The Robin Lipinski Poetic Collection

[Lipinski]

thanks Mark for this thread of expression.

I must pay my dues to be here so a little poem, and then a little expression.
You have heard in the news lately about rocks falling from space and the ever moaning of people saying,
"It's the end!"
what with wars and quakes
crooked politicians and divorce
so, with out much further ado,
a poem.
***

always wanting to know your fate
carnival fortune teller telling you the love of your life will soon enter
or
watch your weight
but
who knew?

"Screw you, the signs, they portend; rapture, the second coming; the end..." shouted over and over again.

ijat: okay: tell me, you who seem so concerned, are you ready? Yes? No? Ho-hum, so what?

let me be the one to tell you of your fate.
I'll be 'kind'
your kind will die and die soon.
Oh sure, not all as that would be foolish but enough to let pride of a species come to a realization
and wait
that's not all, there's more!

there is a coming and has been coming as they have come before
remember when earlier I spoke of pride?
I remember it as if it was last night
the last night before a world so proud, cries.

for those of you who believe in religion, who know and think of Jesus,
there is still
so, so, so, so , so (so multiplied by 100) much left to do.

'Free will' is a fickle 'thing'
subject to change as rappers change bling
and when the 'end' (ie: beginning) comes
if oh, a simple moment of time so far ahead that if you counted every second you have lived, the time in years
have only just begun.

Extinctions
Disasters
Disease
Alien moments of deception
throw in missing socks in the dryer
holes in your pants
and ever so much
and the species, economics, politics, religions, will do so much
so, so, so, so, (so multiplied by 100) change

of course, don't take my word for it because I'm not even from your planet
and I'm addicted to soba noodles with won-ton, re-runs of Lucille Ball, and of course, processed cheese,
and I'll let you in on a little secret (looking left... looking right...)
I'm one of the aliens that believe in Jesus
and the ones coming?
they do too, along with something evil they value more, much like pride.

so take it for what's its worth, and I must say this planet sure is fun,
but when it happens if you think you have seen strange
a little warning
run
Don't believe what they say, don't fall for their smile, and as for the gifts?
an old human saying: Nothing is free.

Now, where did I put that cheese?

***


I had a little fun with the wife and with her magic of painting and my addiction of writing, together
we put together a little story about magic.
"Death of Misfortune" is the name
and keeping with the trend of modern writing
we had it published as an eBook available at such fine institutions as Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and at the end
of the month, a slew of others.

The story is, well, different. The pictures fantastic. And being the devious bastard I love to be, the magic in the
story 'changes'.

But enough of capital begging, there is much more to write tonight, and I still can't find that damn cheese!

[Lipinski]

Writers Workshop

"Those that can, do. Those that can't, teach."

(twisting quotes, statements, facts; traits of a writer i think)

A Poem for a Writer

.
.
.
.
.
(are you waiting?)
.
.
.
.
(do you think that I know anything, anything at all about writing? while you're waiting, I'll give you
something that may make you think.)

"You need the basics, you know, the A, B, C's. How to write in letters, how to conjugate a verb, ruin a proper noun,
indent, tag, spell check, add..."

Nope, no you don't, you just need to think.

Each and every person to include man, woman, boy, girl, is a writer, an artist; expression bubbling to the surface
as if to take flight, over and over, until and unless it is all flushed down the drain.

Forget about writers workshops, an editors critique, a pile of rejection letters, or any negative comments from family,
friends, strangers, or enemies.

You, you alone hold the chain to the drain in the sink. You, you alone are in control of your bubbles, and no,
not the kind of bubble you release when one pulls your finger.

Let me tell you a story that happened to me in Sweden so many words, poems, stories ago, back when I lost
control of the chain. I wrote a short story of a woman screaming, almost as if being tortured or raped.
I was proud of how I led the reader to think, to make the blood boil, until the end when the doctor swatted the
babies butt and the wonderful smile from the new mother who earlier screamed...

