Poetry and Prose – 2017

POST-TRAUMATIC GROWTH:  Improving one’s sense of wellbeing using art, creative writing, photography and blogging – my journey written by ©Karen Robinson.  Please click here for my latest blog news!



 

Karen Robinson Poetry Reading at the 'Tall Dark & Coffee Cafe' South Melbourne - photo taken by husband. NB: All images are protected by copyright laws

Karen Robinson Poetry reading at the ‘Tall Dark & Coffee Cafe’ South Melbourne, Victoria, Australia – photo taken by husband on Karen’s Samsung Galaxy S6 Mobile Phone.   NB:  All images are protected by copyright laws.

 

 

 

POETRY & PROSE 2017

•••♥♥♥•••

Please click here to read about 'Poetry & Prose' by Karen Robinson

 

 

— Conversation at Play —

 

­

I called her on my mobile phone
and we shared a video conversation -
a new way for us to kindle
our mother-daughter relationship


Me with my aging worn-out face
spindly freshly-washed silver-grey hair
pulled up into a messy bun
her with her youthful expression
silken long flowing honey-coloured mane


We confirmed details 
of our tomorrow's catch up 
and then
the discovery of a mobile phone app
where our conversation
became play!


Funny and hysterical images
momentarily shaped
our video faces
creating shared laughter
and giggles


A small time of silliness
fondly shared with my daughter
a delightful re-connection
that fills a mother's heart
with the most comforting joy


Another treasured moment
of playful conversation
is consciously locked away
in my memory bank of her
now my only child


grown up she maybe
but for me she will always
be that cheeky beautiful child
that stole my heart
oh so many years ago...


– Ο – 



Prose Poem © Karen Robinson - February 2017


 

 

 

— Bourke Street —

­

the news charged

into my space

demanding my

immediate attention

my response

‘no - not in my town

my city’




screaming

now from within me

the memory of my son

killed in road trauma

my senses heightened

I find myself again

saying

‘no - not in my town

my city’




this Bourke Street driver

killed

and maimed

without a thought




one baby

one child

and 4 others

run down,

slaughtered

in my town,

my city.




Melbourne now mourns

cries in disbelief

while loved ones

crumble in their despair

yes — in my town,

my city.


- o - 




Prose Poem © Karen Robinson - January 2017
­
*Please click here to read the back-story about this Prose Poem

 

 

— When Loved Ones Die —

­
What is it when loved ones die?



First there is the news.

Then there is the shock.

Then there is preparing for a funeral.

Then there is living on without them.




And during all of this there is:

“I am not going to the funeral if she is going.”

“No. I want to go in your car and not in Uncle Joe’s.”

“Should we tell the ‘other woman’ that he is dead?”

“Don’t tell Nana yet. She will get upset.”

“I am not going to the funeral.”

“I am going to the funeral whether they want me there or not!”

“They don’t want me at the funeral?”

“The airfare is too much.”

“I can’t take time off from work right now.”

“Gee – it’s really not very convenient.”




What is it when loved ones die?




“We better make sure that she doesn’t get any of his stuff.”

“They didn’t call me and let me know he had died.”

“I didn’t even get to say a few words at the funeral.”

“I was the closest to him.”

“I am not going around to say I am sorry to hear of his loss.”

“Because I am not!”

“I never really liked him.”

“I am glad he’s dead.”

“He didn’t come to my son’s funeral.”

“He was never really one of the family.”

“They got divorced so he is not really family.”

“They never married so he is not really family.”




What is it when loved ones die?




“I’m not talking to him. You’ll have to talk to him.”

“Who’s going to pay for the funeral?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“Remember when he jumped off the bridge and nearly killed himself?”

“No – he was always a bastard to me.”

“Remember at the birthday when he stripped off naked?”

“No. I didn’t get an invitation. When was that?”

“Who’s going to the funeral because if Tom, Dick or Harry are going, 
I’m not going!”

“Who’s going to the funeral because we should all go, shouldn’t we?”




What is it when loved ones die?




“Are his children going?”

“His children from his first marriage – no.”

“His children from his second marriage – yes.”

“Are his wife and ex-wife going?”

“His ex-wife is going.”

“And his wife is not.”

“I wasn’t mentioned in the will?”

“I wasn’t mentioned in the will.”

“He didn’t leave me anything, not even a small token?”

“He didn’t leave me anything, not even a small token.”

“I am glad he is dead.”

“I am sad he is dead.”




What is it when loved ones die?




At my funeral

all will be welcome.

I don’t care who will be there.

If you want to come, just come

because on this day

   my funeral day

it will be about me

and not about you

please

just for this one single day.




What is it when loved ones die?

What is it?

It is grief.


– ο –

Prose Poem © Karen Robinson - January 2017
­

 

 

— Door Knocker! —



Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who you cannot wait to throw your arms around,

 “I love you!  It’s so good to see you.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who you cannot bear to see,

“Oh God… it’s her again. Can’t stand it.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who you don’t want to invite in

“Shhh!  Be quiet. Turn the TV down NOW.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who holds a parcel

“Yes please, this is for me.  I have been waiting for so long.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who holds a clip-board and pen

“I am sick of these people. I wish they would just piss off. Hello…”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who holds a gorgeous bunch of flowers

“Oh how lovely, who are they from?  Sorry, they live next door.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who is in a police uniform

 “Um yes…no…yes, they don’t live here anymore.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who has forgotten to take their keys again

“Not again – take your keys next time.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who is lost

“Turn right at the corner, left at the big green house, 
 then go around the round-about.  Let me repeat that.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who is your mother-in-law  

 “God - tidy the house! Quickly, quickly.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who is coming to make-up after an argument

 “This is going to be interesting.”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who is delivering bad news

“Can you repeat that please?”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who is about 3 feet high

 “How cute - but where’s your mummy?”

Sometimes it’s a door knocker

     who doesn’t knock but just stands there

“Bloody hell, who is that.”

Sometimes it’s just a door knocker!


– ο –

Prose Poem © Karen Robinson - January 2017

 

 

Please click here to read about 'Poetry & Prose' by Karen Robinson

© Karen Robinson – January 2017

POST-TRAUMATIC GROWTH:  Improving one’s sense of wellbeing using art, creative writing, photography and blogging – my journey written by ©Karen Robinson.  Please click here for my latest blog news!