I am raw, plucked
bare and overexposed;
ashamed of my emotions and
too vulnerable, too fragile
I am not threatened but I do not
feel safe, I ache to hide but where can
I hide from my own mind? I need
time to decay my histrionics and my
need for affection so that it never
resurfaces again, so that I never
resurface again -- I am drowned in
something benign but chaotic, replicating
it's mutation endlessly, perpetually, until
I cannot breathe because I am overexposed --
bare and
plucked raw.

I was there with her
the day she went to Glory
What a tender moment
What a beautiful love story.

Although she'd been in pain,
it ceased to mark her face
when she saw her savior coming
to take her to his place.

And though she could not speak
I watched her reach above
You could feel His warm, sweet presence
On her face, a glow of love.

And in that quiet passing
from this life to the next
there was comfort just in knowing
with him she'd get to rest.

There's no doubt about it
His presence there was known
He came to care for Mother
and welcome her back home.

He blessed me with my mother
compelled to share the story~
Of the peace that fell around her
the day she went to Glory.

My child doesn't jump to images
He rummages one or two of his taste

To much degree. Yesterday he found
A piece of a beautiful deer,

Running upward the hill
Ignorant of water, rushhing high.

Creeping to me , that night,
Under the warm blanket
He put up in a surprising way:
Can we run without moving
And still reach the desired place?
Why is that deer there
So nonchalant, though no progress?
Closer to him I did say:
Life is about movement
But paintings cheat us in such a way
That we fall into a ditch of beauty
And forget rhythm of the clock..

Lynching is justice in the court of mob.......

In the rain
When I step out
I keep my umbrella open
And the parasol in my bag.....

The dear tumbling
As she crosses the stream
Bubbling to the core,
And the arrow
Tugs away
In her
Leg...........

When the moon is full
A shiny silver disc
I'd steal it and roll it along
Like a hoop with a stick
All the way to your door
And give it you as a gift

Then I'd reach up to the sky
And grab the brightest stars
I'd gather them together
And place them in a jar
So you could let them loose
When the night is dark

And when the weather's bad
And the sky is dark with rain
I'd fill my lungs with air
And blow those clouds away
Then I'd push the sun over you
So you'd come out to play

I'd knock on your front door
And greet you with grace and style
Then I'd sing and dance foolishly
Just to make you smile
In fact, I would do anything
To make you happy for a while

                                                By Phil Roberts

A little bird
The daughter of the house
Doesn't sluice salvers and spoons
But mop straws scattered on the marvel floor

A little bird
The friend of everyone
Doesn't create commotion inside
But keeps protracted vigilance at the window

A little bird
The staff of granny
Doesn't intone hoarse and dry nouns
But hymn her genteelness and generosity no end

A little bird
The beloved of all
Doesn't fly under the painting_roof
But sleeps soundly and alone in the backyard