I have moved to a different drum
With odd and peculiar rhythms
Dancing awkwardly through life
On my two flat clumsy feet
It is not the way I chose
To step on innocent toes
But the wildness of my dance
Has had no easy flow
The blame lies entirely with me
It's a genetic thing, you see
I am no more than this
The son of the gypsy's kiss

                                By Phil Roberts

We come as we please
And we leave on the breeze
Away........

Distance
As an image of warm blue air
The ***** man denies seditious writhings
Coming in proud bursts of creation
Irrespective of soil or culture
Bursting thirsting creation
Heathen fertility
Haphazard geography
Lust of life beyond life

Screaming gadgetry can cowards make
Tight cages can our spirits break
But love is broad and clean
Fickle and immortal
The soil from whence we came
Without permit or permission
With honour and with relish
The ***** man denies nothing
Not one word at all

And on and on
The fairground moves on
Away

                    By Phil Roberts

I wish I was his cigarette,
Have him breathe me in so deeply
Wrap his lovely lips around me
Set fire to me, And
Burn
Slowly for him
To be the thing he holds
In his artful hand
Oh, what a lucky thing
That cigarette

There is a spot
atop a hill
beneath an old shade tree.
It is the place my parents rest
and thus is dear to me.

It is a pleasant spot they chose,
now blanketed in snow.
I place my wreath and give a thought
to a Christmas long ago.

That Christmas Eve my father brought
a tree that filled the room.
My brother worked to fix the lights.
The girls sang Christmas tunes.

Atop the tree an ornament
A star that shone like gold.
Reminder of the miracle
of Christmas long ago.

The house is gone
and they have gone
Their youngest has grown old.
Still I recall my sisters voices
and that star that shone like gold.

Hear the following prayer
in the timbre of gratitude:

I've had enough with all the bags
in which I carry my things,
with bright screens that sting my eyes,
and with the musical strings.

My ears are sore from the machines
that change and amplify the waves;
so bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of saints.

Whisper the wisdom of years gone by,
of life spilled out in the streets.
My heart is weary, the weight of this world
has brought me to my knees.

There's only one thing I ask
for which to dull the pain;
bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of the saints.

Life is not a garden of fragrant flowers,
Life is a chef's kitchen;
Some things get burnt,
Some are frozen,
In the end, it all tastes well.

Life is not a cycle ride down a smooth road,
Life is a bumpy journey uphill;
There are sharp, blind turns
Plus an upward *****,
But the view is magnificent.

Life is not a perfect picture captured by a DSLR,
Life is a photograph shot with a 1.3 megapixel camera;
With no editing allowed,
The sky looks blurred through it,
When actually it is clear.  

Life is not a cup of Starbucks coffee,
Life is a glass of Coke;
It is cold,
Addictive at times,
Mostly, fizzy and sparkling.

Life is not-
Seeing the glass half full.
Just appreciating as is;
*Simply, beautiful.

By: Cedric McClester

He’s my consolation
And he might be my end
You see me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends
I have to turn to someone
When my long day ends
And so me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends

Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

But he’s always there
Time and time again
When I need a pick me up
I can count on him
Ya see he never fails me
I’m telling you my friend
I just have to raise my glass
And all my problems end

(Chorus)
Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

I’m aware of the danger
That our friendship poses
But here’s the thing I feel
That nobody knows is
All the comfort I derive
From him being there
He has the ability
To take away despair

Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

I know that they talk about us
They do it all the time
But us being the best of friends
Hardly is a crime
It’s a special relationship
That we happen to enjoy
And I’m just being candid
Instead of being coy

Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

He’s my consolation
And he might be my end
You see me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends
I have to turn to someone
When my long day ends
And so me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends