there's no hurry
time will hold your hand, anxious child
there's nowhere to run
so why feel like running
your corpse will take over you soon enough don't let that be now
the more life you exhale the closer you are to losing your inhale but i promise you you're the basic windmill
You’re literally a caterpillar you’re every table in the world you’re me if i was a girl you’re a piano buried beneath the lighthouse
Calm the **** down
We're all timebombs; we're all ticking
we're all counting moments down and thinking
imagining when we could be speaking

i'm not ******* i didn't mean to
it was just easier to not say anything just go along just nod my head and i know this way i have lied the way my father and mother may and that i am not successful nor true to what i want or may want or definitely want
i didn't mean to lie why did i

Put the kettle on
The Dodger's here
Him and me sat chatting in the sun
As happy as gypsies leaving town
We have a lifetime between us
Over forty years of friendship
And a thousand events and people
Indelible memories
Me teaching him his first chords
Fingers stumbling on the frets
Now he plays like a dream
And he's taking the band
Into the studio next month

All down the years
It's been music and laughter
And a few daft adventures
A few rows but then
We're both fiery characters
And they were soon forgotten
In favour of a laugh or a song

And now we sit in the sun
Remembering old friends
And "Do you remember when"s
The summer of '76 was rich
Guitars in the hills
Writing songs and poetry
Happy days, old friend
Happy days indeed

                                 By Phil Roberts

See through
Tall under the sun
Crawling beneath stars
In night-time skull
Thoughts behind eyes
Behind dreams
Under darkness
And above light

See through
Pretended truths
Without words or form
Shadow shapes
Lay like death
Choreographed corpses
Meaningless memories
Damaged dreams
Piled upon writhing hopes

See through
Tender tragedy
Daily despair
Grasping at lies like air
And in the stillness of dawn
The cold of morning light
Water drips
Or maybe blood
Tapping through silence

                                     By Phil Roberts