Robin Lipinski

Big Band

Era of time where instrument, vocal, and time

met in a moment and never lost each other.

Good times!

one leg in this, the next in that. worlds running between. a bird circling to remind mortality. for it is.

feeling it the birds at feed, rabbits spillings with few mice. mice have fled.

rabbits tracks, destruction with red piss.

liking an ending the woman the tears shed, inspired by stuart, thanks.

sharpen blade now, to saw fast and deep, logs to reveal their time of secrets.

at first, alone, only…

two men wearing yellow caps, boring – filled with hate and rapture, “blah, blah, blah…” Staring with ignorant eyes.

laps with a crawl: 50 seconds.

laps with a leg: 62 seconds.

Family of five so happy it seems, two boys eating snow and a daughter enjoying dunking.

More came.

retreating to the bottom, peace and bubbles, only to see them again.

Two noses pointing, one one each side. In the middle looking out the window at the coming rain hidden behind mornings blue sky.

Now two butts, two dogs laying in front of the heater, sleeping after sleep.

It would be nice though today continues yesterday.

Going deeper now as deep as I can get. Time to embrace the show face and close the doors.

***

A tent was there, one once full of color with poles of straight strength. Attached facing opposite directions, guiding a ridge with height.

Once, one, singular, yet past tense the poles of the tent – snapping shattered; wind carrying flaps of greyed canvas.

Still, not so, with showing shape…Illusions. Delusions. Mirage to ease thoughts, so many thoughts one contained. Released, wasted, grounded with stakes.

Light showed the same in darkness as darkness hid from light, really then, light? If then comes morning is it still worth showing?

Where did a frame go though billowing; needed with rope to ground never stopped shadows. Gone. Complete.

Mountain covered bare. Peak slippery slope, and then. Over and over and over. Until, even the tent was finished.

Monsters don’t have many friends, and for good reason. Yes, they have people they can interact with, conduct business with, even visit with, but monsters rarely go past the point of having really good friends.

Today I heard from a soul I really like, Bob Star. Bob is a man from Hawaii and drove a taxi for a living, he also was a Marine and he was a butcher. It was wonderful to work for him last Summer, a magical moment for me as literally millions of lady bugs were answering my dream…

There was the stream, the rocks, the clover. So today was made very nice as to hear of his new plans and recent drama made the day very well indeed.

Then there was the call from Mike, a friend for sure and a study in human nature. He told me of his lack of success hunting ducks in California and of how much it rained while he was there.

It seems like the two new knee’s last year were only a start of his bionic change as he told me he now needs a new hip.

Today was a good day. The weather excellent. The potential for the future, exciting.

I hope your day was good also, no matter what day it is you’re reading this.

***

Days of Friends

We are of our own making; asleep soundly and dreaming

Awake we become a part of a whole world, a world where we all are making.

For some it comes natural. To act, react, and be with other people

For most it comes hard.

With training and perseverance, sometimes people become friends.

For a monster it is almost impossible; worlds apart, different thoughts and appeals…

For this monster today i say thanks, Bob Star.

That’s how many words I typed today for a new story, titled: Things.

Started around 0900 and finished six hours later. The whole time typing the weather outside the window was wonderful, cold true, but wonderful anyway.

It is fun to write.

***

Writing

School is where the young mind learns of their world…

Math, English, Science, Gym.

Can you remember who the 22nd president was, or what is the 32nd state?

Can you remember what your teacher taught you about the chemical reaction when O2 is combined with flame?

Memory is such a fickle slide, slippery slope of mixed thoughts

though

typing?

Still remembering the old style type writer, the liquid white out, the typing tests.

Today it is good I remembered as typing comes so natural now and while I remember greatly, this skill called, typing. I cannot remember my typing teachers name.

trump-or-the-treadmill

There is a site where poems written about current weekly events are accepted or rejected. Of course this is one rejected but not on my site, what I write is accepted by me always.

If you’re a writer, never accept rejection just keep writing and enjoy it.

I submitted two to them, both rejected. Here is the second one.

just-a-bug

Now to go write another poem and submit it so it can be rejected next week and I can post it here.

Cold again this morning, thermometer reads below below

Sweating in bed only to have to rise and turn up the heat.

Many complain about cold, about mornings

but not me.

I love this weather, any weather, especially when wind is involved

No wind this morning, just a large moon, a clear sky, and the memory of sleep.