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Robin Helweg-Larsen

Robin Helweg-Larsen is a British-born, Bahamian-raised Canadian businessman who, after 25 years in Chapel Hill, NC, is back in his home town of Governor's Harbour on Eleuthera. His poetry has been published in Ambit, The Asses of Parnassus, Better Than Starbucks, LIGHT, Lighten Up Online, The Lyric, The Road Not Taken, The Rotary Dial, Snakeskin, Unsplendid, Visions International, 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.



Beach

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 can’t see how I’m
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 noon’s 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 kids’ meals, feeling it’s 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 — good enough for me.



Auntie's Model Niece

Auntie got her
Maid to knit a
Set of under-
            Wear,

For my frozen
Sister Flo's end
That was posing
            Bare;

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

Undismayed by
Undies made by
Auntie's maid by
            Hand!



Monomiscommunication

To be true to myself and quite clear
I whispered into my own ear;
I nodded, replied;
But, suspecting I lied,
I’m pretending I just didn’t hear.

Originally published by LIGHT



Religions
 
Judaism
Genocide in Canaan
Gave God's land to the Jews;
But genocides in other lands
Are Yahweh's big taboos.

Buddhism
All life is suffering,
Yes, all our life is pain;
Then I must be a masochist —
I’d love to live again.

Norse religion
The first gods killed a giant,
From his skull to make
The sky, and mountains from his bones —
What lies! No talking snake?!

Christianity
Jesus wasn't Jewish
And his killers weren't from Caesar;
At least, so Paul said after
An epileptic seizure.

Islam
There is no God but One,
Perfect in every way;
All creatures do His unknown will —
So there’s no need to pray.

Mormonism
To teenage Joseph Smith
An angel showed gold plates
On which he read ‘Jesus Was Here’ —
It got him lots of dates.

Modern Paganism
Pretentious modern pagans
Confused by mystic spoof
Have got no clue how Stonehenge looked
With Newgrange walls and roof.              

Atheism
I don’t see gods on clouds,
I don’t hear angels sing;
There’s just one question bothers me —
How come there’s anything?

Originally published by Snakeskin



Four God Limericks

God made Heaven, earth, plants, people, fleas
In six days, and then rested at ease;
Then He thought: “In those stones
“I’ll hide dinosaur bones!!”
(He was always a bit of a tease.)

God looked out a Heavenly portal
And what He saw made Him just chortle:
Some dude, on a cross,
Claiming he was the Boss!
For his hubris, God made him immortal.

God, blessed with what one must call humour,
Decided to start up a rumour
That Himself as a dove
Came to Mary with love
And begat an Immaculate Tumour.

God saw how Religion had deadened
And said to His host, “Armageddon’d
“Look good on this lot”
For His plans were all shot
And His angels teased Him till He reddened.

Originally published by Ambit



A Viking Sails South

Tired of ‘Greenland’ and its icy coast,
a band of us sailed south to Leif’s old place,
discussed old legends (drinking many a toast)
of Norman settlements in Spain and Thrace.
So why not us as well? Let the old stay
in frost-filled farms, friendly, familiar.
Go south! Long nights to lengthening days give way
until it seems like Equinox all year.
Bring our old gods, have garlands round them hung —
wind in soft pines like loneliness of girls —
where just to taste the water makes you young —
pink conch shells on pink sand yield up pink pearls —
we saw Njord, sea god, sleeping from our railings.
Brown women smile. Our children will be skraelings.
 
Originally published by Snakeskin


 
Hurricane Irma

With islands as appetisers before the main course
Irma prepares to swallow Florida whole
With a sword-swallower’s brash control,
The fellatrix without remorse.

The circular saw of Irma prepares to slice the length of Florida...
But trim the east coast? Trim the west? Or just go forth
And cut a clean line up the center, south to north,
Right through the Magic Kingdom like some sarcastic orator?

And here comes Hurricane Jose,
Pursuing Irma like a barracuda,
A dog lifting a leg on poor Barbuda
To piss where the bigger dog pissed yesterday.

Meanwhile off Africa there forms a new farrago
As God prepares another bowling ball along the hurricane alley…
Can He slide one between Cuba and the Bahamas with this sally
And curve it in to take out Mar a Lago?

 

Barefoot
 
After your city feet in socks and shoes,
After your crowded evening with its booze,
Your air is tainted with your body’s sweat,
Unclean and laden with a vague regret.
But we are free
Who live beside the sea,
Can choose what our life spurns or craves.
Surely we reach
Purity on a beach,
Daily dallying barefoot in the waves.
 
Originally published by The Orchards Poetry Journal
 
 

Cinderella

Every youngest daughter’s
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 reading’s done;
Wants to be a mother,
Playing in the sun;

Wants to be the princess,
Beauty of the Ball—
Fairy tales happen —
Watch, she’ll have it all!

Originally published by Lighten Up Online



TO MYSELF, IN 50 YEARS TIME

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

My life’s before me; can you say the same?
I choose its how and why and when and who.
I’ll choose the rules by which we play the game;
I may choose wrong, it’s 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 Reason’s time-worn tool.
Today’s superb; tomorrow looks as well:
The word “tomorrow” is a thrill,
I’ll make of mine just what I will....
What’s yours, old fool?

Originally published by Snakeskin



Camelot at Dusk

From under low clouds spreading from the south
The red sun drops slow to night’s 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 blood’s 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 Pendragon’s
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
            Prissy
            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 I’ll 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 can’t trust feelings, I never trust feelings
And I don’t care
That I can’t care....
I don’t dare.

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

Sweet JESus CATCH me beFORE i SCREAM
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
aWAY
                        aWAY
                                                aWAY

            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 I’ve 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 tomorrow’s 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
i’ll SCREAM i’ll SCREAM i’ll SCREAM
                        i’ll DIE.

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