I didn't really want too . . .
I didn't want to go there . . .
I didn't want to test it
You see I still have
all of my fears

Still I couldn't help it . . .
I hit the button play . . .
And as the music started
Please God I prayed

The room turned to purple
As Prince began to play
I looked back upon the memories
Of a love I held once upon that day

As the purple rain fell in torrents
My purple tears began to fall
Now all I have to hold on to
Is the music between these walls

"I didn't want to hurt you
I didn't want to cause you any pain"

And as the tears turned into rivers
They overflow with purple pain

1.
Show me your inky night
and dreaming darkness,
the passing clouds, moonlit,
wind driven, impassioned,
that never would know where
they wound culminate,
or what transformations
will take place between the
nebulous begining and the end
as they speed through as if
they are programmed to perform
feats that move the wheels forward.
2.
Show me the constellations magnificent,
that baffle me every time I stare,
countless stars in your milky way
like a  progression, dying or being born,
some glittering, some death pale,
red, blue or any hue one could imagine,
and the endless mystery that envelops,
all the wondrous things, making' being'
as a part of 'nothingness' eternal,
one in which "Maya"*unfolds as apparitions.
3.
Show me,how you drown me in  your
boundless love that makes
every moment born, transcend
beyond black holes of deaths
and cycles of births connected
like tunnel of wormholes.Make me listen
the subtle music being conducted within
every tiny spec, that takes part in this
eternal ecstatic dance of the sublime.
4.
Show me your magical might,
that would make me both,
Schrodinger's cat alive, in it's playful self,
and simultaneously in a sleep like death,
existing while it is non existent,
and one with everything in this multiverse
dead , dying, alive or emerging from gloom,
all at once, while, reposing  
within a consciousness, limitless.

the desert has bloomed
trickle streams burble
in the ear of hermit poets.

When Death resolutely comes
Abrupt with his deadly summons

Tarry not like a galley slave
But like a courteous warrior behave

Do not waver and do not droop
As if you are to be hung on a loop

Never dread lying under the dust
With the body in a narrow vault ******

Know, it is only when seeds rot
That fresh and florid lives sprout

So when it is time to go
Strut like an indomitable foe,

With swinging hands and head held high
To be welcomed by angels of the sky

With the music of clanging cymbals
And the rising rhythm of sounding bells

Into a kingdom, bright and cheerful
And a state far radiant and blissful

Where the sun shall never set
Where blessed souls will joyously meet

Where Truth and Beauty preside
Where peace and bliss abide

Ousted out of terrestrial space
You’re enfolded in God’s sweet embrace

My words and my poems
Are no more than explanations
And embellishments
My means of expression
For my life is my "art"
It's what I am and what I write
It's why I need to write
To make sense of the things
I've seen and done
And there are times when
I think I've done far too much
Then, in deep contemplation
I realise I could have done more
And that kind of inner debate
And discussion with myself
Are a large part of my life
Which becomes my version
Of something like "art"

                                         By Phil Roberts

You remind me of
the most dangerous love
a poisonous kiss
that makes me
pleasurably
delirious
like a drunken peasant
who dreams of
making sweet love
to nature's
perfect painting.

You remind me of
Van Gogh's
swirling lights
within his starry starry night
a piece of art
with the heart
of such sweet melancholy.

You remind me
of someone
I still love
with a passing
friendly passion
like two boats
in a foggy bay
that almost crash
while they are
one their separate ways.

I'm so very downtown. There goes
a train overhead in the neon rain.
For some vauge reason I love to
watch my windshield cry after I've
grabbed all the happiness a hundred bumper stickers can muster.

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2017

Oh, polluted-full with noxious skies
Of coal-born ashen rain
For awful earthly travesties
Undone the truth is plain

America, America!
Trump sheds his waste on thee
And rapes thy good
Your motherhood
From sea to oily sea