A BOOK FOR YOU
A BOOK FOR ME
BUY A BOOK AND
WAIT AND SEE


IF YOU LOVE BOOKS
THESE BOOKS ARE FOR YOU
IF YOU LOVE BOOKS
WHY NOT BUY TWO


ANY INTEREST YOU HAVE
OR PASSION IS BEST
BUY MY BOOKS AND
PUT THEM TO THE TEST


ONE BOOK TWO BOOKS
READ THEM AND SEE
I COMPOSED THESE BOOKS
FOR YOU AND ME


WHAT A COLLECTION
ITS AHEAD OF THE REST
I HAVE MANY TOPICS
THAT'S WHY THEY ARE THE BEST

I guess I have accepted it
The way he is going to be
It must bring him happiness
That I can't see
The time he spends with them
Is a fantasy that he needs
To bring some sense of all of this
Is a feeling I need

You buy them presents
And tip them for their desire
I gave you full permission
To view them for pleasure
But it still hurts inside
The actions now become more than pleasure
And the frequency does not subside
Will you come to my bed for pleasure
With thoughts of them inside

Thank you for Thursday
The love you give inside
I am awake with your pleasure
Till my hearts desire

When I was very little, my dad used to make up songs about what he was doing around the house.
Getting ready to go fishing, he'd make up a song.
Making lunch; he'd make up a song.
And once, he was making coffee, and I vaguely remember it.
My dad was holding me while he was pouring the coffee into the coffee filter,
The water in the coffee ***.
I remember him looking at me and smiling and then he sang:
"I love coffee," he'd sing and I'd echo with what he'd sing.
"Coffee every day,"
"When I wake in the morning,"
"It gets me on my way."

-J

Hurtful time
Meaningless
Hanging useless
Unneeded and unwanted
Every wasted instant
Killing the man I was
Turning me into something tame
My own pale shadow
Not me

All my cherished dreams
As stale as ancient bread
All hope within me
Has turned to ghostly pale
Even my lack of belief
Seems unbelievable
Each rock that I'm made of
Crumbles into dust
Longing for the wind
Of my final storm

                            By Phil Roberts

I opened the door to the freezer and just stood there
staring in at all of the food until it began to thaw
and with the cold air billowing out into a warm room
I thought about calling out into an empty house
to ask if you wanted to do something easy for dinner

I don't want to write anymore
The need walked away
and left me with
a balance of zero
All the fire and searing pain
are now cold wet embers
in the morning dew
The lines of love
have turned yellow
in their newspaper ways
Cold dead headlines
that hold no importance
I will bury
the lifeless desire
in old notebooks
that will be shelved
and forgotten
When asked
if I once wrote poetry
I will scoff
and say ,"Who Me ?"
For there is no longer
a reason