I had an intellectual read it, much like the mother smiled at her baby, I never imagined a pen had so much red ink.
Mis spealed wurds, in,pro,per, comma's,,, and that was just the first page.

Needless to say my bubbles were popped and I put my pen away.

Life is a wonderful teacher, teaching about rewards and pain.
Life of a writer living the life of a writer, now there is where life is complete
telling the story, the news, the comedy...

A bubble can be fragile, shimmering in the light, and so easy to pop; mine used too but now I write in the frozen
world bordering on insane.
My bubbles freeze solid, if you were to walk on them you would hear them crunch, if you were to taste them
they are hard and cold as ice.

Words are not your enemy or friend, you, you alone are the master, you control them even when they seek escape.

Some advice?

Don't seek fame or fortune as those are just bubbles of a group called humanity.
Don't seek approval.
Don't copy a style as your own bubbles are unique.
Do write everyday.
Do challenge yourself, if for example you are Christian go to an Atheist forum and debate, not to be righteous or crude
(you fucker, you'll burn in hell) but let your bubble meet theirs for the challenge.
Do appreciate the respect of other writers but don't let them decide.
Do take advice from others if that is what you want, even dampen your pride, but don't let that advice stand
in the way of who you are.
.
.
.
.
(are you still waiting for the poem 'A Poem for a Writer,' to start?)
.
.
.
(if you are waiting you may just as well wait forever and blow bubbles until they pop and flow down the drain)
.
.
(You and you alone, if you are addicted to writing have already written this poem, and if you have not yet done so
keep trying.)

[Lipinski]

A Writer Workshop...

so, you're reading this which means you're not writing
instead
contemplating
researching
learning
trying to scratch an, 'itch'
already versed in spell check
in grammar
"ain't that a bitch"

too many people who are addicted to writing feel a need to get a writing fix...
now,
why are you reading this?
why aren't you writing this?
better yet, write what is.
write to others
write to yourself
write about, 'what is'.

create your own style
even make up your own words
so too then,
others will read what you have written
just like what you are reading what I did.

[Lipinski]

your words are growing Mark
marching in step with the day
a cadence
a meaning
right oblique
forward march
into history...

a general sitting and deciding on what's to be
alone
aloof
still
answering to a master,
"Who is that master?" a simple question asked throughout history.

soldiers of the word
writing scribe, be it orders or inventory of the army
still
answering to a master,
"Who is that master?" a hard question asked throughout history.

all marching towards a grave
row upon row of an army 'deceased'
or still,
answering to a master,
"Who is that master?" answered in eternity.

[Lipinski]

nice Mark
in writing by and by you are becoming what you try to be
pointing out an aggravation I have for shouting !!!
notice in writing the scribes of the past did, well, writing...
never in sound or tone did they express exciting
nor
did they ever
'end'
and yet their end continued in what they had written
and this
this
I find exciting.

try and twist the end without sounding excited
let the reader feel your fear
your tears
your joy
your agitation:
do this in words
and keep in mind
it never ends,
this excitement.

have a good night.

[Lipinski]

a challenge (writers workshop readers needed)
Mark?
Iain?
Lester?
Tao?
Mr. Jazkir Sondotskow? (of the former USSR)
Anybody?
I need to have someone play with a reverse poem.

Thirteen words in total -this poem.

I'll start. 'feather'.

If you choose to play, you pick another word before feather: (example) white feather. or, light feather.
Then I will put a word in front of yours until the thirteenth and final word, which will be the beginning of the poem, each using one word per turn.

I enjoy multiple players writing multiple poems, so don't be shy.

What will the poem be about?
Will it be scary?
Will it make sense?
Only time and the minds know.

Okay,

feather.

[Lester Curtis]

burned feather.

What about verse structure?

[Lester Curtis]

With only thirteen words, structure can't matter too much.

Sure it does. Look at haiku.

I'm going to let someone else have the next turn.

