Where am I supposed to stand
In all this blood and carnage
Where farmers beg for food
In their own homeland

This love is for a nation
Not for another person
For they who care
They were lit like flares

Save this land from all this pain
Abundance of lies and hate
She took a stand and squealed
As her tears fell along with the rain

Ur the ****
No one likes
I want to pluck you

We saw a light
I swear it
Something bright and crisp
And mother-clean
Or so it seemed to us
All those years ago
But we were so young then
Such noble fools
We believed
Oh, how we believed

Affection swells
And memory seduces
It is easy to love nostalgia
The children we were
Looking so new
Open-mouthed and wonderful
Delighted  and startled
Pointing yearning fingers
At the future
And there it was
And here it is
It's only a light
Really
I swear it
It's just a light

                             By Phil Roberts

Lichen was her betrothal
stretching upon the skin,
by now her hurricane
grew boundaries.
No gaps  to loosen
the eternity.

Undiminished longing.
Like an angel: mind boggling.
And I will never be able to forget.
I put my whole soul into it, and now
I don't even know if I regret.

If I could just be in your presence,
one more time.
If I could just smell your hair,
one more time.
If I could just look into those eyes,
one more time...

Hopes and wishes are dangerous friends.

i was too lazy to become a rock star, i chose to be a poet, and involve myself in a higher dimension of practising a constant Ramadhan, although drinking before having my one meal a day... watch out, a monk off the leash!

man, you know like
when live recordings
work magic
obliterating studio
recordings,
like the doors' *roadhouse blues?
man, that's when it happens
and **** gets real, death aged
27, come the riots and myths,
when studio recordings for a sale
are worth jack-****...
so why are these *******
the un-acknowledged beatles
based upon the decibels of
the screaming female fans?
it was funny watching the spaniard
tourists leaving authentic rolled
blunts on the grave with lipstick
and some green **** also found on
churchill's bald moonshine of a
forehead during an anarchist protest...
that parisian cemetery got to me,
i thought i heard an aeon echo
in oesophagus ripples from bavarian beer halls.

Curds and Whey taken from churned milk. Filling molds and sitting in the dark. Taking on distinctive flavors and unusual shapes. Turning into colors and hues of every imaginable kind. Some are delicate and some are full of holes. Some are briskly sharp and some will take your breath away. Some are well aged and come are only a few weeks old. Some are the stuff of legend or nightmare depending on your pallet. Cheese, a delicacy shared by both kings and commoners. Versatile and useful, cheese.

My darling
if ever any other woman were to  kiss me
all she would taste is you.