Today
Everyday
I got to remember
There's bigger things
Than this
World!

A name is called in the deep of sleep
Hanging in the night like a star
From the subconscious to the surreal
Memories and myths collide here
All smoke and mirrors to mislead
And mystery
Always mystery
Until reality slips and slides
And the only truth is doubt

                                      By Phil Roberts

Things get broken
Hearts
Minds
It's no-one's fault
It never is
Not really
Butter fingers and distraction
Without malice or forethought
Things
Like hearts and minds
Slip
And shatter on hard contact with reality

                                       By Phil Roberts

Words can be silenced
Only for a lifetime
But my words will live on,
And my ghost won't be gone
Until night til the dawn,
My poetry will spill
Like ripened wine.
I'm everlasting
To everlasting.
My body may be passing
But my eternity is forever,
Like a perennial rosebud
My locution hangs with the
Good that's to come,
And hushed I shall not be.

in the sanctity of sanity
is where I now aspire
as years
and my humanity
insist that I conspire
to find a hole
in vanity
and breathe what I inspire
until the words
drip from my veins
and sanctify this fire

She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the world
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of
the songs her mother
had sung to her
before she left
escaping
her father.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the wind
gently blew
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with
her only little sister
the best part of her world
to whom she adored more than
the breaths
she took
each and
every day.


She stood firm at home
never allowing
her father’s drunken words
to penetrate her self made wall
of anger and despair
because inside
her mind
there
were angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons
to disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
in fact
alive.

© Sia Jane

I awaken to primitive forces,
My hand at her hip,
Like two flawed crystals
With eager flashes
With no grace in morning ***.

The longings drained,
And a hangover settles over noon.

The most uncomfortable peculiarities
Sit in like an unwanted listener,
Like a vagrant flower she eats
Whatever I threw on the table.

And I never knew my ex this well,
Still at least I knew her last name.

Inflated situation with irony
And absurdities between adults
Who for all adulthood are acting
Like nervous teens,
There's to be no encore ***.

"I'll call you"

Was that a question?
I wonder,
I close my door like the saddest clown.

she is waiting outside baggage claim
in blue jeans and a sweatshirt that says **** YALE
she is texting, frowning without wrinkles
her hair a thick braid to the small of her back
even among the smell of jet fuel and diesel fumes
her hair the scent of cedar smoke, campfires
picture it as a long furry tail
a meerkat, they’re cute, they’re carnivores
she stares at oncoming cars
she hops on one foot
I bet she’s really smart, really nice
she has an LL Bean backpack on rollers and a floral garment bag
she turns to me and asks
“Will you watch my bags? I need to ***.”
before I can answer she dashes in short steps
now I notice tall heels below frayed cuffs
the heels lift her ***, nice ***
but she’s younger than my daughter
she trusts me, I feel elevated
she’s gone so long
the pack on wheels, could it be a bomb?
and me standing, guarding
leering old creep nominated to be smithereens of pink spray
but she looked sweet in an intellectual touchy-feely way
no lipstick, no eyeliner
I appreciate girls with no makeup
and nobody puts bombs in a garment bag,
totally against the bombing code
look there sticking out of a pocket of the backpack
a copy of a book, *******
my novel that went out of print thirty-seven years ago
which is twice her age
there was soft down above her lip, meerkat fuzz
my portrait on the back cover, a younger hairy me
did she see?
when she returns I will speak kindly
a bevy of bluebirds will fly from my lips to her ears
an SUV stops, a burly man in coat and sloppy tie steps out
opens the tailgate, throws the portmanteau inside
then the backpack with the book
should I stop him?
“Are you sure you have the right bags?”
I ask somewhat unassertively
the man looks at me like he’s bitten lime
and says, “**** Yale?”
and I nod okay
and just then she bursts out the door breathless
hugs the burly man
not a glance to me, not a thank you for guarding the bags
she hops into the shotgun seat
the words I hear her say:
“Finally, at last!”