Here am I
Amongst thousands
And thousands
Of voices -
Poets and journalists,
Novelists and singers -
Clanging the cymbal
Of earth's groaning cry.
There you are,
Hosts of angels
Singing, your voice
Together sounding
The praises of our God.

Once in a while
The wind picks up
That old ghost
Gets lonely
And starts thinking
about me.

The tremors hit land
Before the words do
And sometimes
I am tempted
To walk out
Into the squall
To see if I can be lifted up
Into the jet stream
Like the buzzards do.

The sun is shining today
There are no clouds
Maybe the storm is passed.

is the cure the solution the be all
if I knew what the question was
I might not need as many answers

They lie warm together
In the afterglow of torrid love
Her head on his chest, he says
"Sing me to sleep, my love"
So she hums and croons
A tune he does not recognize
With soothing sounding words
In a language he does not recognize
"I love you," he murmurs as his eyes close
"I know," she says smiling
And so, as he sleeps
She lies open-eyed
Imagining a future he will not recognize

                                        By Phil Roberts

On the other side
of perfect
between the golden
silky lines
is the mirrored world
we live in
where ties
don't always
            fully bind
they unravel
at the seams
get frayed
so rough and broken
as the blood and sweat
and screams
replace the words
of love unspoken
and we all have
a place for fake
for presentation,
a kind of lie
but the truth
snaps us awake
as we choose to live
or perhaps to die
Yes, some of us
might disintegrate
in the wake of
destruction's wrath
not seeing for the
      blindness
that pain causes
on the path
for we forget
             that light
inside us
in our darkest
stings of wounds
we forget how
           high voltage wavelengths
reside within
the numbness
that consumes
and once reflection
melts the glass
and throws self-hate
into the fire
this is the hour
of miracles
of faintest stains
that take us higher
our deepest inner
whispers
that roll discreetly
through our veins
rumbling humbly
between heartbeats
that push the
bloodflow pumping,
igniting sparks
inside our brains
and whilst my heart
is battle-shattered
it quickens up in pace
as I electrify myself
and to the heavens
                turn my face
let the wild sunset
bathe my soul in
shades of shocking blue
for after every
combat encounter
I rise again
              anew

the boys
my crew
my squad

the boys
in the bag
hanging

I got two

thems my
family jewels
and I cradle
them in silk
drawers

and get
real protective
of thems
at times

I pick up
things using
my legs
I scratch
ems

I keep
em cool
cause they
say too
warm can
be harmful

I shaved
ems once
what a
mistake
They got
itchy as
all get-out

Then I
got old
and they
hung to
my knees
and got
pretty unsightly

I look
on the
bright side
and thank
whomever
it was
that invented
the cup
and baggy
jeans!