The Substitute

Foreign rooms
Strange children
every day
Something new
Sometimes I’m blue
It does get old
Hearing disrespect
Glad to disconnect


Temporary moments
Faces of acceptance
Minds in learning mode
Something new
Pledge of Allegiance
to red, white and blue
Joy never grows old
Teach the three R’s
Homeroom sweet homeroom

© Janice J. Robinson
April 27, 2015





Beautiful colors

playing together softly

I’m happy and shout


© Janice J. Robinson

March 25, 2015

“Welcome to the Woman’s Club”

Welcome to the Woman’s Club

(and oh, how I would have liked to have swung it)

and seminary silence

like the forest, oh so deep,

it makes one wonder

if it would do any good to weep.

But maybe perchance

after some sleep,

I’ll get my broom

and give it a good sweep.

Changing times

and swinging doors

people in

and people out

thoughts the same

it’s really lame

Jesus set us free

Oh, wait…

you’re a woman!


© Janice J. Robinson

February 19, 2015

A Psychedelic Lyrical Cruise in Time

Musing on a Saturday…a Saturday morn

Caught out of time, Listening sublime

Words that caused my heart to be torn

Crushed by ‘Time in a Bottle’ so just ‘Carry on My Wayward Son’

Knowing in the end that we are but ‘Dust in the Wind’

Like a ‘Free Bird’ you know it’s absurd

That ‘Every Breath You Take’

Sweeps around a ‘Horse with no Name’, Standing in the ‘November Rain’

Leading me to the ‘Stairway to Heaven’, Our very own ‘Bridge over Troubled Water’

Asking me ‘Have you ever seen the Rain’?

So ‘Dream On’ until we see that ‘Morning has Broken’

I can only ‘Wish you were Here’, and hope we remain, to keep ‘Living on a Prayer’

Knowing that ‘Nothing Else Matters’

As the storm clouds gather and we take knowledge

That ‘Every Rose has its Thorn’

But in the end, we will be ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’

Like once upon a time when ‘Vincent’ sang about a “Starry, Starry Night”

As we ‘Dream On’ flying through

A Psychedelic Lyrical Cruise in Time

A time when nothing else much mattered

except our youth and the songs we sang

In our cars that carried our friends along

it seemed back then that we were strong

But as time moved on we soon realized

that memories are just memories and

Everything dissolves like dust in the wind



Cited works:

 ‘Time in a Bottle’ by Jim Croce

‘Carry on My Wayward Son’ by Kansas

‘Dust in the Wind’ by Kansas

‘Free Bird’ by Lynard Skynard

‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police

‘Horse with no Name’ by America

‘November Rain’ by Guns and Roses

‘Stairway to Heaven’ by Led Zeppelin

‘Bridge over Troubled Water’ by Simon & Garfunkel

‘Have you ever seen the Rain’ by CCR

‘Morning has Broken’ by Cat Stevens

‘Wish you were Here’ by Pink Floyd

‘Living on a Prayer’ by Bon Jovi

‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica

‘Every Rose has its Thorn’ by Poison

‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’ by Guns and Roses

‘Vincent’ by Don McLean

‘Dream On’ by Aerosmith

What a Snap


November must be near

It’s time to vote

you can tell, because they try

to buy your vote

though they say they don’t

by sending you a sweet little note

I’d heard tell by some you see

that they reduced the amount

of IDPA….wow, what a SNAP

but then they raised it back by

a whopping nine dollars for free

that will sure buy a lot at the grocery

but you see, they hope you remember

their name and their particular

political party

after all

the nine dollars was rather small

so instead of remembering blue or red

I think I’ll vote for the write-in instead

and maybe….just maybe….

it’ll be me

Stop the Merry-Go-Round, I want to get on!

Ideas pop and sizzle in

sponge-like gray pockets of

human byte-size menus.  Words

coagulate to form eclectic

mental visions that tantalize.


Keyboard clicks with strokes

lovingly designed toward success.

Flattened wood pulp jammed

around the platen to catch the ink jet splatters.


Manila pockets of hope that

carry out the mission, like

the Pony Express of yesterday.

It suffers the Hara-kiri ritual

performed by ordinary letter openers.


It waits for the brusque editorial

attention its author has waited to

hear.  Waiting to feed the need.

Licking up comments like crumbs

that fall to the floor.


Floated towards the river of acceptance,

or resigned to slush pile ignominy.

The author waits with bated breath

and a tingly expectation, as the SASE

is gleaned from the morning mail.



Janice J. Robinson

©  November 30, 1995


A Poet’s Dilemma

Circadian…Cinnabar Red…

I want to go back to bed

Rhymes and Reasons…

Oh, WAIT!…Should it be Treason’s?


Butter…Butter…My hearts’ all-a-flutter

Writing these words…writing…writing…


“Sing a song of six-pence…

A pocket full of rye…”


No…No…That’s been done to death

Oh, poor Mother…She really was a silly old goose.


Words a-plenty…Buz-z-z-ing in my head

Circadian…yes, yes, the rhythms of life

Cinnabar red…better words instead




My lunch with the bunch

That I never started…No, I won’t say it

It’s been written on every wall

By poetic squatters waiting for pay-dirt

If you don’t understand it, just sit a spell

It’ll come to you by and by


My pockets stuffed with paper

Oh, what a caper

See you later…Alligator


As I twirl my artistic pen with my fingers

Waiting for the words for my very next zinger!


Janice J. Robinson

©  October 19, 2011