Archive for the Robert Halleck Category

The Woman on the Wall by Robert Halleck

Posted in Robert Halleck with tags on August 19, 2020 by Scot

A photo of a woman drops from a book
I bought on Amazon. Wearing a smile,
blouse, jeans she is sitting on a stone wall.

There is no date, place on the back.
I hold her beauty in my hands as I
imagine myself into the photo.

I can clearly see our lives. She sells
real estate—best broker in town.
My plumbing business is dominate

in a three county area. With our two
kids we go to our lake house in August.
At Christmas there’s skiing in Vermont.

It’s not hard to see everything is
great. Fate has put her in my life
but what if she is dead.

She can’t be for I have seen her.
She’s alive for me.

This is my poem.
My phone rings.

Did you by any chance
find my photo in the book
you bought on Amazon.


Robert Halleck is a member of San Diego’s Not Dead Yet Poets. His works have appeared in The San Diego Poetry Annual, Third Wednesday, St. Ann’s Review, Rusty Truck and a number of other places. He is a poetry reviewer for The Split Rock Review.

Wandering Joe by Robert Halleck

Posted in Robert Halleck with tags on October 7, 2018 by Scot


Wandering Joe is at it again.
Up and down the corridors
hitting the crash bar on the doors,
setting off alarms, scaring the residents.
Joe is going to walk until he drops.
Until then the years will become
months, then days, then hours,
then nothing.

Joe didn’t always wander. He
worked hard at raising kids now
scattered to wherever. Wherever
they are they don’t come to visit,
send cards, or call. His love was
blond, pretty, funny, and smart.
Cancer cured that and left him
Alone, broke and old to
wander the corridors of
life’s last stop.

Jimmy Skins A Sucker by Robert Halleck

Posted in Robert Halleck with tags on December 3, 2017 by Scot


We walked out the door into
fifteen minutes of break time.

Woody’s food truck and Jimmy
the knife trader were waiting.

Woody had Susie Darling on his
over amped sound system,

greasy donuts, and oily coffee.
Jimmy had knives and day old

bananas, oranges, and apples.
With a sly grin he opened his

latest find—A Buck Open
Season Skinner knife.

The rugby scrum formed
as the blade snapped open.

He cut a piece of paper to
show the razor edge on the blade.

We needed that knife. Jimmy
had one easy way to buy:

cash on the barrelhead, no
money down, no credit plan.

The break was short.
Jimmy made a sale.

The urban hunters went
back into 100 degree heat.