Tag: Micropoetry

It’s afraid, It’s afraid

#GLBTQ, Poetry, Rob Goldstein, Surrealism

Oh my

love

this body

is dying

watch it

vanish

these lips,

those legs,

It’s afraid
It’s afraid

for you see

the dying

youth who

yearned for

your touch

It’s afraid
It’s afraid

because he

needs

your touch

now.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017  All Rights Reserved

Nor a Bird More Pure

Flash fiction, Nature, Poetry, Rob Goldstein, San Francisco

I soar above the red rooftops
of the City

above the steeples
of the
Mission Dolores Church

below the dusty ledges
of the
Transamerica Pyramid

there was never a sky more
blue

nor a bird more pure.

Image and text  (c) Rob Goldstein 2017

…of wisteria and the scent of honeysuckle

Abstracts, Flash fiction, Peter, Poetry, Public Readings, Robby, Sara, Surrealism

Her  death leaves
us with

hidden memories

of captured fireflies,

of wisteria and

the scent of

honeysuckle,

of taffy pulls
and
pink flamingos,

of Christmas and

the Wizard of Oz,

of swallowed

shame

and conflicting

secrets.

Image and text Rob Goldstein (c) 2017

Bobby: Goodbye Momma

Bobby, Inside DID

Goodbye Momma Still Shot 1

When Momma came home drunk she’d reel around the room, look at me rheumy eyed, and say: “You’re my little baby boy an’ I’m proud Goddammit!”

That night before I left Charleston for New York I sat in Daddy’s grimy old easy chair.

Momma dropped to the couch and looked around the room like she didn’t know where she was.

Then she caught sight of me:

“You’re my little baby boy–an’ I’m proud, Goddamit!”

‘I’m glad to hear that, Momma .”

“Ya know–your Momma can still get herself a good looking’ man!”

“That’s true Momma. Hell, you can even get some of mine…Momma! I’m movin’ to New York tomorrow and I’m leavin’ in the morning–So this is good-bye.”

“What did you just tell me you was gonna do at 3:15 AM in the mornin’?”

“At daylight Momma. I’m leaving for New York.”

“Some drag queen whispered something to me last night about you havin’ rash ideas! You told some butt ugly drag queen you was leavin’ and not your own Mother?”

“Awwwwww momma…I just mentioned it; I didn’t tell her about it.”

Momma cut her eyes at me and said: “You ain’t goin’ nowhere…b’sides…you ain’t got no money!”

“I been saving and I got friends going too”

“You’ll get your faggot ass killed,” she said. “I like that–let’s see that faggot ass! DROP YOUR DRAWERS BOY!”

I ran to my room and started tossing cloths into an old duffel bag.

Momma came up after me.

She threw the door open. I felt it crack against the wall.

“I BET YOU WAS JUST GONNA SKIP OUTTA HERE AN’ LET EVERYONE ELSE IN TOWN TELL ME YOU WAS GONE!!” she grabbed me by my hair and yanked me out of the room.

“No Momma! I came home to tell you! That’s why I’m here! God…I hate it when you’re drunk.

Momma shook her head and let go of my hair.

She spun around and staggered into her room.

Soon, I heard her weeping.

I went into Momma’s room and knelt by her bed. “Momma,” I whispered, “I don’t want to leave–I have to…”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed my face to her cheek.

Then her head fell back and she was asleep.

goodbye Momma still shot 3

Goodbye Momma-Still Shot 3

Text, recording and images (c) Robert Goldstein 10/2015