3 Poems by John Patrick Robbins

John Patrick Robbins, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

Taking  Hygiene Tips From  G.G. Allin

I always think its best when the chips are down to go out there and start flinging your own shit at the crowd.

Get into a few fist fights, maybe get buck naked.

And show folks crazy is not just a act but a fulltime job.

Get piss drunk fall down roll around in the mess you created.
Shoot up and tune out.

You know all the true marks of a unrefined gentleman.

Make some noise then leave them scratching their heads.

Questing their own sanity.
Leaving them to wonder to what they have just seen.

You know it’s bad when your fans praise you by taking a shit on your tombstone.

But your a true legend if they dig you up.

The music was secondary to the spectacle.

From fistfights to nudity.
Mr Allin I am ever so grateful.
nobody cared to imitate you.

Crazy never understood a finer fellow.

I heard if we play your records backward you just might sound normal.

Now that’s a truly scary thought.

Infectious Company

I sat there hooked to a IV pumping me full of crap that made me sick, and made me feel like  death wasn’t such a bad idea.

A nurse checked on me regular.
She was sweet and and we spoke about her job.

She truly didn’t give a damn about writing.

And I  felt about the same staring at her fantastic tits.

“You know you really don’t act like I thought a poet would.”

“Yeah I am a bit of a oddity no matter the circle I run in.”

“I mean you don’t seem all that deep and moody.”

My well endowed company replied.

I just laughed.

“So I take it you deal with a lot of deathbed writers in here?”

“No you’re my first actually.”

That was something I didn’t believe I would ever hear from any woman.

And as eventually I healed up and departed I left my part time friend a note to be passed along that read.

On a scale from one to ten how would you rate this overall experience?

I also left her a signed copy of my book and included my number inside.

I never did get a reply.



I told her.

“I can listen to a great song a million times and it never gets old.”

She laughed as she took another sip from her drink.

“Its funny cause I never seen you with the same woman twice.”

“True but maybe it’s cause I never met a great woman sweetheart .”

I replied.

The drinks kept flowing and the bar soon turned into another one night stand.

I didn’t have anything against commitment.

I just seldom never found anyone’s bullshit I enjoyed repeated when not loaded.

People are broken and even the best damn records get scratches and skip on occasion.

I loved music cause it held my soul.

I heard something played that reminded me of you.

I will never tire of that memory.

That eternally does linger.

Bio: John Patrick Robbins is the editor of The Rye Whiskey Review , Under The Bleachers and Drinkers Only. His work has appeared here at Punk Noir Magazine , San Pedro River Review , Mojave River Review , Ariel Chart , Red Fez, Outlaw Poetry Network, Piker Press , Angry Old Man Magazine , Blue Pepper , Romingos Porch.
He is also the author of Smoking At The Gas Pumps from Soma Publishing.
His work is always unfiltered.