THE WORDS
Collected poems
“I love the stars
for loving themselves enough
to pretend they know me”
FROM “SHOOTING STARS”
Robert wrote the way he painted — with wit, tenderness, and a clown's eye for the sublime. Each poem here is paired with one of his canvases: two windows into the same room. The verse is transcribed faithfully from his typed originals, spellings and all.
Index
01
My Muse
Day of the Dead Acrylic on canvas
My Muse is a web footed goose
flapping hysterical wings
in the backyard of this piece of the planet
I call my own
Why do I have this duck? Irking
responsibility squawking
running afoul unreasonable and hungry
and foolish...embarrassing
and demanding sanctity
Its such a stupid surprising silly thing
that I have to care for it
I have to.
It escapes my attempts at reassurance
quacking and flatfooting it in
no particular direction
Squawking at the Blue Sky
Squawking at the green earth
I shrugged and looked in on you
you are beautiful in repose
asleep in the cool bedroom shadow
And on this piece of property
you sleep
and my goose tucks her wings
and I wait for the lovliness of the rain
Robert Maitland
02
Shooting Stars
Black Mountain Acrylic on canvas
They glisten they glow
and I hear they're at least
a million years old
They usually come out at night
avoiding the crowds
in their safe galaxies
wearing sunglasses
in reflection of the moon
for in the absence of the Sun
there are the stars
in competition
glittering on dark oceans
of notion
and shifting in winds
of amplified heartbreak
I love the stars
for loving themselves enough
to pretend they know me
But I wouldn't actually shoot one
Robert Maitland
03
Bum's Moon
Blue Moon Acrylic on canvas
What a comic spectacle
as the clowns roam the Bum's Moon
designed an obstacle for the fittest
of the thin skinned
Those lonely Kooks who look
popeyed into that vastly amusing
vastness of space
for the cat the cow and the fiddle
finding instead hidden craters
not meant to be found
For these are mortal clowns
on the wrong planet
and only those lucky lucky few
can gigglingly slide from its crescent
simply to tickle the cosmic armpit
upon return and once again
amid the riotous din
share the secret laughter
of fools fooling fools
Robert Maitland
04
You Finish My Sentences
Under the Sea Acrylic on canvas
You finished me once
when I was just getting started
I fell into your eyes
and then fell into a cab
and then fell into bed
and bought some Swampland
in Florida called reality
and served out my love for you
to worried guest
who understandingly
removed the toothpick
from the anecdote
I'm wading with a certain degree
of happiness
in the quicksand of your acquaintance
I thought I just loved beauty
I thought I just loved love
You are my maniac
you finished me once
when I was just getting started
and now you finish my sentences
Robert Maitland
05
Frozen Lake
Blue Afternoon Acrylic on canvas
My journey to our frozen lake
was a ruse to see if you too
could find the way to that wayward spot
where we shot each other
with instamatics
and then traded off blurry
interpretations of each other
Until we ended up shuffling them
at double solitaire
wondering whom was losing faster
wondering who in the hell whom was
anyway
The irony of skating and the occasional
flash of the daggered warning
in the sun
did not escape us at the crackle of ice
We each other's wretch
as we wrenched icetrays
far from any form of nature
and far above the sidewalks
where once we gladly found each other's
tossed key
And now long after
the neon blink of eons
I see you trying not to look
ridiculous
as you slide from the far bank
to the ice
towards me
Me already a clown with a fishing pole
through a hole
waiting for something
As you fly again in figure eights
around me
Your smile a flash of my joy
in your sun
Robert Maitland
The Studio Acrylic on canvas
06
The Body of Love
The Body of love
took form in you once
and after that
that was that
But when that chance meeting
met its chance on some granite corner
of December
politeness took over
and diffused momentarily
between our cigarette smiles
the bad dreams
and in the regal domain
of ultimate boredom
the sweet illusions regained
and we both look great
but its far to late
to enjoy it
The small talk's brief
as we turn in the slowness of vanity
wondering how we look from behind
knowing we suffer from looking behind
only
and the humiliation
of the cheap thrill
over a chance meeting
Robert Maitland
07
I Want to Hold Your Hand
Geisha Acrylic on canvas
The windows showed successions
of Heavenly beams down the quiet hall
The dust upset by the flutter of
Cathy's eyelash
fearful and defiant
A shadow appeared in dark robes
worried concerned
distanced by dust
Two raging souls in search of escape
One in black one in plaid
both in Love
The power of God is fame you either
have a ticket to or you don't
and Cathy had a ticket to a Beatle's
concert
And Sister knew it
akin to the network of sin searchers
as she was akin too to Hero worship
Cathy snuck from her confines
to find herself among the crowded screaming
frustrations of pubesence
Sister kneeled and prayed,the Beatles sang
and Cathy shrieked
fainting a Catholic schoolgirl
into the arms of a Bobby
The windows showed successions
of Moonbeams as Sister tread through
invisible dust passing an empty room
She knocked on Mother's door
whispering quietly
I want to hold your hand
Robert Maitland
Wooded Path Acrylic on canvas
08
Collisions of Time
Standing in sand
I'm dragged by an onrush of snow
pulling me towards another season
of knowing you
brown leaves fall
on blooming crocuses
as our repeated conversations
echo new thoughts
and we grow younger
simpler
in the wisdom of aging
that enables me
in knowing you
to know myself
and in collisions of time
do we change
or do we remain
as finer definitions
of our former selves?
