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

A monochrome photograph of me clutching my forehead reflected from a puddle of water with a thin grin
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

Mixed media primitive painting of an older man sitting in a lounge chair staring intently with a contemplative expression
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…


Poetry and spoken word

Photograph by author

Collapsed

As quickly as my feet hit the ground
the impressions of my steps get filled
in momentary displacements
as the rolling sands continue their course
quickening my pace
lest I lose my footing
with what little command of gravity I possess
or get swallowed by the flow
I understand it isn’t personal
but that knowledge
does little to soothe
the ache of my tired legs
I promise myself that I can rest
once I negotiate the top
trouble is
I still can’t sight the peak
and the flow of sand seems relentless
All that I can see is the glistening of white
reflections off the…


Truth Or Consequences?

Photograph of a mannequin eating Chloroquine tablets attached to a Clorox IV drip sitting next to a skeleton reading The Presidents Coronavirus Guildlines
Photograph by Author
Spoken word by author

Can we, get on, with the healing
enough of the endure
and the hopeless bitter feeling
of the imprudent detours
struck by the impudent dealings
fixed by the falsely reassured
with their impotent appealings
please forgive my ill rancour! …


Poem and spoken word

Photograph by author

When I look into the eyes
of children, I see the silent vows
of hopes enduring cries
collecting in pools of hearts endow

And though they may not be mine
each, are the offspring of our charge
for in our aspect fates entwine
cast in the manor of our regard

And when that vision does arise
to an Afghan girl’s young brow
clutching children’s books a treasured prize
I fear soon, will be disallowed

I watch the fray as hopes decline
echo in the sounds of gun discharge
as our engagement gets redefined
that bleeds an ache upon…


The Grand Experiment

The miracle of January 6th

Swearing in of the January 6th hearing coutresy of rueters
Free image courtesy of Reuters
Spoken word by author

False Idles

You held the blue line
while we watched speechless
as they stormed the hill
armed with trumped-up speeches;
cheap t-shirts, and false idles
while we wept at the stones
cast upon our founders
and the ones dressed in blue
we did hear the moans
as you broke the coup
with the crack of your bones
as you stood fast for truth
we all held our breath
as you choked on mace
as they fouled the halls
of freedoms embrace
this hate-filled cabal
of righteous displace
but you… held the line
with your hearts and your lives
while our heads hung in resign
you kept the fragile dream alive
on that darkest of nights
your true courage shined
the…


A free verse poem

Black and white photo of an median strip at a city intersection an empty hubcap used for begging for change sits at the end of the berm
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…

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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