Robert Gibbons


The day clarity couldn’t get much more
The kids all too much.
The table & chairs we found outside in the sun
the brittle wind. Imagine the sky
for bedroom?
Padua’s Arena Chapel, its vaulted ceiling!
Jot something loving down in a notebook
amid comments, observations,
red wine blots, “Hope you live long
enough, enfolded & open,
in the instant.”
Not just the lip cut
where all sensation rushes to the wound.
Say, gesture, touch, turn
of phrase far
from forced.

Two more poems by Robert Gibbons

More of Gibbon’s poetry in our Fall Issue


Lover, Is This Exile? and OF DC are still in print from


A prose poem is available online at The Literary Review

Robert Gibbons writes a regular column, “Observations,” for an online magazine out of Switzerland at

Night & Day


No, the night Monk’s thundering, killing
with his bare hands.
Scarring ivory lording over
only over the defeated
of the instrument still standing
up to him ready
to take another hit always resurrected
in the sacred
bone yard.
We go home in sunglasses, turn red wine
black from Cahors.
Both our biracial kids open the door,
welcome us, make room,
by contradiction,
by having grown.