listening to the news
one really gets the blues

in all their great meetings
    after cordial greetings
world leaders disagree
    for one reason or other

seems they don’t really bother
‘bout what should be their goals

    not to save their own souls
    but the folks in our world

the children all curled
    with pain in their belly
civilians burned dead
    with gasoline jelly

the women attacked for
    (a lack of) their clothing
as if there were nothing
more important than keeping
some men from their peeping

but what really matters
are the people in tatters
who flee from bombed homes
in despair and have come
    to realize
that their possible demise
does not affect those
who’d rather smell a rose
than seriously bother
about the fate of an other

tragedy unfolds every day
yet it holds little sway
in the news of the powers
that makes sure that ours
is different from theirs

until that dream sours
we need to write some
more encouraging verse

My words and my poems
Are no more than explanations
And embellishments
My means of expression
For my life is my "art"
It's what I am and what I write
It's why I need to write
To make sense of the things
I've seen and done
And there are times when
I think I've done far too much
Then, in deep contemplation
I realise I could have done more
And that kind of inner debate
And discussion with myself
Are a large part of my life
Which becomes my version
Of something like "art"

                                         By Phil Roberts

perhaps,
a secret Soviet
double latte
ordered
on what was supposed to be the
"secret" channel?

The sky was a cornflower
and the trees heavy
                  with birdsong
air fragrant with freshness
cooling the silk of my bare
heat rising from my
skin in shades of
tropical
              morning pond
oasis of damp promise
teeming with life
           under surface
mini color-popped creatures
humming with
       fluorescent vitality
fronds reaching out
in an aquatic dance
nourishing the gateway
to inner organs  
with sweet
           vitamin love
as a trip of
           buzzing, faintly heard
opens into my brainwave
revitalizing
    cleaning out toxicity
pushing out
words that lower
                       self-worth
bringing up subconscious
potions of power
harmonious with the new,
embryonic fluid of clear
                  reaching deep
into corners of
          brittle heartdust

And my lotus soul opens
            a small glowing orb
expanding in  polychrome prisms
                to the glory of
aurora-tipped streaks
           as straight into
my aching heart
       the quenching dawn
                                      speaks
My thirst slaked by
nature's mantra,
I now stand waist-deep
into grounded
            and heavenly clarity,
feeling water lilies bloom
between my thighs
as I take the occasion
to pick up the pieces
                  where my soul
left off
and despite all odds,
              arise

please excuse the gross lingo in this write
but using it will add some genuine bite
last night Jack's freezer called on our town
leaving a big frost blanket well behind
its chilliness stayed fixed to my rind
the temperature was minus of degrees
there came a feeling cold in toes and knees
everything most certainly zeroed down
holy crap them winter ides aren't too good
they shivered through my old frames wood
three more months of a bitter frigid brace
summer's warmth has departed these parts
which means I'll be up for Jacko's white starts
climes such as his are so hard to face