zine road
Robin Whitehead

The April Featured Poet is Robin Whitehead

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



Time stretches on like a rain soaked road
I know there is an end, but I shall never get to see it
Somewhere beyond is where I should have been
But somehow I was left behind and I’m alone
Nothing I do makes any sense to me
No one I meet stays for long
Everything I touch decays
Words don’t even mean what I need them to say
Tears don’t wash away my pain
They burn with a blistering reality
Doesn’t matter what I do
Life will be a waste of time for me
How can you understand someone
That doesn’t understand themself?
If you can see confusion in another’s eyes
Why must that be weakness?
I have thrown away logic
Because logic is not real enough for this
Emotion is real
I can feel emotion
Even though I cannot make sense of it
I can deal with pain
But don’t ask me to fix it
Other people just serve as a reminder of my mistakes
And so another day and my heart still aches
So this is me I think
I’m usually gone when others blink
Sorry I stayed and wound you up
Nothing else to say but
Good luck


Wake me from this dream
Before I start to scream
The walls are closing in
The darkness from within
Bind my limbs in silence
Restrain me from this violence
Keep me strong and true
For I know not what I do


Silence screams from fingers
An emotional valve hisses
Sparks fly around my brain
Like the work of Frankenstein
Brought to life
The pen bleeds upon the page
Every thought from tears to rage
A burst of clarity
Mixed with spontaneity
Then cast adrift for all to see
Now the pressure is finally released
This monster rests in peace


The knife stings and claws away at my skin
Mixed with the pain I am drowning in
There is no release, just another ending
Yet still I must cut with the knife
You walked and you talked, but never the words
Never the smile or the laugh I once heard
Embers of passion doused with deceit
A broken pendant lay halved on the street
What was the point of these feelings inside?
Now hidden away in a chamber to die
Along with this body
Alone with this mind
Lost in the void of a love that was blind

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.