beer cans
Greasy fast food wrappers
Could´ve been a
Lost crown
Or a busted hubcap
That was so long ago
But not forgotten
Like a comet
Coming back around
You should´ve stopped
But what would have
Happened
One less mystery
The world was
Expanding then
Outwards & out
Few of us notice
The point when it starts
To shrink back
The tide turning
At some atomic level
But it does
And here you are
On this life raft
So, so much ocean
And so little left
Of you
V
And suddenly
Some movement
Thinner than paper
The void
At first
Abstract & Foreign
Takes on some form
A voice you always knew
A blood voice
Begins it´s
Forever song
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2018
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Robert Lawson Poem
I
How long have I been doing this
Throwing my time & money
Into a hole
Filling up notebooks
Mining overheard conversation
For lines
Squeezing the sponge
Of my wine soaked
Mind
Into the bucket
Of poetry
And now here we are
Gulping down the
Lead tainted water
Like Romans
Romans
Forced to eat
Wooden fruit
To amuse a mad
Emperor
Isn´t it time
To call it all off
When you are
Operating at a
Loss
II
A stone mason
With busted knuckles
Spends his whole
Working life
Carving gargoyles
For a cathedral
He will never live
To see
At least he leaves
A legacy
All my work
My words
Are destined
For the trash
When I am gone
It´s enough to
Make a saint
Spit
III
After dark I drink
The cheapest wine
& peck away at my
Own samizdat
Without the terror
Of a midnight knock
Beaten bloody & led
Off in cuffs
The opposite now
Is true
The underground
Has been pulled
To the surface
Like some flat fish
Luminous from
The depths
& left to flap
Helpless
On the deck
Only of
Temporary
Interest
Later kicked
Overboard
So as not to be
Sickened
By the stench
While ashore
Whole zones
Invaded
The natives
Driven out
While the rich
Spread like
Kudzu
Culture choked
Overwhelmed
Overrun
& when all they see
Is Cash value
They never count
The cost
Because you & I
Can´t go on
Forever
Operating at a
Loss
IV
Do not mistake
My anger for bitterness
My silence for apathy
Each one of us carries
A manifesto
Some call only for
Politeness
Others contain
Outrageous demands
There will maybe
Come a time
When everything you
Cannot gather
In your arms
Will be lost
In the fire
In the flood
What then
What then
No gates to
Hide behind
You stumble
Blinking into
The common
Light
& will try to
Pass yourself off
In that cock-crow
Dawn
Oh, what will you
Deny
In order to
Survive
Every beggar
Keeps a secret
List
Of averted eyes
Of cold night scorn
Look what he is
Guarding now
Fresh in his
Watchman´s
Uniform
The vast store
Of the poor
Man´s toil
Your golden key
Will no longer
Fit that lock
You turn now
To those
Distant hills
Unsteadily
V
After enough wine
A part of me says
Face it we are on
A sinking ship
& there is no time
To grow gills or wings
So why not
Splash around
Half the passengers
Are drunk & downing
Ketchup from the
Bottle
Now the galley
Has
Been picked
Clean
The other half
Hester Prynne
Botherers
Sour & tearless
Teetotal to a man
Have gathered on
The upper deck
Trying to outstare
The sun
Later in the polar
Darkness
The stars
Holes in the
Blanket of night
Changing and
Unchanging
The consolation
Of constellations
The vast amoral
Cosmos
In wordless beauty
I find the only
True and lasting
Peace
VI
Well now here´s
The truth
It´s Wednesday night
(no prayer meeting)
& I want to have
This thing
This poem
Off & out of me
By the weekend
Time to start
Moving
VII
A few words about my
Working methods
Starting aged 45
I planned to write
A dozen or so poems
A month
For five years
Printing & folding &
Stapling each book
At night
Sending some out
Others gifted to
Friends
I carry them around
My own Johnny Appleseed
Fueled by coffee & 68c
Cartons of supermarket
Wine
Like Dr. Bannister
I broke my own 4 minute
Mile
& here at the close of
The 4th year
Am writing this last long
Poem no.60
In the plaza café
Bugged by flies
I look up now & again
To watch old men
Shuffle by
VIII
From the
Wholly Communion
That technicolored
Dream dawn
To the Vrillion
Transmission
Cutting into the
Early evening news
With an alien
Warning
The underground
Was real
And populated
Back then
& now when
Almost all
Thoughts are
Spoken & known
What is there
Left to stumble
upon?
Connelly´s
Pram in the hall
Grounds some
In airport fog
The grind
The slow hill
Of work
Wears the rest
Of us down
Some look for
Credit in the
Straight world
A sugar daddy
A ride on the ever
Turning carousel
Atop a dead eyed
Painted horse
Some go crazy
Gut shot in
Crow fields
Like poor
Van Gogh
Worn down
And sick
Of operating
At a loss
IX
And now the clouds
Are coming to eat
My house
The windowsill
Committee
Has
Gathered
In chorus they
Sing
´fat boy, fat boy
Put down your
Pencil & come
Outside´
& hearing them
I do.
