wander I will
eyes to a northern star
alone, again

nine days gone of heaven's gift
a rift in the new
curtains.... show

me time, make a place
where the moon
graces my face

where a slice of life may be eternity-
a day....like her cries in the
dark nights

bothered flames of
bedstead candle
wicks

like the breeze of a day coming
cold and shallow
as my world

come Saturday
afternoon
shall make lights grow dim

but hearts fire grow
in all distance
in memories

glance

I guess
I'll go back to poetry
now that
the real thing is ending

It's hard to lose touch
when you finally found it
hard to imagine
being content
staring at computer eyes
and typing can never
replace her flesh and blood hand

yet the reality is we must part after meeting
so brief the moment
so unsweet the parting
I may write a poem full of tears
I may tear this **** keyboard apart

trying to make it all real once more
her feel her heart her love for me.

Thank you Lord for each dawn that breaks
For every happy hour it brings
Thank you for granting one more year
To see your glory and kneel in prayer

Thank you for the breeze that blows
For every lovely flower that blooms
For each silvery star that twinkles
Proclaiming your love that never dwindles

Thank you for friends who always stand by
And through love n’ kindness add to our joy
Thank you for silent words of solace uttered
When in pain, words of disgust muttered

Thank you for all those we chance to meet
Who with smiles and kindness gladly greet
And add to our sense of self worth
Making our lives lovelier on this Earth

Thank you for your hovering care
During trying times of wear and tear
Thank you for your silent voice
That always makes our hearts rejoice

Thank you for all the trials you send
That makes our weak shoulders bend
For it is then we look up to Heaven
And all our binding chains loosen!!

Lost games
Longer lost rules
Night-time crimes
Lungs full
Of pungent smoke
Bellies full of *****
And heads full of
Something
And nothing

A kind of homage
To a kind of music
Riding across vinyl
And even crackling shellac
And the dead man's foot
Still taps inside the coffin
Refusing to relinquish
The hard-wired hammer
The outlaw life
Is hard in the dying

                                    By Phil Roberts

Ten minutes into my fifth shot
I'm beginning to give meter and -
rhyme all I've got
A half hour after I've had my fill
I'm a man on a mission with a golden quill* ..
Beef jerky and Wild Turkey
An inebriated mind on yesteryears -
journey
Pain riddled in poetic schemes
Purgatories insider inking bellicose themes..