Robert J Fitz

I know I don’t say much,
But I hope it’s enough.
To leave you with a know.
Which I have come to know.

How to love you at arms length,
As I ever let you go.

So stoic because if I ever was to say it,
Or broach the topic,
I would only spoil it.
And I could never let that be so.

You look so beautiful now,
I don’t ever want to let you go.

--

--

It’s time to place your bets.
On whether or not
We have the where-with-all left.

To get ourselves out of this mess.
Before things get too intense.

Before the oceans capsize
The food runs-out and dries.
And all our pain and distress,
Finally comes to an end.

--

--

The candle of incandescence

Keeps me up all night.
Or at least,
Keeps me company.

I’m up already.

Wrestling to wield,
A restless light.
Hiding in front of my eyes,

Giggling in the night.

Flickering trickery,
I’ve not yet wrought,
Cajoled or strangled into mine.

I will have soon,
Plucked their shiny hides
from the night.

To sit together with me,
And these lonely, probing eyes.

--

--

The bellows
That fanned the flames,
Of the fire,
beneath the ships storm-soaked-deck.

Kept the powder man,
and the traveller,
Some-what-well.

Faces
flickering,
In the damp and pouring dark.

The ship,
swayed and tumbled on
In a rock-a-bye-song.

Playing on

Relentlessly innocent,
Of the jealous elements,

Rising up against it.

--

--

2020 was the year that everything changed,
2021 will be a year of much more of the same.

What’s occurring is not,
A cause for a complain.
But rather it’s the labour pains.
Of,
Long-overdue revolutions.
Finally coming home.
To set aflame
to our old, outdated ways.

So let the old world fade away.
Don’t complain.
Don't give out and trample on,
the little-green-shoots In the rubble,
Of what we once called tomorrow,
Now yesterday.

Be brave.
Show this budding new place,
Not your fear, your hatred, or your disdain.
Show it some patience, good humour,
Give it some grace.

Don’t complain.
Let this new world know
That it’s safe to come out to play.

--

--

Rhythm

From your workweek,
to your heartbeat.
From particles of light moving through waves,
to the way the music plays.

All of life,
is a series of ups and downs,
arounds and arounds,
and we are no different.

Our patterns, are sung from the same hymn sheet.
Our ups and downs, are a part of the same instrument.
The one that makes up the sound of everything.

And that’s not just some,
high-feluting-inaccesible-academic-abstract-fact.
That’s something that deserves playing with.

--

--

Robert J Fitz

Robert J Fitz

Spoken word poetry and poetic considerations on public affairs. Maybe the odd story as well.