Robin Whitehead

The March Editor's Pick Poet is Robin Whitehead

Please feel free to email Robin at: robinsramblings7@gmail.com

HUMAN?

Am I destined to struggle in the silence of day-to-day life
To forget my dreams and resign myself to this humdrum existence?
With every moment that passes
I feel goals and hopes slip further into the distance
Promises made in my youth falter with
A growing age and an equally decreasing motivation
This is not the human condition
This is a sickening joke
Played upon those who wish for little more
Than the chance to achieve some kind of satisfaction within their lives
The chances to not only strive but to realize a dream
Any dream
That belongs solely to that individual and not some employer
With a verbal whip and an oversized ego
The chance to build on that dream, not struggle just to
Keep up with the bills and be consumed by work and debt
So now I will close with a sigh, if only to rest my weary eyes
Perhaps a pot of tea and maybe then my thoughts shall let me be once more

INSOMNIA

In a silent state of unrest
I hope for sleep to invest
Just a little time for me
Even in the blindness of night I can see
All the thoughts my mind can conceive
Every image so blindingly clear
Taunting my brain in to gear
Oh please give me a chance to invest
Just a few hours of much needed rest
The night when ghosts come messing up
your everyday routine and play
a trick on your mind, you can release
the scary secrets you keep at bay.

WAKE UP

Another day draws to a close
A segment in time on which to reflect
Added to the list piling up
In your long and pointless past
And oh how fast tomorrow comes
Ready to beat the drums of disappointment
Over and over again like a death march
From beginning to the inevitable end
You waste so much breath talking about
How much you spend on what you don’t need
And seldom can afford just to fit in to a world
That makes profit from your ever growing boredom
The days roll into one continuous blur
As you work to cover your increasing splurge
On food and bills and transport
The ills of sleepless nights
And bank volts slam in your mind
As you clean the sweat from your brow
Just to see another letter saying pay up now
So what good we ask will come of this
Laying in a drunken pile of sick
Wishing for death or a lottery win
To seal our fate or prolong our sins
Wake up and find another way
Before you wind up on that fateful day
With a bottle of jack wishing so hard
For a way back to a time
When you wanted to say: I’m happy

Robin Whitehead is an old-fashioned man from an old-fashioned family of eccentrics. He has written poems and stories as far back as he can remember lifting a pen and drew his inspiration from his late father, who also scribbled down everything that came into his head. He dedicates his work to his family, who remain a constant source of encouragement and creativity, despite being all quite mad.