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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Robert Lawson Poem
if you don´t wash
the dishes
are you a
communist?
no,no comrade
let me explain
they will wash
themselves
if you leave them
out in the rain
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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Robert Lawson Poem
I
The beggar outside the supermarket
You swore was picked up later
In a flashy car
Sat there in the sun for 8 hours
While you pissed & moaned
All the way home
To your bookless
Mausoleum
With a chlorinated pool
Where one day you will
Face down float
When your sour & blackened
Heart
Is divorced by your body
So wet nurse your rage
Make your piss boil
& your eyeballs pop-a-pop
Can you feel the parasite inside
Laugh-dance while you sleep
It´s fingernails tickle your bladder
Devil face in the bathroom mirror
Your father´s face
& his father´s too
An unbroken line of
Flightless birds
Who settled for less
Now nested in white rooms
And in early curtain light
Mumble
Parasite
Parasite
Parasite
II
The parasite gloms
The parasite glues
The parasite grasps
The parasite gnaws
The parasite grinds
The parasite grows
III
Us parasites
We live on walls
Arterial roads
Junctions, stations
Sleep on gratings
Doorways, stairways
In fears, in minds
Unlocked cellars
Sun shined rooftops
Camp in midnight chained
Parks
& face wash in near frozen
Fountains
IV
They are the wayward
The serial absconder
Leather jacket bug-eyed
Glue huffer
Gipsy Davy, pied piper
Of vagrancy
Plague agent , alleyway
Shitter
Shifty, shirty
Steal the milk & morning paper
From your dawn step
Mail used condoms, bloody
Needles in Saturday´s letter box
Bring back the cat
Conscription
Short sharp shock
Sulphur and castor oil
To purge the system
Of
Parasites!
V
The parasite is everywhere
He dares to not speak
Our god-loved tongue
On buses his woman
Wrapped up tight
Against contamination
They cannot meet the
Upstanding eye
Or else stare back
Unblinking
And there are too many
And they block the pavement
And the hospital beds
And they will drown & swarm
All that
Is milky safe and mild
Unless we angry-act
Now
VI
As I rise to leave
He all of a sudden
Soft collars me
Pepe the painter that´s him
Grey´d full rounded out
Asks of the family
And the pueblo
& then the spiel
The one month dead wife
No work and the kid at school
& not even bread in the house
I hand him all the change
In my pocket
Ungrudged
For a (snow) job well done
By parasite surely
I don´t mean him
It´s the head scarfed woman
Cry-pleading
The biblical beard
One leg rolled up
To display scabbed
Medical bolts
The block capital
Cardboard sign
The small dozing dog
& the downturned eyes
The bench sleepers
Sky ranters
Trash bin rakers
All submarine deep
Cave blind
Lost in some forest
Without a breadcrumb
Trail
All the gutter coins
Of this city will
Never buy them back
That child peace gone
& so to sneer
The cure for cancer
Does not reside or die
With them
But also it won´t
With the likes of me
So who is the parasite
Here?
VII
The careful art of
Containing horror
Bergen-Belsen
In a bubblegum wrapper
The tin loving cup rattles
The wind stings
Untampered by noon-sun
Glare
The abscess throb
Of mortal thoughts
Sidestepped
Temporary
Out of service
Every 20 yards
A sleeping bag shroud
In theater land
Soho
Tottenham court road
Uncollected refuse
No refuge
The soul cleansing dept
Is on indefinite strike
Living tissue turns to mulch
In time lapsed view
Compassions heat diffuses
& even the rain
Will not stir them.
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2018
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Robert Lawson Poem
Guitar case Buddha
Out back is a room with a tin roof
& there somewhere among
The old paint cans
& broken furniture
Is a guitar case
& in the flap where you
Stash picks & spare strings
Is a small wooden Buddha
At least I think he´s still there
20 yrs ago mooching around
Chinatown San Francisco
I bought him for a buck
From a street stall
Put him inside my jacket
& went for lunch
Upstairs in a place
With flying duck wallpaper
& dirty windows
We ate won ton soup
Waited until the rain eased off
& part of me is sad
I will never see San Francisco
Again & eat won ton soup
In Chinatown
& part of me thinks
I might go free that
Little Buddha
& put him up on the
Mantelpiece
& toast him with my first
Glass of evening wine
Salut my friend
Your exile is over
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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Robert Lawson Poem
Comrade
Tie rollerskates to pólice
Horses hoofs
Piss on the grim parade
From the roof
Of the dept store
Slip a fortune cookie note
That reads
´give me liberty or death
Or chicken chow mein ´
In the pocket of a
Passing pope
Arm the homeless
With pitchforks
& direct them to the
Castle on the hill
Bite the earlobes
Of the palace guards
But not too hard
Just enough to let
Them know
We means bizness
Free the geese & turkeys
From their Christmas cages
Bring back the cat
& the white rhino too
Buddy Bolden´s trumpet
Audible from a mile
& a century away
Will be our huntsman´s cry
Tally Ho!
Tough time to be a
Fox in ermine
That day
Chase the elusive Trane
Down 52nd street
Bring down a plane
With the third eye
Laser
Crash landing with
Ray gun sparks
Beneath
Balls to convention
Let´s nudge
Michelangelo’s
Elbow
Shout theatre in a
Crowded fire
Squirt soda water
In destiny´s face
I´m mad as hell but
Then hell is mad
Let´s push Larkin´s
Work toad under
The 39 bus
& give all
The blessed angels
Something to sing
About
Let them fear
King Ludd
& kabouters
Slack men in
Boiler rooms
Reading yesterday´s
Paper
Comrades
Fellow travelers
Come & let´s dance
On the green
But first take off
Your shoes
& throw them
Into the
Machine
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2018
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Robert Lawson Poem
Well so
Most mornings the small black/ White dog wakes me before 7
Wanting food I stumble through with half a cup & fill her metal bowl
& then go piss & avoid my refection in the bathroom mirror
& return to the warm & welcome bed where my wife has turned left
& we lie in formation like flying ducks over a creek somewhere
Peaceful for 20 minutes or so until the passing tractor
The dog must chase raises me again & off she goes
& the light is enough for coffee if I want it
& sometimes I do & the world is something then
That light that light
Softens the day´s coming load
Copyright © Robert Lawson | Year Posted 2017
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