03:32 pm - Robert Pierson
Dec. 5th, 2005 at 5:58 AM
~Robert Pierson is what most Webanistas would call a ‘sock’, which is why so many trolls fail: they do not Honor their creation.
~To me, Robert is a Persona. (Only his mother and his lovers can call him ‘Bobby’) As a writer and a NYC theater trained actor and director, I created him and inhabited him like I would any character..Fully.
~Robert was born three and a half years ago to help me reconnect with Kayla, an operation I abandoned shortly thereafter. (What was the point?) But he was imbued with that sense of Passion.
~His story is that as a teenager, he killed a man while driving drunk, went to prison, had a Spiritual Transformation while in prison, and immerged as ‘someone else’. He got a job as a professional pallbearer and started writing poetry.
~And I shall share his poems here, as I have long neglected him. Time now to do him Honor…and then lay him to rest.
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
Star of God
the night is filled with stars
which one are you?
how may I find
the joy of Oneness
that I crave?
I beseech thee
show Your Face to me
Thursday, May 15, 2003
Fate
so many
die alone
forgotten
or hated
I have pondered
which is worse
forgotten, I think
hatred at least
breeds memory
but even the loved...
the damp soil
still embraces them
and as the dirt
thuds upon their caskets
I wonder
when my time comes
how will I die?
....well
I hope
Sunday, May 18, 2003
pure of heart
I saw my first true love today
it's been over a decade
since I last laid eyes upon her
she has two children and
a man who 'feels solid'
a good husband and father
in a small packed away place
I had dreaded this moment
without even knowing it
she didn't recognize me, of course
I am so far from that boy
she loved so long ago
as to be another man all together
I watched this little family group
and tears welled up in my eyes
but there was no sadness in them
she looked profoundly happy
and her happiness warmed my heart
and this warmth proved to me
that truly
all along
I really did love her
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
The Strange Angel of My Redemption
I thought she was another prison groupie
I was low in the pecking order of killers
but I had, in fact, killed a man
and that drew women, girls really,
who would write and write and write
and come and visit me in stir
I was grateful for the company
except for Gran, my own family
had become utterly invisible
the blood on my hands
offended their sense of order
in the beginning of all of this
my little girls would bribe the guards
with cigarettes and hand jobs
after I underwent my....transformation
they began to share their souls
souls they often did not know they had
they would blossom and drift off
their letters fewer but deeper of meaning
and their 'lost sisters' would appear
in their sted, beginning the cycle anew
this one was different I could tell
not an excitable shy woman-child
but with a quiet and a stillness
like a bright afternoon before a storm
and this was a woman, young as she was
her eyes a cold blue framed by
such luscious flowing blond hair
she looked into me with such
...clarity of purpose
once it would have terrified me
but now those cold blue eyes pulled me
like a death that has been longed for
'I am his daughter', she said matter of fact
I needed no names to understand that statement
'we all died that day', I said in a way...
I still do not know where those words came from
she crumbled without motion but for
the tears that poured from her eyes
she left without saying another word
but there she was the next day
'you are not the man I was expecting', she said
'I meant what I said', I uttered oh so calmly
'he is dead. so is the girl that you were.
and her parents and his own. he killed all of us'
she looked at me in the strangest way
'you are either a saint or the most brilliant con man'
her smile warmed my belly
'I think all saints are on the hustle.
they just have a deeper game'
I believe I fell in love with her in that
moment when her bright golden laughter
cascaded through the visitor's room
then she caught herself and got up
'I don't know what I'm doing here now'
and she walked out
nearly a year passed
when she reappeared she was like
a force of nature
tan and wind blown and bursting with life
'I'm sorry I didn't send these'
she said pushing a small stack of letters
across the table, all addressed to me
'I was uncertain...but looking at you again...'
I placed my hand upon those letters
with what I hoped was sang froid
'I realized', she continued, 'that my father
was a mystery to me...to everyone'
she looked into the distance
'I think he may have died years before
you ran that stop sign'
'before I stopped his heart', I almost whispered
'yes' she said so softly, the word...
like a short love poem
'facing you...facing all my hate and
anger and sense of loss...you made me
face myself...and the reality that
he had been gone my whole life'
'but I took away your chance to ever know him'
'maybe so', she said and placed her soft warm hand
on top of my hand, the hand that gently rested upon
her unopened letters, whose perfume I could
smell from arms length, and I just breathed in
'but you gave me a chance to know myself'
slowly, slowly, I let that breath out
'I have been driving around the country
with my paints in the back, working odd jobs,
and just painting...painting whatever
I was moved to paint', her smile
passed through me like a bullet
'when you killed him, you killed his
silent oppressive disapproval, lifted it
from off of my spirit, my soul, I would
never have done anything like this before'
when she laughed I'm embarrassed to say
I pictured sunlight sparkling upon a running brook
'I will surely go to hell for that', she grinned
'Hell is purely of our own making', I said
she leaned forward and kissed me upon my lips
'I have to go', and she stood up, 'but I will be back'
her smile was warmer, deeper, 'I promise'
a few weeks later I recieved laser prints
of a score of her paintings
and she came once a month like clockwork
she wore an engagement ring three months in a row
and then it was gone without a word in either case
we talked about where she had traveled and
all the people that she had met
and then my time was served
I moved into my Gran's house
and got a job..a professional pall bearer
a week after I arrieved at Gran's
she showed up at the door just past midnight
without a single word, she moved into my arms
and kissed me
we spent three days together
exploring every inch of each other
'I am reclaiming my father from your flesh'
she said one night as we lay wrapped in
each other's sweat
and then she 'had to go'
that was six weeks ago
tonight....
we had dinner together
in public
for the first time
she is moving to Florence
Firenze!
'to become a real painter'
I can still smell the scent of her perfume
upon the cuff of my shirt
we are going to write
and I am going to visit her for New Years
'or else' she grinned
'we will go up the coast' she said
'just before I leave' and she kissed me
very much like that first sudden kiss
and I will savor each of these moments
blessed by this strange angel
who was redeemed by my evil madness
on that terrible night
when we all died