Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,308 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Robert Rorabeck Poems

6321. Driving In New Mexico, Laser Beams 8/2/2017
6322. A Single Pine 8/4/2017
6323. Upon The Banks Of Michigan 8/15/2017
6324. The Names Of Our Ancestors 8/15/2017
6325. A Quick Poem Done In Time 8/25/2017
6326. The Memories Of A Forgotten Storm 9/15/2017
6327. Echoes Of The Blind Man's Hammer 1/23/2015
6328. Parks Of These Dullards 1/23/2015
6329. Within The Lactations Of A Suggestive Schoolyard 3/22/2015
6330. The End Of The Story For Girls Who Are No More Than Three Feet Tall 3/22/2015
6331. Ejaculating In The Misspellings Of The Afternoon 3/22/2015
6332. Scott's Valentine 3/24/2015
6333. The Shapes Of Merry Weathers 12/22/2017
6334. Peter Pan Is A Fairy 12/27/2017
6335. To Italian Plays Written By English Playwrights 1/12/2018
6336. Preternatural Crucifixions For The Passing Of Patrick Keenan 1/12/2018
6337. Italian Plays Written By English Playwrights 1/12/2018
6338. Star-Stricken And Woebegone Clouds 1/22/2018
6339. In A Garden Of Unwashed Foxes 7/13/2018
6340. The Sparks Of The Show 7/13/2018
6341. The Abandoned Highways Of Forgotten Time 8/20/2018
6342. The Airplanes Of Our Times 11/2/2018
6343. The Beautiful Holidays Their Mothers Told To Them 11/14/2018
6344. The Distance Of The Cosmos 3/24/2015
6345. To Believe In Unicorns 3/24/2015
6346. The Roads That Would Not Turn Around 3/24/2015
6347. Within The Anonymity Of So Many Vanishing Years 3/24/2015
6348. In The Garden Of A Witch 3/24/2015
6349. Her Hungering Dish 3/11/2012
6350. Cars Dancing With Waves 1/23/2015
6351. To Look Over Her World 5/19/2014
6352. Billy The Kid 5/1/2014
6353. Of So Many Tv Shows 4/29/2014
6354. Womb Of A Coiling Succubus 7/19/2013
6355. Kings Falling Down A Hill 12/31/2012
6356. Unsubmissive Road 4/26/2014
6357. Habitats Of Unicorns And Mermaids 3/25/2013
6358. From Your Hair 5/8/2013
6359. One Or Two Brown-Eyed Girls 5/8/2013
6360. Through The Aluminum Sea 1/20/2013

Comments about Robert Rorabeck

  • Z. M. Wise Z. M. Wise (4/23/2015 12:03:00 AM)

    From what minescule fragments of a stockpile of poetic brilliance, I am completely blown away by Mr. Rorabeck's work. From his style and influences to his timing, rhythm, etc...I hope he never ceases this archaic and timeless craft. POETRY LIVES! !

    3 person liked.
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  • Justin Reamer Justin Reamer (5/17/2012 12:41:00 PM)

    I believe Bret is a very good poet. He seems to know what it takes to be a good poet. His rime and rhythm is evenly matched, and he knows how to convey his message in his poem. His poetry is flowing and soothing to the ear. He is one of the best modern poets on this site.

  • Peter O'Brien (9/18/2011 1:53:00 PM)

    A lovely selection of poems! The silver & gold of of famous wordsmiths - Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Lorca, Whitman & others! 'These fragment have I shored against my ruin...'. thanks
    Peter

  • Jim Troy (8/10/2011 5:56:00 AM)

    I have read just one and had to leave my applause.
    Gratefully looking forward, the honor to read more of your great works........Jim Troy

  • Jenda Lecroy (4/14/2010 9:14:00 PM)

    A true poet. Old soul, new life.

  • Virginie Guillemette (3/6/2008 1:41:00 PM)

    i really enjoy your work...i feel the sense of time given your words, as if you choose them as one chooses the ripest cherries in the pile. clever and from an honest place.

Best Poem of Robert Rorabeck

A Flower In The Rain

I want to fall on you like rain
upon a wildflower
Opening new reason from you
Scaring all the old bees away from
Pollinating your bed
Scaring all the fake men off who
Can only stand the sun
So it’s just me and you in the
Meadow
The rabbits in the hole
The grasses are wet and beginning to bow
The forest is damp and sleepy
And in the meadow
I bend down and kiss your petals wetly
Falling all over you
Letting your pistil slip into my mouth
Sucking off your honey,
Almost plucking you
But not going so far
Just pulling you so that you can ...

Read the full of A Flower In The Rain

Prehistoric Red Room

I’ve created behind my eyes
A prehistoric red room
where extinct women gyrate
to the flickering kiss of
kerosene lamps, everyone
who lived before me and
died in Detroit with the
junkyards visits me here-
relaxing on red vinyl

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