Now that I've lived all these years
And experienced so many things
With my march to Oldfartdom
On it's inexorable way
I've been thinking about the things I've learned
Perhaps to pass on to others

Well.......
It's like this
Life is wonderful
And life is ******
Love is elating
Love is devastating
Birth is a true miracle
Being a parent is scary
Money is a blessing
Whilst wealth is a curse
So......
What do I know?

                              By Phil Roberts

Landscapes of sound,

Sometimes static   chaos conflicts

Galaxies colliding    

With striking colors beyond human eloquence

Yet to evolve  the emotions we flounder

Within (Without)    Love's

Auspicious spaces  

Sound bleeds and whirls

(Particles pixels portraits)

Beams and waves explodes and implodes

Emotions are similar

And if only these mannequin eyes

Could behold

The ocean of the cosmos

The wide might of infinity

Vast and never void

We would witness the unspoken words

The loud actions of benevolence

Rise above it

The emotions they avoid and drown in

The music is as miraculous as

Love feels....

                     Like wet landscapes of colorful

....Sound.

narrow potholed roads
long winding switchbacks
blind corners that lead
the chosen to heaven

the rest of us
sinners

rotting slash piles
in a clear cut
fireweed rising
from raw earth

in this land of trees
the forest is forgotten

Defined in our youth
by others to shape our
direction in life
Criticized and often
over corrected, the
positive reinforcement
seems fleeting
Was it lack of family
structure or was it a
poor education system
Put IN A BOX to
appease societies
notion of what we
should be.

When moon like an empty plate
mocks the hunger
the famished bones hunt for a morsel.

Clinks of cutlery fires the belly
aroma of meals calls like a melody

there's a table full of happy faces
chewing and chuckling and chattering
picking eating dropping and littering
their plates are full aha never less
food after food over food always
a fire in oven a bed of clean sheet
never they're they're never short of heat
eyes that are heavy droop easy soon
behind tightly shut windows to the moon.

Snuffed out will ***** out all traces of light
they break into wails rending the night
nothing now moves over the dead town
except the bones with moon as the crown.

A sallowest silence drips,
drop  by  drop,
into open muddy palms

The ripple in the gathering cup
of hand, undulates within soul
like poignant ocean waves
eat away at the sands of time ,
just  below  where
a lighthouse beacon beckons
shining from someplace I can’t find

A hidden pathway
lies  untrodden
beneath a thousand
dew drop clad ferns ,
fronds bestrewn with autumn’s
befallen sleight of hand
swaddled in her fading
manifest guise

Where wild mushrooms
rise  blindly  from
resplendent darkness
beneath silken earthen moss ,
to teach the parables ,
how fleeting a moment passes

The moment enwrapped
in nature's solicitude ,
the  only  shelter
mother nature's own refugees
whom dwell in an ever fugitive
sense of belonging

Fallen Lichen scattered
like  wild  feathers ,
traces from a higher ground ;
sown bread crumbs
of  the  heavens ,
abandoned like slowly falling
snowflakes upon a labyrinth
coursing    beyond
emerald dank bejewel

Leading me willingly onward
beyond belated familiarity ,
exiled  void  of  affinity
a Trumpeter swan
in search of wapatos

The stone cold silent languor
rises  up  through
thickly grasping moss

Wind  stirs the ennui
with a breath of kindness ,
chilling a body in a soul
as cold as lonely stone ,
sheathed beneath
its hard yet fragile disguise

A twisted pathway
leading  somewhere  
I  yearn to follow ;
somewhere unknown
beckoning  from
deeply hidden hope
and its urgent calling

Somehow the uncertainty
of the path I am drawn
makes   me   feel
a  little  less  removed

Assured by the gentle touch
deeply rooted ancient earthen spirits ,
beyond doubt , I’m never alone
deep beyond wooded margin
Cocooned in creation’s sanctuary
mother nature’s own refugee ...



                                                          ­*wild is the wind