[Lipinski]

Thanks Mark and Lester, for deciding to 'play'.
Lets do another, however, the 'game' of the reverse poem will be between only two people at the
same time, example: Robin/Lester and Robin/Mark, or ?/Lester and ?/Mark, or ?/? or Lester/Mark.
It does not matter who plays, just how it is played.
In answer to your question Lester, the mind has no structure other than what we train or allow it to be.
Poetry has no boundaries or limits, only what the human mind places on it.
an example of what 'could' have come from the words the three of us offered are as follows:

softly now,
hear the cluck?
morning sleep;
soft fiery pillow
bloodstained burned feather.

Now, if so inclined, here is the challenge, last word: rock.

[Lipinski]

that sounds good Tao, but (that word: but, is a pain in the butt) but
since the poem has already been written and it is only now that the present
state of mind is going to unravel it, it (it: another pain in the butt)
should (or actually, was) be up to the writers.
Some poetry sounds very disjointed until the joints stop squeaking and
come together stronger.
You should play this time travel game, or maybe you already knew that?

rock.

[Lipinski]

thanks Mark, this will be fun.
***

into solid rock.

[Lipinski]

Good morning Tao, look close at what I wrote to you earlier...much like a card trick, your mind
'saw' what it wanted while I manipulated...
The poem is already written...
currently, the one Mark and I are revealing already exists,
it is there for all to see,
only,
do they?
did they?
have they already forgotten?
***

Hate:
hammering into solid rock.

[Lipinski]

Now you got it Tao, excellent.
***

this irreversible Hate:
hammering into solid rock.

[Lipinski]

mortality grieved,
this irreversible Hate:
hammering into solid rock.

[Lipinski]

blow.
My mortality grieved,
this irreversible Hate:
hammering into solid rock

[Lipinski]

Love's ashes blow.
My mortality grieved,
this irreversible Hate:
hammering into solid rock.

***

I truly enjoyed this 'game', Mark.

Name it, and its yours.

***

blow, blowing, blown,
no man can stand his own nature
bending to the whims, the wind of evil
hating himself for doing
doing the bidding of hate
while love roots his last chance
before turning completely fractured rock,
blowing as sand
from solid rock.

[Lipinski]

Mark, 'Kiss My Ash', made me smile.

I like what you did with your inspiration. Questions in a poem inject the readers participation
(or we tend to just talk to ourselves)
I see you're truly enjoying the addiction of writing, fun huh?
***
Inspiration in twenty seconds:
looked
saw
liked
needed to say
said it
enjoyed it
hungry
raiding (mmph, gooth cake)
the fridge.

[Lipinski]

nice one Mark, a fun play on, 'mourning'.
***

poetry is one of the better avenues one can trod down, (in my opinion) when fighting with the
addiction of writing.
anyone reading this here in the writers workshop must be reading because they too, are bitten
with the muse.
never let anyone tell you cannot be a writer, if they tell you your writing is horrible, take that
as a complement because at least they read it. (or started too)
but enough, there is an idea...
***

Simple Poetry: 101

take an idea:

'Garbage'

turn it into a poem.


Garbage
by: everyone has it

a collection growing in the room
visitors start thinking you're experimenting with a new form of art;
visions and smells
until the wife yells
and the testament to self
is ordered to depart.

[Lipinski]

fun to read the newest two Mark, and fun for the inspiration.
***

Motivated to lie or lay with self,
a question?
maybe or maybe it is better to let sleeping dogs lay
dreaming of chasing tail...
a question?

Dogs know nothing of questions only to obey the master
lazy until put to task
and are able
truth to a dog in no more real than Aesop's fables.

"Run, young man, run like the wind..."
(Mark: write until the lead in the pencil becomes a part of your skin)
Every task done in life is worthy,
of course you know,
and that, Mark, is not a question.

(the end: of doubt and persuasion, only now a new enjoyment to begin)

[Lipinski]

Ziggy, ziggy, doo-wop de wop, wop be bop...
(silence)
A cleanser of the mind.
To take words, make them do your bidding, take those endless day-to-day details and turn the garbage
into life.

