Robert J Meyer
Biography of Robert J Meyer
Robert J Meyer Poems
She enveloped my senses on her arrival - Midnight tresses, the mark of her Olympian precursor Reflecting the hour of our meeting - Beauty born of wisdom,
It’s been fun, exhausting. The mellow bunch singing lazily around the bonfire – Sparks spinning upward, reflected in the lake. They begin to move toward tents and sleeping bags,
On Reading Graham Greene's 'The Quiet Am...
Pyle and Fowler So civilized Fighting over Phoung And Vietnam
If paper shattered Like my defenses near you Love notes would snow down
She said... I hope you feel - I hope you -
The Ultimate Incurable Disease
We live in hope, or so we say, As we pass through each dawning day. And yet we shake our heads and curse When obstacles make us reverse.
The memory of wet shoes and grimy windshields and grey days Melts as the first fecund aromas permeate the air, And I sit dumbstruck by the sudden dissolve of the winter haze And the first buds and birds that take the dare
The Christmas when my marriage died and nothing came out right I’d flown into Nebraska, but Althea missed that flight. My parents had her gifts around the Christmas tree alight, But since she was St. Louis bound, it was a silent night.
I came to her in tears. No need for prologue, She knew. I cried and babbled incoherently
What Is Love
What is love? Is it the pulsing passion of two bodies engorged with the heat of the moment? Is it the deep emotional moment when two voices promise before friends assembled to love honor and obey? Is it the moment when a new voice is added, squalling for air and reaching for the breast?
Durable Enduring Lasting Constant
All the kids are gone. Locker doors hang open. Old worksheets and pages torn from spiral notebooks Trodden into grimy gray litter
There was anger And all the tempestuous excesses of our confrontation And she said – And I said –
And she revives me. When work has left me indolent, She offered me a chance to be Freshened, seemingly brilliant
The Christmas when my marriage died and nothing came out right
I’d flown into Nebraska, but Althea missed that flight.
My parents had her gifts around the Christmas tree alight,
But since she was St. Louis bound, it was a silent night.
The year my little brother’s schizoid fantasies did bite
The family photo ended with the threat of a knife fight.
But he had grabbed a butter knife so no blood spilled, no fright,
So handcuffs and the looney bin, it was a silent night.