or change together
altogether?
and in the caring
do you care
as tricks of mood
perform recognizable
variations
on the singular you
and the singular me?
As the gradations
of consciousness spiral
towards and away from what was
before memory
and what follows recall
or in an acquaintance induced
by the repitious accident
of living
do we make time wait for us
Robert Maitland
09
Romance of the Century
Josette Acrylic on canvas
I knew it from the beginning
from the very start
you didn't
you in the dark
but what I see I pretend not to feel
and what you feel I pretend not to see
aren't we perfect you and me?
And our laughter we do feign I think
as love swirls down the drain
and we kiss and kiss
and bitch and bitch
until one day you'll say no
no
I knew it from the very beginning
and at the end I won't pretend
aren't we perfect you and me?
Robert Maitland
10
Crimes in the Name of Art
Jerome Acrylic on canvas
Art like God is viewed through the choice
lense of the appraiser
both words better left unsaid
and often unheared over the crash
of the cash register drawer
until the artist
busy blowing golden trumpets
gets a sharp tap on the shoulder
and is obliged to toot tin horns
on his own behalf
an ugly job
For the artist
that true figure of englamoured humility
that wimpish snob
battling petty devils in defense of an
uninhibited indulgence
to a wild discipline
is in his corner of the ring
an invisible grotto from which this lunatic
must fight the embarrassment of devotion
and the humiliation of forcing gossamer
through a meat grinder
wondering all along if this cheaply claimed
title is only a toe tag
of self deception
And so crimes are committed
in the name of a sexless love
a paranoia in the discovery of truth
and a liberation in the simplicity
of revelation
to which one must affix a price
in order to continue the art
of sifting fool's gold
from the ocean
of one solitary life
Robert Maitland
11
Gallery
The Prince Acrylic on canvas
Its hard to face
the faces I've painted
now that my brush
has given way to ink
a link in the cauldron
of artistic behavior
For I related the maddness
of my subjects
too impatient to sit
I caught their form through
legend
a rather dubious crown
in the drama of fog
I tried to capture their souls
and frame them in my notion
of truth
I hope they don't mind
whoever they were
and whatever they became
in the sticky wagging tongues
of fame makers
who're tired of everything
but the exertion of hammering
spikes through helpless palms
waiting for the regretless mood
of hindsight
in praise of faces they can't face
Robert Maitland
12
Flying Act
Boy King Acrylic on canvas
And so I ran from the circus
having dallied too long at Freak Shows
pursued by a posse of Cupie Dolls
for the shooting deaths of countless
paper bunnies who popped right back up
only to be shot again
I borrowed some makeup
from a dissenchanted clown
and rode a pink elephant
who didn't seem to remember...
Away and back to some
Treelined idea of peace
I was the geek you see
tired of unplucked chicken dinners
and willing to give whatever lay outside
a chance to give whatever it could
The tents are being pulled down
ready for another town
and I remove my disguise
waiting in fearless anticipation
for the wrath of Cupie Dolls
Robert Maitland
13
Paperback
Masquerade Acrylic on canvas
What a prodigy I
clicking drinks with Gatsby
and marching tragically
down the tracks with Anna
I knew why Romeo sipped
that deadly stuff
and why Elyot wanted Amanda back
so dreadfully
I memorized sonnet 116
and recited the damned thing
relentlessly
I hoped Scarlett would get
Rhett back
even though he frankly
couldn't give a damn
And now I find
prodigies grow up
quite unaware
I click drinks
with Dorothy Parker now
she's portable you know
Robert Maitland
14
Heat Lightning
Mockingbird Acrylic on canvas
The hooked peninsula glitters
in unknown extravaganzas of mystery
and as if suspended in the flash of
Heat Lightening
the Sky above glows
a ghost of all that is desired and
recedes an indigo wash
into an infinity of black blood
The Ocean runs towards
and then away from the shore
only a momentary froth of struggle
as if this creatured mass
wondered to stay or go
and what to leave behind
The edge of your eye was clear
beyond the Blue
centered only by a pupil
as black as the sky
dilating in uncontrolled reflex
to things beyond control
What parties are housed in the distant arc
of those luxuried Beachcombers
as the sky curves the frost
of your expectant eye
like space around the planet Earth
thousands of miles away
In a Heavenless ether
a jealousy crackles between
two grounded souls who want
in absolute for the first time
the oldest thing in the book
Hope is the sheer expance of the sea
where on the horizon
there is an almost imperceptible change
from water to air
And there
is what we want
Sometimes it takes a gentle soothing breeze
to blow out this irrecognition
it blows now through the rushes
that grow through grains of sand
Robert Maitland
15
Punch and Judy
River Valley Acrylic on canvas
I'm sure we're not as European
as we'd like to be
traveling with clutched American Visas
to Punch and Judy shows
showing no deference in the obstacle
of papier mache violence
Are we howling louder than the Parisians
or are they howling at us?
