Traipsing corridors of stone  
A smidgen of the real me waiting
to be discovered
Rustic region thimbles of fortuity ,
peaceful harbor answering riddles ,
solving mysteries ..

Gray ash fell to scorched landscape
like dying moths
only scattered shells remain
of once noble statues
monuments of steel
fragmented against a burning sky
the face of apocalypse
grimaced an unwavering defiance
wings of angels
sent burning air snaking, swirling
as they descended
collecting the souls worthy of salvation
worthy of another life
in another time

"You've loved sometimes so beautifully,"
someone wrote to me today.
Me, loving beautifully?
I don't know if I should laugh or cry;
If I should exult because (sometimes)
the flickering flame of my heart
becomes so incandescent with love
that
  I
     blaze (?)
Or if I should cry
because
(so often)
I feel more like shadow than fire.

Beyond the clouds
There is a light
Gentle and strong
The promise
Of the end of night.
It shimmers
With the sound of
Children's laughter.
The hint of
A happily ever after.
Or maybe just
Okay for now,
But we'll make it
Through this storm
Somehow.

On my better days
My watery eye rests
Somewhere between dream and imagination
And I am aware of a gentle ocean
Swinging into lazy waves
Slapping each other softly
As a bright white yacht
Slips serenely and silently
Through this accommodating sea
As long as the planet breathes
And air becomes wind
Or even breeze enough
To fill the glowing sails
The yacht keeps gliding
Blithely forward
But that's on my better days

                                            By Phil Roberts

Between the now and the next
is a steady snailing train
carrying a heartbeat
anxiously tapping its feet
checking its watch
pacing a few steps up
and down
while the time train drags forward
to the next time
when our eyes can meet.

There's something going on
Between me & the poem
A reason to rhyme
A notion to float
Was it something I read
Something once wrote
That's spinning the time
Between me & the poem

As things continue to grow
Between me & the poem
Call it second sight
A perfect pitched tone
Where it has lead
Or where it's still going
I'm sure we will find
Between me & the poem

I'm holding out hope
Between me & the poem
That I'll find in time
What I already know
In all that's been said
Inside of the fold
With the shedding of light
Between me & the poem