Nice to meet you

Photo By Robert Trakofler

I am very pleased to meet you I am not particularly good at writing bios, partially because I am new to self-publishing and just terrible at self-promotion but here goes!

The irony of my previous statement is as an owner of an art gallery and performance venue I have been actively promoting artistic expression in many forms, for many years now! I am now listed as a top writer in photography and art on this platform and will endeavor to promote as much as I can in my poetry as possible.

This is not a selfless act for I am…


Music by Constant Goddard and lyrics and vocals by me

Photo by Robert Trakofler

Stroll this sphere
Of souls
Strides unclear
-ly shown
strain and fear
Take toll
Atmosphere
Gets cold
Scattered tears
Take hold
Stealing years
Untold

But

I…
Can see
The art
Run free
cry …
the plea’s
of hearts
decree
spy…
the scenes
impart
of dreams
fly
set free
rain art
on me

let it

rain

© 2020 Robert Trakofler

I came across this music quite by (A very happy)accident, Constant had sent me a link to a playlist that I thoroughly enjoyed listening to! My curiosity led me to search for more of his music and this song so…


Or State of Matters, States of Matters, Mind over Matters or Matters of State. A poem By Robert Trakofler

Photo of me reflected off of a puddle taken by me:)
Spoken word by me

From a distance I watch the ripples rise
As rain drops strike the hot summer pavement
Steam lifts to warp the scene before my eyes
As it shifts states of matter and my placement

The earthy scent of a cloudbursts baptize
Washing the dry grit of economy
From leaf and soil in a petrichor sigh
Freed from the weight of thirsts disharmony

A reflection of me to my surprise
Cast from a puddle is my grinning face
Looking back at me in silent reply
That this is the look of a presence graced

A final drop…


A pause for some poetic thought

Artist unknown from my collection (circa 1940's)

I have an obsession with waves this is my sketch of motion…

AS always thank you for reading and or listening to my poem it means the world to this old poet. Audio link at the bottom of my poem:)

I gesture in the regard of a sunset smile
As I passage my inscription of minutes
In the grace obscured by the mundane beguiled
I was once told “young man, don’t race through the visit.”

I’m the old man now, contemplative is my pace
I strike motion in the reverence of fascination
The adoration of prosaic bloom is my chase
In the interlude…


Poetry and spoken word (A true story)

Photograph of an art installation at the Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh

The luminous man
Always carried many lights
You must understand
He survived a ghastly plight
A blackouts remand
On a stormy summer night
With just room to stand
In a lift was trapped mid flight
Many souls were crammed
In a dark vault without sight
Sense of time expands
When your adrenalines hiked
No fresh air was fanned
As their temperatures spiked
Many elbows jammed
Some reflexive others spite
As their bodies slammed
And their minds got filled with fright
Their fates had been damned
In their natures fight or flight

This luminous man
Seemed a most affected soul
Those numerous lamps
Shiny totems of console
With ominous glance
He started to let me know
In this circumstance
Just a speck of light to…


A free verse poem

Photograph by author
spoken word by author

On a median strip
At the end of a bridge
A homeless man was sitting
Holding a cardboard sign
That read,
“Because I’m too ugly for porn”
Passing him I responded,
“You’re not that ugly.”
And from the rearview mirror
I could see him
Shake his head
And crack a slight smile
As I hung a right turn.

I had been without a home
Once or twice
Or as an old friend once said
“Out of doors”
I don’t judge
Especially now
After a year and a half
Of Covid
Of barely making it
I’m just one problem away from
Holding a cardboard…


On the results of misinformation

Deception and death

Photograph by author

To languish in the lassitude
Of the mal informed masses
That anguish in the platitudes
That scorch the truth to ashes

And we burn
for your sins
That we earned
giving in
As they churned
your false spins
When you spurned
hopes syringe
As we learned
with a cringe

That they are the ones who are dying!
Because of your hate-filled, implying
Yes it was their choice no, denying
But they listened to all of your, lying
As they died from deceptions, complying

And that won’t stop the children, from crying

© 2021 Robert Trakofler

A picture, a poem…


A Free Verse Poem

Photograph by author
Spoken word by author

Trapped behind a door
that’s obscured by the hazed glass
of freshly coated miasma
sits an elderly person
for eighteen months
isolated in sequester
no physical contact
often relegated to a single room
for days on end
no physical activity
for even the ones
that were already limited
no telephone calls
for the ones that can’t hear
no skype, no texts, no emails
no hope, no smiles. no . . .
for the ones without means
while we were surviving
they were dying
at a time when time
is so precious
and a smile or a touch
has so much
more meaning
while we were surviving
they stopped…


Free Verse Poetry

A societal deconstruction.

Photograph by author

I had, rainbows on my wall
when I was a boy
I always looked at clouds
trouble was
I was always looking at clouds
I often didn’t see
the things that weren’t rainbows…
But they did see me
Perhaps it was malice
or just jealousy
But soon my rainbows
turned monochrome
and I and the clouds
got lost in the obscurity
Of sorrows wake
cast in the conformity
Of capitulation
That boy became a man
that could no longer see
For many a year;
he spoke, without a voice
walked without choice
and lived without rejoice
till he no longer
seemed to be
And then one day
one very fine day
someone whispered
I see a rainbow in you
and slowly
he too…


A frequent dream I have

A Shakespearean sonnet

Photograph & collage artwork by the author
Spoken word by author

I gazed the blushing summer sunset sky
as stars revealed amongst the final rays
and many planets beamed before my eyes
their moons revolved to dance in grand ballets

when I was nine alone in my backyard
and pacing circles in my swimming pool
To make a vortex to float to the stars
Instead, the heavens came to this young soul

Beguiled I watched this great celestial scene
My joy was tempered with the somber grasp
That I’m the only witness of this beam
I dashed inside to share the starry cast

So sad I searched…

Robert Trakofler

Poetry & lyric writer, drummer & vocalist Owner of an art gallery, antique store, Vegan restaurant and performance venue in Pittsburgh called The Zenith.

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