Example: Paying the bills; mundane monthly detail. Paying the electric bill = Paying the keeper of time.
Paying the phone bill = communicating with aliens.
Paying the doctor bill = writing a horror story dealing with science gone wrong...

Mark, I see your point but must point out that there is more than just writing the words,
there is the thinking.
Thinking of how, when, where, and what to write when the writing begins.

I do love how what I thought of while doing the detail of working; planning the detail,
only
to have the words come alive when typing,
sometimes it makes me scared,
as what I thought earlier becomes completely twisted...
when the dust settles, and the ink dries,
I read it,
shake my head,
and begin to think again.

***

thanks for the kind words Mark and your dedication.

[Lipinski]

Ssh, can you hear it?
A mothers cry.
Her child of four years has been taken
a lawn empty to sound of laughter.

A witness said, "a man has taken her."
What to do, what to say, she drove after.
Frantic, speeding, crashing, learning...
her baby was okay.

Sick society showing sexual sins
this is our today
as another man is hauled to prison
another young girl saved
another, another...

With this, I'm not okay.

[Lipinski]

thanks again for the kind words Mark, though I'm just a fragmented piece of society; gravel bouncing off the
reality, cracking that exact spot where it makes set decisions hard to see, thus forcing the reader to hold
on with both hands and to concentrate.
***

i started a new experiment today
and it is working...
though i hope it does not start a chain reaction

or

maybe there will be an attraction
of sorts
as matter of words attract those stray and random...

until

a new world of words.

[Lipinski]

Papermate, I like it, much better than having a big bic as a name.
Enjoyed the dressing in the salad of your poem Mark.
Advice for writers: stay, stay (did I say, stay?) away from Facebook. In fact, for all those with a soul, stay away from Facebook, in fact X2, stay away from Facebook even if you don't have a soul.
***

Power never stays away
sneaking inside a computer
like Norton or a book with Face looking innocent
only
it is evil and full of deceit...

"Robin, how could you say this?"

Humans distrust a politician, a lawyer, a bank
never handing a car salesman cash without feeling quesy
much like fishing for marbles in a bucket of grease.

But

Have you noticed they trust the computer?

I talked with a demon yesterday,
(Not allowed to say its name)
just the initials, ML
and you should have heard what it had to say...

Did I say, stay, stay, stay away from Facebook?
I did?
...
good
then it is okay.

[Lipinski]

put that one to audio Mark, most excellent. a nice aroma of reality mixed with the the age of the current moment...and you obviously had fun writing it which is almost better than the results.
***

Nature blew into town today
torn between destruction and tv news ratings
leaving the volunteers to do their best.

Always the children - dying, and who really cares?
A doctor Gosnell looked shocked at the courts reaction
he only did what the women wanted
while today mothers cried when the wind took the sail of their child's innocence away.

Teeter...and...Totter
Cain...and...Able
Heads...and...Tails
Two sides of a coin to flip: One for love, One for hate.

School let out earlier today
for many, the time is now eternity
maybe? just maybe? people will remember and care?

I doubt it as tomorrow another little monster in California will strike his/her teacher
swearing with all the wind they can muster
profanity of a drunk sailor.

but not today.

[Lipinski]

thanks to you Mark and Lester, for the inspiration of the following. it is titled, 'Humor', as humor is one of the best inspirations a writer can get.
***

Humor

A Twinkie in the hands of a spiritual man
cream center caught in a dilemma
as Lester is chased with karma;
Editor-in-Chief now, burnt at the stake later.

The Dalai Lama unwraps that which is hidden from the mind
to nibble on some of mans creation
sweet thoughts savored...
Lester, though, in tormented labor.

Lama eats towards the center
Lester runs with hounds baying at his feet
Lama savors
Lester swears
Lama completes as the cream reincarnates
Lester says, "Enough."

