I have moved to a different drum
With odd and peculiar rhythms
Dancing awkwardly through life
On my two flat clumsy feet
It is not the way I chose
To step on innocent toes
But the wildness of my dance
Has had no easy flow
The blame lies entirely with me
It's a genetic thing, you see
I am no more than this
The son of the gypsy's kiss

                                By Phil Roberts

The wind is in the west
straight off the Atlantic.
Sweet air to taste and
pure with salted crisp
-March, beware they
say, 'she has a sting
in her tail' storm force
hidden under her skirts
wreaking havoc on
the unwary false spring
'the celebration of poets'

Having swam the oceans for millennia
washed up upon the shore
Mankind clawed its way out the dirt
with a ravenous appetite
unchecked began to ravage Mother Earth
cutting themselves off from nature
with tarmac and concrete
burning fossil ancestors polluting the air they breathe
to feed the machine
of greed.

Refreshed beneath a rattling fan
The same white house from my
favorite window , the same old trees , the same old window reflecting the same old me
An east wind tells of someones supper a half mile away , red tips
and brown sugar fescue hypnotically sway , the same old trails on another slow moving Sunday* ..

depleted
of energy,
a weight of gold
upon my heart,
its heavy dull luster
pushes down hard
squeezing out
        the light
suffocating
    my staccato
of breath
     I crouch        
quietly
in the brush,
the next step in
my process
                 pending
a dense rock
of pendulum
swaying time
  tick ticking
in my blood
cells reaching
the boiling point
just shy
of spilling over
into froth
waiting for
this conundrum
        to unravel,
my inner tigress
about to unfurl
             her heart
    to leap
and pounce
from
   within
into the
  tight
white
          of blinding
snow, the silent
storm of  
      the unknown
forever

Destruction breeds creation, yes this is true
Yet destruction still leaves us sore, black, and blue.

Destruction entertains, it gives a good time.
It gives me a reason to jot down a rhyme.

Destruction brings war and destruction brings peace
Destruction makes the population decrease.

Oh Destructive, destroying, destruction
Bring  about society's deconstruction.

Destruction is pain and it is joy
Destruction makes men out of boys

In destruction I revel
It's both God and The Devil.
It's the dark and the light
Its my moon in the night.