Robbie Taylor

My dad had a Toyota Catharsis and it was a terrible ride, so I write for the simple reason that writing is easy, writing is a bumpless road paved with good inflections… once you don’t concern yourself with quality… or critique… or self-awareness… manage that, and writing is easy, honestly, so simple that even I can do it. Plays are hard though, as in technically, as in remembering who said what and to whom, that sort of thing, and poems, poems are hard, not just the rhyming, but the non-rhyming ones as well, and novels, they are sooooooo long and you have to be careful you don’t forget what they are about, and short stories are really hard, harder than novels because you have to say as much but not write as much… yeah, writing is really easy, really, really easy.


She has bought batteries...for her alone time
for her knuckle biting moan and groan time
her do not disturb turn off the phone time....
and its okay, for even if being mum is full time, being a woman is something she can do on her own time...
she will run a bath, with the good stuff not the stuff that we all have,
there will be jojoba, 
there will be essentials oils dripped and drizzled over,
there will be the good flannels and towels, not the ones that make us itch,
there will be scented candles, flickering like a lavender dimmer switch....
and from downstairs we will hear her special C.D, 
and we will cringe and slink outside or just turn up the T.V.....
we do not discuss what comes after 
it's bad enough to see the afterglow,
and the worst thing about her secret special time?..
she thinks that we don't know,
she is oblivious that we do, and even more so,
that now you know too....
she doesn't read my poetry, never takes my books down from the shelf,
I know it's true because she never gives me dirty looks as this is not the first poem I've written about mum pleasuring herself....
I am one of those poets who do not care,
that I expose my family, or lay their secrets bare,
I have no shame that their fair game,
art is more important than being nice,
and art is not art unless there is a bit of sacrifice,
family friction is my stimulation and so I take it literal, there is no restriction even if the stimulation happens to be clitoral, 
her alone time is really just material,
blood is thicker than water and so my ink becomes arterial,
her moan and groan time are just the secrets that she doesn't know we hear,
and the don't disturb turn off your phone time,
are just her alone time that we now all get to share,
and that's all because I am a poet who writes as if all this is just between us...
because I am a poet who for one decent line...will throw his nearest and dearest underneath a bus,
and I am a poet who thinks that that's okay...
because I am a poet who thinks he might one day have his day,
and so I write the tales that poets like me, think would be criminal not to tell, 
and that is why Mum's me time,
is now everybody else's time as well.


on bended knee
I unfriended thee,
and it’s as if you were never really there.
our friendship fell apart
when I opened my heart
and you didn't like what I had to share.
long haired freak
the bare faced cheek
how dare you say what end is best
when three times I denied your new friend request...
you cannot tempt me before the dawn
with fake gospels and fake taxi porn,
I will not wear the thorns you've worn
or bear the cross or wonder why I was ever born...
I will not miss your posts from Jerusalem or Ibiza
you just look like an old hippy who is uncomfortable in either,
cock crows
rock shows
like a magician like a pop star
arms out kness bend ra ra ra ,
follow where the flock goes
generation genesis
veneration of thy enemies,
backstreet boys,
matthew mark luke and john
pontius pilate wash thy mouth out, sing my song
wash hands too, don't want to pass this plague along
nor will I miss pics of you and John the Baptist turning water into wine just so you can get pissed,
because there is way too many pics of you living it up, for someone who doesn't even existentialist,
should have took the red pill 
am I in your head still,
if I am not, then the dead will,
they're on the waiting to be fed hill,
mount up 
count up
feed the five thousand 
catfish and bread...
no one believes that but they give you praise
and I might have too if you had squeezed a fish and out came mayonnaise...
oh, miracles and light divine
what wondrous turds you have to shine
i will not miss the messages late at night
when you whinge about your doubts about what is right,
and yet i listen as you confess
and say there there , care less god bless
as within the house Gepetto built
you cry to me your real boy guilt,
three pale fairies and a halle berry for tossing off to Eastenders,
six more for tossing out the moneylenders
what catholic tastes you have my imaginary fiend
what cut and pastes that suit you best you only ever send...
i shouldn't get so cross
over non-existent friends
it's not my loss
it’s just the closing of dead ends,
it’s a cul de sac of semi-detached one-story myths,
written in ruins and non-hero-glyphs.
god bless
I have one friend less
and I don't care
that he's not there,
because I have found,
only empty words on top of full-bodied graves,
because if Jesus saves,
then who was it that scored the rebound.


Hey, Justin.
Did you make your bed today?
have you put your toys away?
did you walk the dog okay?
or did you leave it all for me,
you lazy little shit.
Being a single parent isn't fun,
especially when you have a selfish son,
crying coz he has a Playstation three and not four...
well let’s see how you like a Playstation none....
you ungrateful little shit.
Hey, Justin, do your friends know you suck your thumb,
or that you cry some nights and scream for mum,
stop saying "whatever bruv", you're not all that, you just sound dumb,
you stupid little shit.
Did you know why mum left us on our own,
no?...well I was going to tell you when you were fully grown,
it’s because of you Justin...
you came between us and I've got her text to prove it on my phone,
you utter utter little shit....
I wish you were adopted so I could send you back,
I wish that I had more money so I could start taking crack,
anything to dull the sound of you going yakkety yakkety fucking yakkety yack,
you drain me you little shit...
Do you know Justin, how much you cost?....
or because of you, how much I've lost?...
mum was my Gestapo but you’re my fucking holocaust,
you Nazi little shit...
"Sorry, I was miles away... what's up..."
"Do you want to play Playstation....."
"Love you dad"...
"Love you too, son",
manipulative little shit.

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