As much as I would a marble-heavy bag full of gold

Once in a while I enjoy silence

I feed the fruitful crustation

comments and compliments on its cuteness

With hope that it will grow to become a rich amazon

Away from the war

Away from the pains of castration as the morphine slips

You’ve settled on your death bed with the radio playing –

Vows to my sweet lord!

As George Harrison sets fire to the country with love.


I sat on board,

as the ocean liner faded into the golden spirit level

and the nautical rock salts settled my senses on a Blue Monday.


Once in a while I enjoy silence


My first day of 2018

I let the cities pollution slip from my memory

It left me –

In the furthest age from society,

with a monk in a golden-caramel monastery,

with distant music lighter than tapestry

and hundreds of pears to accompany

It was all but vital in retrospect

Surrounded by lichen in a bopping muskeg –

nowhere for it to go,

to avoid the hungry bees

Al fresco!




Zack Robinson
Illustration Mathilda Dolohov



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4 Responses to Poem

    1. Thanks, Zack. Thought maybe it was going to be Pablo Neruda’s “White Bee”. Your poem was a good surprise. (and I love “White Bee”)

      Comment by S. Sawyer on 11 January, 2018 at 8:18 pm
    2. Maybe an homage? Or a literary coincidence?

      “White Bee”
      By Pablo Neruda

      White bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honey,
      and your flight winds in slow spirals of smoke.

      I am the one without hope, the word without echoes,
      he who lost everything and he who had everything.

      Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing.
      In my barren land you are the final rose.

      Ah you who are silent!

      Let your deep eyes close. There the night flutters.
      Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked.

      You have deep eyes in which the night flails.
      Cool arms of flowers and a lap of rose.

      Your breasts seem like white snails.
      A butterfly of shadow has come to sleep on your belly.

      Ah you who are silent!

      Here is the solitude from which you are absent.
      It is raining. The sea wind is hunting stray gulls.

      The water walks barefoot in the wet streets.
      From that tree the leaves complain as though they were sick.

      White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul
      You live again in time, slender and silent.

      Ah you who are silent!

      Comment by S. Sawyer on 13 January, 2018 at 6:52 am
    3. Coincidence definitely, but love this poem you sent!

      Comment by Zack-Ashley on 14 January, 2018 at 3:52 am
    4. Love this! x

      Comment by Zack-Ashley on 14 January, 2018 at 3:51 am

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