Your whole being is poetry,
from the way you talk,
the way you walk,
the way your lips,
form wrinkles,
each time you smile,
from your deafening silence,
to your soft voice,
poetry,
when you put your arms around me,
bringing me warmth,
against my cold, melancholic body,
when you hold my hand,
making me feel less lonesome,
making the moment grand,
you're poetry,
complex yet subtle,
defined yet undefined,
and I'm just a hopeless poet,
hopelessly trying to decipher,
hopelessly trying to write,
the ambiguous,
you.

The words that leave my lips
Shall disappear
Like breath in cold air
Going nowhere
Meaning nothing

These poems into which
We pour our hearts
Other than the smallest few
Shall be lost in endless cyber space
Like billions of trillions of others

The loves that we swear eternally
Can last no longer than lovers' lives
It shall be negated by death
Other than to an unknown
And unknowing energy

                                        By Phil Roberts

I can feel you
Through the rhythm of your writing

It may be
That you are singing in the rain
Happy and free
Or living in agony of deep pain

The beat,
living through each word
Your diction,
dancing among the syntax
The tone,
amplifying to every phrase

You,
I feel.
Through your writing,
I can feel you.

Your expression,
Deserves more than any appreciation

I love you
Always wishing to be there
For you
Showing you, I care

So please
Keep on writing
Continue moving me with your sound
Allow me to advance along
The flowing of your words
Surfing through your sentences

Please
Keep telling your story
Continue writing with your feelings
Allow your thoughts to develop
Into the beautiful river
Of your writing

People power people, and pick their equals.
Ideas, decisions, and what becomes real.
Whether we stand in a line, elections.
Decide who continues on, selection.

The rich become rich only from people’s contributions.
Using their products, services, or through admiration.
Social media, likes, comments, a way to get attention.
Striving to break from conformity, this world’s automation.

Scream, shout, acting strange in public.
Shoot, attack, people turn on each other, frantic.
People become desperate, run out of options.
Detectives try to figure out motives, using caution.

Joker said it best, why so serious?
Wasting time on the small things, getting furious.
When you can turn it around, hear how they feel.
Truly care and help them heal.
Be a friendlier face, selfless.
To those hiding in their shells, helpless.

Maybe everything seems right for a while.
But this world is in chaos, and in need of smiles.

Why so serious?
Smile

If life
were an illusion
what's all the fuss about?

I want to be that girl you knew in high school
You associate me with the colour of my notebook
I always had an extra pencil or a bottle of water
I drank tea
yeah, that was it
I wore galaxy tshirts flowy skirts
And I was only there for a second
You turned away from me and I was gone
I walked home from school, you never saw me on buses or in car lines
But you saw me walking my dog
I went to every show you were in
I left a note in your cast bag each time
I invited you hiking every weekend in the spring
I never went
You always noticed when I wore a dress because I almost never wore a dress
We were in all the same classes
You always asked me "how I did on that test"
But you can't remember
You met my dog once,
When I was walking her through the park and you were fishing with your dad
that was you?
You remember me by my glasses and the length of my pony tail in gym
You remember me by my essays which the teacher used as examples
You remember me by the Facebook request that you never accepted or declined
You think you know me, but you can't remember
You saw me at a football game once,
maybe,
Or at the library some Saturdays
You saw my online profile listed next to "people you may know"
I have worked so hard to be part of your background

I plucked a bud
It emerged into a flower
I poked it in the mud
Watered it every hour

Beautiful petals,
greeted with fragrance
Soft stem and leaves,
smiled with elegance

Upon sunset, the same day
The flower hung low
As I moved away
It withered and took a bow

Next day, no fragrance
No cheerful bloom
It looked obvious on the entrance
So I plucked out to its doom

I cried,
as I shouldn't have plucked the bud
I cried,
coz it seemed unhappy so it kissed the mud

I left the flowers to be
As they bloom beautifully how it used to be
So I just visit the shrub bushes to see
The blossoms, the butterflies and the bees...

©sim