Foreign rooms
Strange children
every day
Something new
Sometimes I’m blue
It does get old
Hearing disrespect
Glad to disconnect
STOP!
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
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
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
“ALL RIGHT! LUNCH IS OVER! GET BACK TO WORK!
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
black desert howling
silent auction
death is hard boiled
Haiku Ode #1
I grew up with you
I ate you
I came to hate you
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Haiku Ode #2
Wrapped in gold dream
Mama will scold
My finger in the cream
Since April has been chosen as the month in which we celebrate poetry, it should be noted that movements have begun because poetical bards, painters and performers have produced literary works of art that highlighted our community felt needs, and societal injustices that need to be corrected. When the news was in the forefront of our eyes that certain people or groups were actually burning churches to the ground without any real reason, this poem was written addressing this societal botch.
‘Ashes, Ashes, even if it all falls down!’
A hellish dis-ease leaves cruel pockmarks of
racist rehetoric across the face of a land that
once boasted it was free. The bloody scourge
sweeps over and through while flame-throwing
cowards burn her churches to the ground.
Just as history records that Nero persecuted
and hunted Christians down. So let the record
stand that these cowards also rate as zero.
What a nifty new commercial that this would make:
‘From Nero to Zero in just two thousand years!’
Ashes, Ashes, even if it all falls down!
But truth remains truth with God Almighty as
Judge, but facts can indeed lie when God is
conveniently kept out of the picture. The Truth?
We all are one blood! All came from Adam.
We just live in different colored houses.
But you must be born aain and then you begin
to realize, that even if they burned every
stained-glass building down: The Church of Jesus
Christ lives within. I am the Temple. We worship
in Spirit and Truth for the Father seeks such
to Worship Him.
By Janice J. Robinson © 1996
If you are a Christian poet in the Chicago area, at least for the month of April, this writer would like to make available to other poets a place to exhibit some of your poems. Please only submit your own original poems, since you can give permission to publish your work. You can contact this writer at poetess755@gmail.com. Your poems must glorify the Lord God, or His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ or the Word of God. God Bless you in your endeavors.
Since April has been named as the National Month of Poetry, which was inaugurated in 1996 according to the Academy of American Poets. This month it is celebrating its sixteenth birthday. Since this writer not only covers Biblical topics, but is also a published poetess, these articles will devote some space to poetry that has been inspired by the love of the Lord Jesus Christ. So enjoy reading the poetry that will be featured for this month.
‘My Touch’
My touch is love, it is a gentle dove upon your shoulder
It is living water for your thirst
I chose you! You decided to follow
I do expect obedience at all times
I am your Master, you are My servant
My touch is peace, it is joy upon your heart
As you hearken to your Master’s voice, I am
the manna that will feed your hungry, silent need
I do expect obedience at all times
I am your Teacher, you are my apprentice
My touch is healing, it is compassion and balm to your spirit
It is honey to your soul
My voice is the nectar that cleanses your ears
I do expect obedience at all times
I am your Shepherd, you are my lamb
Come!
By Janice J. Robinson
Copyright: 1996
