Bobby Travis

Featured Poet Fall/Winter 2016

bio_photo-2-bobbyBobby Travis (Alter ego: Randall Dean Scott) is a Texas native who now lives in Portland, Oregon. While his main pursuits are writing and visual art, he works the daily grind at any decent or odd job he can secure for keeping the lights on.  Currently, that odd job is web development.  He jumped through the hoops of academia for years while earning enough credits for two degrees, but then financial obstacles presented new opportunities. After college, he took a job with an ad agency where he worked as a copywriter and web developer. Eight months later, the ad agency downsized. Bobby now writes as often as possible.  He sells his visual art and stories for money or REESE’S peanut butter cups. His passions are music, visual art, and writing. However, he spends more time writing. When he’s not doing that, you can usually find him somewhere near a large body of water with a fishing pole.

the ant pile

when I consider
all the time that has passed
I can’t help but think of
how little time is left and
I couldn’t tell you just
as you can’t tell me
how much time anyone has before death
but one thing is certain and that is
that it’s coming for everyone

meanwhile we give our time
most spent on our employers
another chunk on laundry
grocery shopping and clarinet lessons
family reunions or ball practices
visiting grandma in the nursing home
the bulk of time however
all passed on earning bucks so
we can buy stuff and pay overpriced
rent or mortgages and
I don’t know about you but
when I look around I see most of us
going through the motions
repeat and
we fight for seconds in between
when we should be feeding our souls
but the reality is that we
either do that or burn the so called free time

on sleep and still most of us
are fatigued beyond belief and I keep asking
what’s the gain and at what cost

death peers over the horizon
waiting to take us and
we carry on like ants on a pile
performing our blind functions
but why I ask daily
saddened and my soul cries mercy
as I look around for the Moses who shouts
let my people go but
we all just keep working and
not for our own benefits but for the others
who have it all and who
still want more
how much longer will we
can we
do this blind and silly thing
called survival

what ever happen to living?

To view more poetry by Bobby from this issue pick up your copy here