The outcasts,
The counters to the counter culture,
Conversing cynically,
Criticizing everything,
Coy and cold heartily wishing everyone had warm hearts like us.
A conundrum,
A catch 22, it’s true
We’re paradoxes,
People who promise we’re unique
But we’re just provocative, promiscuous, perverted, sluts.
-Ian Robertson
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With the coming of the winter frost
My absent minded thoughts
Are lost in a blizzard of false emotion.
Like a freezing rain
My brain is accosted with pain
From the memories of the days I used to waste with her.
But with the coming of the winter frost
I’ve found myself in a trance
When I glance at the sweet, subtle romance
Between the snow and treetops.
You see, I thought I’d get lost
In your luscious locks and lazily list, lustfully lament
And whisper these words before pursuing your lips:
“Here come and sit where serpent never hisses
And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.”
Call it “cliche”
Call me what you may
But day after day
I long for this fantasy to manifest to reality.
Like changing seasons,
It stands to reason
That your aesthetically pleasing
Voice, when you converse,
carries perfect acoustics to the nerves in my mind.
The coming of the winter frost
Bodes that I’ll be lost
In your eyes, the remainder of my life.
-Ian Robertson
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Near but far though you are,
with your friends, those celestial stars.
From thousands of miles
I see your captivating, cosmic, Cheshire smile.
A sad satellite?
Or a stunning stellar light
To make bright the night?
No, I’ve a new name for you,
Though few have met you
And fewer still know less about your personality,
I feel we share similar philosophies.
Though we’re parted by vast oceans of breath
and an abyss of even less than what’s to be found in a lonesome death,
I call you my friend.
For when I end, to you; I’ll send my last whisper.
And in my death dream
I’ll finally have thee accompany me
drift and list lazily in eternity.
-Ian Robertson
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Does it take a poem of deep meaning and witty wordplay to catch your eye of affection, to have your heart look my way?
Or perhaps something more cliche: a dictionary; the word “beauty”, definition; your name.
Apollo carries not the Sun for it is your smile that brings the light of day.
And Artemis decorates the sky with your laughter long after the sunlight fades.
My Achilles heal is the heart on my sleeve,
my Herculean strength is my naive belief that Aphrodite’s might is all I’ll ever need.
-Ian Robertson
Sweet simple subtleties when I pause and think of you,
your big brown eyes so much like mine I feel at home when they’re in my view.
I’ve no great gifts to give save my words will always be true.
The truth is these lips long to fall upon you and, Truthfully, from you to me, one kiss is long overdue. So let’s take the time to find that if our fingers intertwine we might find that we’re two of a kind; kindred spirits and like-minds.
I know my sappy poetry doesn’t do justice to your radiant beauty but don’t judge me, it’s all I’ve got. So let’s give it a shot, let me have this dance of which I’m no good but at least its a chance for a little romance.
-Ian Robertson
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4/4: In standard time we start slow and steady and take our time getting ready. Pause and reflect, a moment to recollect on how we first connected. Review and reprise on my first flight of fancy in your eyes.
3/4: the music builds and chills follow up my spine the realization that tonight, you’re mine. Into it we fall, our body’s dance to your siren’s call. You whisper my name, I can’t refrain to again surrender myself, seduced in our seclusion, our selfless selfishness serving our perversion of romance.
2/4: the beat of my heart, pacing, racing, ever faster, never ceasing never stopping, pounding, the rhythm of drums sounding the cadence we’ve become lost in. Caution to the wind, pure obsession we’re immersed in.
Rest: deep breaths… Bars of rest… This poetic passion paused with you in my chest.
-Ian Robertson
I once thought I had what I wanted
but what I wanted was the thoughts I never had.
Perhaps if I figured it out earlier
I wouldn’t be lost now
and this landfill of half ass’d ideas and broken dreams
could be a utopia of ideals,
alas it seems all my schemes do nothing but further
drown me in the sea of an overbearing reality.
If I could alter the world to an altered state of mind
then this global high would bring order to my senseless, seldom sober mind.
Maybe there’s something I’ve yet to find
or maybe I’m just wasting my time,
but if you only want to live while your high
then maybe it’s time to give up and die.
-Ian Robertson
I didn’t want what we had to end
yet I still wound up losing another friend.
I’m used to rejection but by the mere suggestion
you turned up your nose and told me to go.
There was nothing to lose but I guess you felt I had something to prove.
God damn you must be sick not to give us a chance,
I’m no doctor but your diagnosis is in;
you’re allergic to romance
-Ian Robertson
I’ve sat and thought
I’ve listened, I’ve taught
I’ve been up and down
I’ve smiled, I’ve frowned
Of all the things I’ve done
Some have been fun
and others…..
Well perhaps my brain is too small
to recall it all
but from what I remember,
Through every January to December, year after year,
These events have brought me here.
The struggle and strife that’s occurred in my life
is alright
because when I turn off the light
and lay down at night
my dreams take flight
and they shine bright like
the moon
Conducts an orchestra of stars
with supernova symphonies
and black hole bars
when I hear the cosmic crescendo!
…I let go…
Free to be all that’s inside me
And to the Red stars reprise
I arise to realize my mind’s eye’s vision
is a mirrored reflection
of all I ever was,
all I ever will be
and all
I am
Happy to be sad
knowing crying makes me glad
that the love in my life
is not just a dream I see in the night.
-Ian Robertson
