Like ashes swarming
Sunken in the debris of the form,
Or even the crossroads
Where a stop is received open,
Holding the pace bearing down
On one's reach, far out in the distance;

Where am I going in a rushing brush with life?

The question questions the self,
An answer spades the mirror,
So quick like a plume of smoke
Out of a hurried motor,
The comet that comes and goes
Slicing generations in waiting,
To and from encircling eternal likenesses,
Uncertain about Faith's certainties,
the ceaseless wheel keeps spinning,
A dizzying compass.

The why is immobile, the what is is the experience.

I half shed a tear when another
Bites the immortal dust,
What is a damp ravine drawn
At the cliff of a road lined with stones?
All is erosional,
The enormous draws out endlessly
With poignant time,
So I pace myself
Down to the exploding minute,
Because time only burns
But never passes.....

I have found my place
where I wish to return
again
and again
where the wind dances along the swells
then lands upon you with the gentle
yet powerful crash of the wave
again
and again
where the Sun says so much more upon it's departure

God knew that this is where we would come
to see him
to know him
to understand that beauty like this was intended
I am lost in my awakened dream
these outer thoughts
these outer visions
these Outer Banks

Even with my eyes closed
I can see you near me
even when the darkness
of the night closes in.

I can touch you,
smell you in the moonlight and
my
senses reel in the
revolving of you
wanting you to do those
things
when you know
I love you.

In the early
mornings
when
you reach out
with fingers
that paint words
and pictures in my long
tousled hair,
lips that tell me you're
everywhere.

One more moment with you
and I feel blessed,
it's one more moment
that together
we share,
one more moment I can
show you I care,
even with my eyes closed
I can tell that it's her.

I have this friend across the pond
As bright as clear-night stars
Intelligent and talented
And faster than souped up cars

But she has her flaws, alas
As all the best poets do
I know this to be a fact, of course
Who hasn't got one or two?

After all, it has to be said
Perfection is lack of character to me
So I'm keeping my eye on my talented friend
And watch as her mind flies free

                                                By Phil Roberts

Strips of gray , alabaster and black brushstrokes streak across my confused sky .. Howling , relentless zephyrs hammer fledgling Oaks and softwood Pines ..
Curious leaves and needles clamor beneath the canopy , searching desperately , running for shelter ... Cardinals and Thrashers witness the exodus , their curious chirps drowned with each gust of late February's
Winter fury and banter ... The wind is a young child this afternoon , testing her Mothers scorn , running free throughout the yard intrigued
by the other side of the road ..  Storm clouds are in juvenile mindset as well , threatening rain with their mind on Carolina , tempering my welkin today and gone by tomorrow ..

Envision the "Sylvan Lane" for all the wonder it contains ..
For every timeless portrait within Nature's Opus , bring each grain of
sand to perfect focus ...
Every critical dab of color on Monarch butterfly wing , each harmonic progression the Chickadee may sing ..
For the wonders of a mighty Oak , step closer and review each
layer of bark , count the scented Pine cones strewn about the yard ....
Place a gentle hand on the moss covered stones , number every
mushroom on a 'Hollow Log' ...
Witness the blue collar Bumblebee working ******* every flower ..
Ruby throated Hummingbirds , very busy creatures indeed , hour after hour ..

You washed me in your ****** rain
so soaked into my core
taking all the ****** parts
and sewing up the place they tore

Now all I need is crystal clear
the daily rain of words
to keep me clean
and wash the skin
that's healing cold and sheer

I let the enemy approach me
and cut my tender skin.
I let the blood run trembling
this fight I could not win.
My voice was gone from silent screams
bruised hands from angry fists

I found I wasn't half so *****
when my friends led me to your side
I had believed me rotten, horrid
Stained
But it was him who'd lied

In the worship of your presence
I felt your gentle hands
press down upon the open wounds
bind them in strips of white

There once was a man
Who lived a "good" life
He worked through all trials
Temptation and strife

He lived very humbly
Never wished to be rich
Was good to his neighbours
Nothing bad passed his lips

He said, " God look at me!
I am worthy of praise!
I am without sin
But not by your grace...

For I am an atheist
And I don't need Christ
Humans provide
All their own good advice."

Then there was another
Who, quote, "lived for God"
But he looked upon sinners
as though they were odd...

He said, " God, I thank thee
That I'm not like them
For I walk uprightly
No, I do not sin...

And when I get to heaven
The praise shall be loud!
I'll walk right in
And I'll be so proud!"

Then there was a woman
Who'd give her last dime
That she could use drugs
And drink her sweet wine

But she cried, " Lord!
Please have mercy on me!
For I am so wretched!
So unworthy of thee!

I'm not all that clean
And I shout at folks
I drink and do drugs
And God help me, I smoke!

But, Lord, I am trying!
I want so much to change!
Please come into my heart
And my life rearrange..."

Then came the time
When all of them died
And the woman in heaven
Saw the men with such pride

In eternal torment
They cried out, "Lord!
We kept all your precepts
And sin we abhorred!

Why is that woman
Up there with you?
She so unfaithful
And she so untrue!

But Jesus said sadly,
"Yes, you were "good".
You had that advantage
Yet misunderstood.

I did not want works.
That's not what I bid.
You gave not your hearts,
But this woman DID.

I was always there knocking
But death cut like a knife
I gave you your chance...

YOU HAD YOUR WHOLE LIFE.


SoulSurvivor
(c) 6/14/2009

~~
She rolls down the western edge
The bucolic Spiral path
Coincides with the horizon
Gray foot print
Slowly mingles with dark
As the Bats of evening find back to home

Gentle Breeze to dangle
Purple haze of Four O'clock
The Crossroads, Wait behind
Where to start, or what end is!
Poetry continuing as the falls of pain

Afternoon's Lyrics said good bye
Today's bright Star does not rise
What they chase during the run out!
Why come back again
Along with the known way!

Moonlit falls on the ways of Standing hill
Beyond the horizon
Dark fading, while
Lost love fusions with her colors
Across the Monsoon, Autumn, Winter
Finally the Spring is on the way
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Squalls shadow petulant March with outrage ...
The incendiary finger of God striking the fearful world ..
Blackbird covens proclaim their insecurity at tempest edge ,
charcoal leviathans loom , ever radical and ominous ....