Poetry: The Silence

She slips

off

her rocker

and giggles:

can it be
can it be

that all I

can see

is

a reality?

She says, “Last night I thought
I heard God, but it mighta been
the Supremes.”

Wanna die, wanna die
from flying so high

today I am ten
and tomorrow
I’m 60.

More quiet,
more quiet,
more crazy
&
quiet.

(c) 2015-2019 Rob Goldstein

Poetry: Quicksand or Time

kneel into

self

as thick as

quicksand

or time

as short as

life

this mind: fritz!

still soft

words

then,

dreams of me

on the young

streets

at dusk,

reaching

for night.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2014-2019

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Poetry: The Prayer

I have loved me

some men, Lord:

me always in

command

as God

intended —

The redheads and

the blonds,

where are they now,

I wonder —

wretched without me,

I guess.

So, who is this twit

with a mind of

his own?

Does he know I

can’t live

without him?

Will you tell him,

Lord

in a dream,

as a dazzling insight?

Will you whisper

he mustn’t hurt

me.

That he, please, please

mustn’t hurt me.


(c) Rob Goldstein August 1991-October 2010

Portrait of Rob Goldstein, based on a photograph by Nina Glaser
(c) Rob Goldstein 2019