Are we sure we can remember where
the Hotel room is
or is it just as obscure
as our own home?
But Punch and Judy were there to meet us
greet us and
beat each other into pulp
behind ill-strung red velvet curtains
In front of laughing children
in front of you and me
You look lovely in the glow
of a kiddie show
as I imagine soldiers entering a war
just to get a date
Only to meet a date
with Punch and Judy
who clobber each other with adoring bats
behind ill-strung red velvet curtains
in front of us
in front of children
Robert Maitland
Mexican Skull Acrylic on canvas
16
Applause
Applause sounds like rain
when it falls upon you
and finally drenched with praise
you wish for less of it
That many people can't possibly
be right about you
You are after all YOU
and hell to pay for the delinquent
But the gumption of the assumption
of a babbling universe
often makes you feel you are
a university
and even quite vocally tags you
as a master of ADVICE
And it is indeed raining
as you address those
you would rather warn
The envy of controlled learning
is the flipped eggside
of a sad intelligenc
And you take a strange pride
in giving correct directions
to a street vagrant
Robert Maitland
17
The Club
She Creature Acrylic on canvas
Let's not discuss the Human Condition
its like reading the minutes from a club
with dues too high
Let's talk about my condition
its far more interesting to me
learning that with everything I have
its all I've got
and in that single lesson
more than most
What a choice mode of liberation I've chosen
where dues are minimal
but contributions high
We're all in a club
that accepts only the minority
of the living
and the Human Condition is merely
what shape you're in and how well you think
you can outsmart the past
Robert Maitland
What a stretch of sea
the eye can see
an ocean untamable
but kind sometimes
To let us skim atop
and see the sky
while flying its shimmering
blue expanse
The sun caught
In translucent sail
like a kite
high above imagination
a lingering memory
when we kiss in shadow
knowing of the dark
But day follows
and the whales flip their tails
showering crystal confetti
on those who love life
on those who know love
on those who continue
Robert Maitland
18
Whales
Orange Eel Acrylic on canvas
19
It doesn't only happen here
House on the Hill Acrylic on canvas
It doesn't only happen here
I'm sure
but it does happen at a certain time
in a life in this city
where one is sure they'd rather be
nowhere else
Where you're young forever
and in New York
no matter how old you really are
and the sunlight that exposes you
leaving an after hours madhouse
captures you on the front page
of a new day
haggard
and elated with naughtiness
the dawn is so gorgeous
it hurts your eyes
primary colors
blue sky
red eyes
yellow cab
you return from your chic
glimpse at strobelit Gehenna
feeling a guilt
you'd senselessly defend
But its time for sleep
it is time for sleep
and the TIMES will have to wait
It doesn't only happen here I'm sure
But as you pass away in an embrace
of resignation
you know there is nowhere else
you'd rather be
Robert Maitland
20
Grace
Maria Acrylic on canvas
She was visited by the frivolous angel at dawn
and pearls of wisdom rained from a nozzle that morning
she was purified
the bubbles of some strange inexplicable joy
popping under the feet of the loveless above
She looked to her mirror
the glass steamed and melting
transformed and beautiful again
her makeup was perfect for she wore none
and dressing in gold she closed her door
and lost the key
Outside the granite paths absorbed the glow
as it does in sunset
yet where there is a thrill a delicate thrill
unlike the resigned sadness yet to come
in more burnished shades
She passed a begging hand
as if refusing an h'ordeourve
an orange cat with amber eyes seemed to congratulate her
as she passed on
towards that nameless destination we visit
when visited by the frivolous angel
who waits for those of us
who wait for them