With a smile the holy man ponders
while with burnt brow and hat
covered in tar and feathers,
Lester tells Mark for inspiring a contest...
"You bastard."

[Lipinski]

I heard a lady today -
one who makes great wages -
take advantage of the 5th amendment,
I saw her smile and lie...
Why?

Why not use the 1st
or the 4th?
...

If those who play ignorant of what real Americans think
and seek to scurry and hide,
with Benghazi, the AP, and IRS scandal:

I heard a man say,
"I take the 2nd amendment to heart as I march on the halls of corruption, to clean the house clean."
I wonder what those in power will say when faced with a free man voicing and expressing his right to amendments?
I doubt they'll plead the fifth.

[Lipinski]

Mark, "drinking a 5th of an amendment..." nice picture.
***

who need aliens when we have American voters...
neighbors even
lost in aluminum foil, drinking beer, and speaking in foreign languages.
Ya'all be knowing what, like, you know, I know; really? I mean, really?
Cool, groovy, and awesome, (and that's just what the reply is to watching Bevus and Butthead on tv.)

(silence)

for every action there is a reaction
a sad day when a Marine salutes the President and the President ignores and walks away
or
audits those Americans who love to be Americans
almost like an alien dream.

amendments? who needs them, I rather, (to steal as stealing is the alien way)
I'd rather drink a fifth of an amendment,
maybe lie and cheat
and go check the mail box
to see if my government check from the alien mothership -
came.

[Lipinski]

that's true Mark, a de-evolution of a species due to electrons and a vacuum tube.
***

Pull the Plug
by: the flowers of life

Enemies?
Or,
Enemy mine...
as I am my own worst fear.

Festering with doubt while knowledge comes from everywhere
landing into nothing that one could take to heart
while at the end of the day,
it still is dark.

I saw a man be proud that he kill a British Soldier
yet
I saw he was only sitting on the wall of bluster
voicing what they wanted
while inside,
he was crying.

Why?
Why accept a world filled with knowledge coming from everywhere?
landing into nothing that one can take to heart
while at the end of the day
it still is dark?

(silence)

so, this is how we complicate a life worth living
air worth breathing
food worth eating...

(silence)

I reject the knowledge
and smile
looking at the sky
smelling the flowers
and dream of peace.

[Lipinski]

A writer writes what they see, feel, taste; experience?
maybe.
or
do some cling to imagination?
still
they write what their fingers believe.
***

God

People believe what they see, feel, taste; experience?
maybe.
or
do some cling to imagination?
still
they are what they believe.

For example: a movie made depicting catholicism as being more evil than Satan
I wonder why, that is, if I didn't wonder and knew by experience
as people blame Church, Allah, Atheist, Religion
targets upon peoples backs
and yet
no mention of Satan.

I do so like that,
two thumbs up!
This blame game is fun when God gets the blame
or lack of thereafter,
and I get all the fun!

Whoopee!
Keep it up!
You all get my complete approval.
or
as a modern-day commercial.

This is Satan, and I approve
(I sure don't need your approval)
now go out and hate shit.

[Lipinski]

interesting that all entities of all intelligent species both natural and supernatural in nature seek to write the words, even if that means writing it on ones heart.
***
Memorial Day

By: Just Another Day Off

Buzzing sound of the mower telling me it is time for another beer
while the BBQ sizzles another poor beast for the feast...
with friends coming over to mooch and talk about how sad the world is,

"is" definition depending on what really is.
<>
><
war: another sound of death telling me it is time to die
while the bombs ranging the sky sizzles another poor beast for the feast...
with friends dying while trying, and the world, "is".
><
<>
sadness really, if the reality were not so cruel
a holiday of sorts proving the results of the fool
as most all, (if one had to choose) could only think it was just pomp and ceremony
a flower
a wreath
a headstone
a tomb...
<<
>>
death; memories of fallen pride, and for what?
beer?
fucking?
mowing the lawn?
...
don't ask my nature
I don't really care.