The HyperTexts

Robin Helweg-Larsen

Robin Helweg-Larsen is a British-born, Bahamian-raised Canadian businessman who has lived in Chapel Hill, NC, for the past 23 years. His poetry has been published in Visions International, Ambit, Candelabrum, The Lyric, LIGHT, Lighten Up Online, Shit Creek Review, The Rotary Dial, Snakeskin, Unsplendid, and elsewhere. He is also the author of a novel, The Gospel According to the Romans―a non-believer's view, available from Amazon.

Lizard an Mosquito

Mosquito bite yuman,
Now e full a blood.
Lizard eat mosquito
Say, man dis is good.

Lizard help hatch mosquito,
Raise dem up good.
Send dem out like good daddy
Fe go find yuman blood.

Mosquito so happy
Dem eat plenty blood.
Lizard so happy
Dem mosquito taste good.

Politician same like dis:
Yu clap an yu sing,
Yu eleck im an den
E tax yu ting an ting.


Here on the vast beach, you, my hundred friends,
Can see how sea stretched tight round curved earth bends,
How empty sun-filled sky fills timeless Time.
My arms stretch out, but you canít see how Iím
Trapped, caged, confined, boxed in, in love, alone.
Come, sun, burn beach and skin, bleach hair and bone,
Flay life to its essentials: love alone.

Out Island Town in the Early Morning

Before the sun is up, the people are.
Fishermen have gone out, for noonís fierce light
Will punish them, and their desires are slight:
To sell their catch, drink cold beer by a bar.
The workers hitch rides with some early car
That will go fairly near their building site.
Women prep kidsí meals, feeling itís not right
To have to leave to clean some tourist spa.

Only the unemployed and office staff
Still sleep while roosters crow and seagulls laugh,
And the light rising in its eastern glow
Shows Harbour houses in a double row,
One on the Cay, the other upside down
Painted on windless glass, a mirror town.

Good Enough for Me

The wide world has its glories
In a rich complexity
But sitting watching the sun set
Is good enough for me.

Canada has six time zones
From sea to sea to sea
But one tide lapping where I sit
Is good enough for me.

The muezzins in the Saudi mosques
Wake all to pray and pee
But a rooster crowing in the bush
Is good enough for me.

And Singapore is lush and green
And managed prettily
But scrub grass and a sandy beach
Are good enough for me.
All Ė good enough for me.

Auntie's Model Niece

Auntie got her
Maid to knit a
Set of under-

For my frozen
Sister Flo's end
That was posing

Flo then wore 'em
With decorum
And she swore 'em

Undismayed by
Undies made by
Auntie's maid by


To be true to myself and quite clear
I whispered into my own ear;
I nodded, replied;
But, suspecting I lied,
Iím pretending I just didnít hear.

Originally published by LIGHT


Every youngest daughterís
Always Cinderella:
Never at the party,
Always in the cellar;

Tired of washing dishes,
Tired of sweeping dirt;
Wants to be a lady,
A scientist, a flirt;

Wants to travel world-wide,
Read till readingís done;
Wants to be a mother,
Playing in the sun;

Wants to be the princess,
Beauty of the Balló
Fairy tales happen ó
Watch, sheíll have it all!

Originally published by Lighten Up Online


Old fool! You really think yourself the same
As I who write to you, aged 22?
Ha!  All weíve got in common is my name:
Iíll wear it out, throw it away,
Youíll pick it up some other day....
But who are you?

My lifeís before me; can you say the same?
I choose its how and why and when and who.
Iíll choose the rules by which we play the game;
I may choose wrong, itís not denied,
But by my choice you must abide....
What choice have you?

If, bored, I think one day to see the world
I pack that day and fly out on the next.
My choice to wander, or to sit home-curled;
Each place has friends, good fun, good food,
But you sit toothless, silent, rude....
And undersexed!

Cares and regrets of loss can go to hell:
You sort them out with Reasonís time-worn tool.
Todayís superb; tomorrow looks as well:
The word ďtomorrowĒ is a thrill,
Iíll make of mine just what I will....
Whatís yours, old fool?

Originally published by Snakeskin

Camelot at Dusk

From under low clouds spreading from the south
The red sun drops slow to nightís waiting mouth.
Rush lamps are lit; the guards changed on the walls;
Supper will not be served in the Great Halls
With Arthur still away. Each in their room,
The members of the Court leave books or loom
To say their Vespers in the encroaching gloom.

Lancelot, up in his tower,
Sees the sunset storm clouds glower,
Feels his bloodís full tidal power,
            Knows he has to go.
In her bower, Gwenivere
Puts a ruby to her ear,
Brushes firelight through her hair,
            Feels her heartbeat grow.

Guard, guard, watch well:
            For the daylight thickens
            And the low cloud blackens
            And the hot heart quickens
To rebel.

From his tower, caring not
For consequences, Lancelot
Crosses courts of Camelot,
            Pitying his King.
In her bower, Gwenivere
Feels his presence coming near,
Waits for footfalls on the stair,
            Lets her will take wing.

Guard, guard, watch well:
            If attention slackens
            When the deep bond beckons,
            Evil knows Pendragonís
In its spell.

And as the storm clouds, rubbing out the stars,
Deafened the castle and carved lightning scars,
Drenched Arthur rode for flash-lit Camelot
Where he, by Queen and Knight, was all forgot.

Eva Aged 14

            Some of the girls I know
            Go to the University
            Sit so pretty
            Kiss-kiss and cissy
            With beautiful boys that they know
            Friends to drink tea with
            Chat with and be with
            Feather-headed into the feather-bedded night.

Oh no sweet Jesus hear me I scream
Such a life of show
Is beyond what I dream
Give me a man who Iíll never know
A man without feelings, without wrong or right
Without obligations
Except for the money
Let him be cold and hard as the money
And the money as dirty and evil as me
I canít trust feelings, I never trust feelings
And I donít care
That I canít care....
I donít dare.

            Some of the girls that Iíve seen
            Listen to that classy music, they sit
            And play piano while they drink their tea.
            Thatís somewhere Iíve never been.
            Cello!  Piano!!  What SHIT!

give me ROCK,  ROCK, give me ROCK oh give me ROCK
ROCK, give me ROCK, give me ROCK
blast my MIND  let me DROWN  give me SO much of ALL
that my HEAD and my BODy are FINally SOUND
give me ROCK,  ROCK, give me ROCK,  ROCK
give me ROCK rock ROCK rock ROCK,  ROCK
DROWN me  DROWN me, LET me go DOWN

            Some of the kids from my school
            Would sit down to a smoke, have a toke and cool down
            Drift round the town feeling cool
                        Not me

            Some of the students Iíve seen
            Trip out on acid, they want to expand
            They want to feel all that they can, and still more
                        Not me

Give me JUNK
Give me the rush and the bliss of fuck all
Give me the unsatisfaction of life
Give me the treadmill toward the next fix
The stealing or whoring, the need, the despair
Of being whipped up an unending stair
A problem of Now I can just about handle
The safety in knowing tomorrowís the same
And the whole problem thank god unthinkable
Only the treadmill toward the next fix
The fix of nothingness, of peaceful nothing
And let me not think
    LET me not THINK
Sweet JESus if i THINK even ONCE
                        iíll DIE.

The HyperTexts