3 poems by Robert Allen

Poetry

Splash

Today I smashed
glass with my face.
My head crumbled to
crunch and blood
and crash on
the kitchen floor
like vases or
fine red wine
falling off a table.
Bleeding is sweet
for the toothsome,
for the fallen,
the lost like me.
Grasping does no good.
So smash your face in the mirror
and be re-made–
Rejoice,
you’re new, it just took
your broken heart to answer.


Slam

Just back from

a slam

where the topic

of love was

broken and dangerous.

The topic of pain

tasted like mourning.

Everything else

just dripped

red red syrup from

bleeding mouths.

The audience, maybe 20.

All poets themselves, competing

in an expressive joyful sprint.

Everyone’s a fucking

poet now.

it’s not as special

as

we

once

thought.


RBG

She died

today.

Shit’s

about

to go

haywire.

And you

can use

that wire

for some

thing other

than hay

now.

Go

unmother

yourself

with whatever’s

at hand and

long and sharp

(I hear strings work)

but most

stick with

predictable

wire that pinches

like a doorslam

then you scream

from the broken mouth

of the world.


Robert Allen lives and loves in northern California, where he writes poems, takes long walks, and looks at birds. More at www.robertallenpoet.com