She makes me feel like superman, so why should I fear.
I am on-duty to protect her, love her and care for her
My only kryptonite are her tears.
She says "you're silly", "overprotective" and "nhnhnhnhnh"

I treat her like my Cleopatra, what she says goes
Will I soon fade out like her past affairs.
She worries too much, she shouts at me, oh how she woes
What else to do but listen, I mean I do truly care.

She asks me; "Do I look fat", I didn't hesitate to give my honesty
You're beautiful everyday, I love everything about you.
She calls me a liar, she starves herself to satisfy others constantly
I say to her that I want to lay with you.

What am I. Your friend, your boyfriend  your fiancee or husband
You say I'm crazy and tell me you love me, but am I enough.
We visit twice a month, yet we are both in London.
Am I a person who you met just for a bluff

To build up
a ruined heart
Is far better than raising
a palace

It's definitely still in here
Though I've not seen it for a while
It'll be in a corner somewhere
Where the light doesn't reach
But I never did get rid of it
Though I've done nothing
As a result of it lately
The thing is still integral
To my living reality
The wildness within me
Has never left
It's in a corner somewhere

                                           By Phil Roberts

Last night I rode
that dark train
through the hollows
of my childhood
on the black wings
of a swallow fleeting
beneath the eaves
of long ago evenings
where bone moths
were breathing
their last breaths
while dead children
slept well up the hill.

I've got
an itch
to get out
of this city,

I'm done.  
I'M DONE!
I'm sick of
this flow...

Let's go down
to the ocean
and swim
with the rays.

Let's watch
the sandpipers
as they run
to and fro...

I picture
a place
high
on a cliff

Only
accessible
during
low tide

Where *****
are our lunch,
and we pay
with sand dollars

Which we find
while we walk
down the shore
side by side

some believe in the deity
others in the sanctity of self
I think poetry is a religion
a soul unto itself
not a god
but close
and I seek her his its
calming words
wisdom
to get on my knees
and worship
every night
alone
here
in my sanctuary
like any
true believer

A white dress made of bleached black veils
And a wedding ring forged over a funeral pyre
Black flames burning over the red sea
Lost love swimming in a dead ocean
Nothing living inside of me
Nothing dreaming in my hollow heart
Nothing matters
With you so far away
No wheres home
When the roads don't lead to you
Just a ghost
Of a fleeting hope
A penny tossed
Into a poisoned well
A wish made
On a star gone mad
A pillow full of secrets
That will never whisper in your ear
A blanket warming
An empty bed
A skeleton bird
Pecking away at my ribs
I can't feel anything
Except numb
Unless I dream of you
And all I can do
Is dream of you
Wearing a white dress
Made of bleached black veils

You will not see my shadow pass
the gate of mournings eerie dark
Nor hear my voice among the reeds
that grow above my silenced heart
No fondest kiss to furrowed brow
to quell the torment of your making
for you have left me here alone
to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

A kaleidoscope
Of your hair, lips, eyes
Is all I see
Laying in the cool grass
Enveloped in a curtain of night

Twinkling stars that
form constellations in my heart
and resonate in my chest,
Are honey drops
of your laughter

Gravity loosens its hold,
I lose my breath and
the world tilts
When the scent of your skin
Seeps through my pores

Under my fingertips
You,
Ignite the sun's never ending ember
that flows through me,
Melting the moon

And the taste of you darling,
melting in my mouth
oh so sweet,
leaving a trace

of the milkyway

His name was Bing,
one eye grey the other blue
an Australian Cattle Dog
the best I ever knew.
Cows or Sheep he was the man.
Nipping at their heels, heading
them where you bid them go.
Smart as a whip, quick as a bullet,
Work all day for a pat on the head.

One early day no Bing appeared,
Strange 'cause he was always the first
into the truck bed, first in the pasture,
first to work, the last to quit.

We called out his name many times,
began a search, buildings to barns, silo
to shed. In the center of a cut hay field,
I saw him, hunkered down not moving.
The boss and me approached and called
to him, yet still, he did not seem to hear.

At twenty feet he stood up quick,
turned to face us with a ****,
his eyes burned with hell's fire,
his muzzle and jowls were awash in foam,
his deep-throated growl a caution warned.

Not much doubt he'd been skunk bit,
was beyond redemption touched in rabies fit.
I was sent on the run to fetch
the long gun from the truck.

We approached him careful like,
I was still panting from my run.
The boss cocked the lever,
chambering a round into the gun.

Bing's eyes looked to be pleading,
as if to ask that we end his pain.
In his crazed anguished state,
he could have reached us in a flash
spread the contagion to our flesh,
yet through instinct or love
old Bing held his ground,
awaiting his inevitable fate.

I tried to swallow but had no spit,
and then the rifle thundered
and stung my ears,
One shot through the head
took old Bing's pain away.

The Boss, a hard-edged man of fifty
began to silently weep like a child of five,
the loss of his dog too much to abide.
I must admit my tears weren't far behind.

We bore him from the field
like an honored fallen warrior.
Buried him in the yard by the house,
He deserved that respect and more.