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Rob Walker Poem
For a reason unknown I awoke in the night
While the sun approached the edge as it might
If it wished to awaken this side of the ball
With the slightest of nudges, if any at all.
No. I’d have to say, having given it thought,
That the sun, in its 3AM slumber did not
Even rustle the rooster or shine on the crest
Of the uppermost mountain off to the west.
There still is the question then as to my stirring
That might be explained by a nightmare recurring
Or too many ounces drunk six hours prior
With prudence unpracticed before I retire.
There was no refuting the change in my state
From one unaware to one wide awake
Yet the cause of the premature stirring remains
To be found and yet – something about you explains
Why I sat up in bed as if suddenly shaken
To find that my wallet and watch had been taken
As well as the money I’d hidden away
That I don’t think I mentioned. Oh well. Anyway,
Your leaving last night while I slept was abrupt,
My landlord has keys and I think he’s corrupt,
Insomnia may be a sign of disease -
There you go! They say things happen in threes.
I’ll change all the locks and replace my ID
And I’m confident you’ll be returning to me
For you told me you loved me because I’m so bright.
Guess I’ll never know why I woke in the night.
Copyright © Rob Walker | Year Posted 2015
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Rob Walker Poem
Captain MacEvoy
Did hunt in corduroy
But the zipping kept on tipping off the game.
He never bagged a deer
For they could plainly hear
His trousers, loud and clear, as he took aim.
He never understood,
While hiding in the wood,
How deer could tell whenever he was nearing.
And they would jump for joy
That Captain MacEvoy
Was either daft or maybe hard of hearing.
It always was the same:
First he'd sight the game,
Then he'd nock the arrow on the string.
But when he drew the bow
The game would up and go
Before he could release the wretched thing.
Not one who surrenders,
He would wear suspenders
To keep his corduroys from falling down
For he was skin and bones,
The advertising tones
Having warned the prey for miles around
Till, starving half to death,
He put his bow to rest,
Pursuing agriculture to survive.
As a substitute
For his lifelong pursuit,
MacEvoy ate fruit to stay alive.
Yes, tired of being tortured,
The Captain bought an orchard
With every fruit and berry known to man.
But word soon got around
Of the harvest to be found
By every deer and hare throughout the land.
MacEvoy, defeated,
His skinny frame depleted,
Was more than his companion dog could bear.
Though God had designated
The canine voice abated,
The dog communicated, then and there:
“Unlike a bow and arrow,
Corduroy apparel
Has no business being in the thicket.
Perhaps a gabardine,
Preferably in green,
Silent and unseen would be the ticket.”
As his companion coached,
MacEvoy approached
The dining deer that grazed there, unaware,
And finally shot the menace
So with a pint of Guinness
The two of them ate venison and pear.
Copyright © Rob Walker | Year Posted 2015
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Rob Walker Poem
“You’ll be traveling light for a trip so long,
Don’t you think?” asked the voice in my head.
“As a matter of fact I’d prefer to prolong
This departure forever.” I said.
The conversation, though suitably cross,
Was nevertheless polite
And the gist of the urging was all but lost:
No-one misses this flight.
The choice to accept was anything but.
(There was never a mention of choice)
And the prospect to go was macabre, somewhat,
For I couldn’t refute the voice.
The hour is always inopportune,
But with this I could be consoled:
Some are scheduled to leave too soon.
At least I was left to grow old.
So I gathered my thoughts and composure
Like piling leaves with a rake
And struggled to strive for some closure
By listing the things I would take.
I had amassed a great many things
In my eighty odd years as a hoarder
But the rules were clear. No man brings
Things across this border.
And so I conceded to narrow it down
To the stuff I knew I could stash
And leave the rest to remain on the ground –
The house and the car and the cash
Because thought is decidedly warmer
Than a body of cold dead matter.
I gambled at least the former
Would survive the demise of the latter.
So I gathered each photo and letter
Spreading memories out on the floor,
And thought I would do one better
While there was still time to make more.
I spent what I had on my bride,
And my time with my family and friends.
I took my foes aside
And, best as I could, made amends.
For the love that you feel when you live
Is the stuff of the memories you make.
So give all the things you can give
Because those are the things that you take.
Copyright © Rob Walker | Year Posted 2015
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Rob Walker Poem
Beauty beheld by a devil
Would fury and lust incite
Taunting him to revel
At things lovely and bright
And only annoy and dishevel
The beast like a collar too tight.
Ugliness happened upon,
Say, a carcass that lay in the road,
By a being much wiser prompts parallels drawn
Between dead dog incisor and silver and gold
For to only a saint would it ever dawn
On the saint as a thing to behold.
Far be it for us to decide
If the tendency, blessing or bane,
Gives the zealot convenient places to hide
Like a judge too lenient on those who bring pain
Or the serial killer a lovable side
Excused for his natural drive to disdain
Or the servant, content to serve,
Feeling blessed for being alive
While the privileged scoff as they take an hors d'oeuvre
As he earns just enough for his child to survive
And never once thinks of the nerve
Of his master, blinded by drive.
If neither side can be dissuaded
To yield this same elective,
Their perusal, predicated
By stubborn refusal to wax objective,
Leave both cherished and hated
Victims of perspective.
Copyright © Rob Walker | Year Posted 2015
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Rob Walker Poem
There’d better be something, or what’s it all for?
I’ve preened my importance, reached my high rank,
Aspired to heights, while many men sank.
All of it, just to be kicked out the door?
“It’s there in plain sight” said my inner voice -
The certainty that I will face it one day -
But I am distracted by work and by play
And besides, it is not like I have any choice.
But time, like my stubbornness, forges ahead
And, getting the better of even our best,
Delivers its message as some sort of test,
As childhood delight slowly turns into dread.
I know that it’s coming, and maybe it’s soon,
But, trudging along as I gorge at the trough,
I try not to dwell on or take notice of
The proverbial elephant here in the room.
‘Creature of habit’ seems to fit well
And goes a long ways toward making some sense
Of the concept of karma like some recompense
Though I go back for more, as if under a spell.
But some of us, kicking and screaming, go out
While others seem ready and sure that there’s more
That they happily face as a place to explore
Having only delight, and never a doubt.
‘As on earth, so in heaven’ I seem to recall,
And try to take solace in words such as those,
Then fall into trivial rhyming and prose,
And see I've learned little, if any at all.
The train that I ride will go over the cliff
And there's no way to jump before reaching the edge
No matter the vow or the promise or pledge
Or even a dawning or paradigm shift.
Just when I've taken a lifetime to win
I see that there's no way to go but to lose
And though I insist that it’s not what I choose
Have I fostered the fix that I find myself in?
Copyright © Rob Walker | Year Posted 2015
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