I feel so far behind.
It eats at me,
fills me with envy,
fills my throat with bile.

My friends, family,
are just given things.
I mean, that's what family does, right?
They create a support system,
and help each other.

I barely had hand-me-downs.
Even now, if I want something,
I have to buy it.
There's no one I can mention it to
that might get it for me
as a gift.
I've earned nearly everything I have.

I know it sounds silly.
I'm not even materialistic,
but I feel so far behind.
I see people doing things at my age,
**** I want to do,
but can't
because I'm still trying to earn my way
to where they were
in high school.

I am the support in the family.
I always have been.
I know it's selfish,
but where's mine?

I feel so far behind
with no one around
to lend a hand.

You were born on Wednesday
Almost a year to the day
Since Mamma had passed away.....
Elizabeth Anne
Head full of dark brown curls
Just like your mother
My sister
It was my first time seeing a baby born
It was beautiful and a little disgusting
All at the same time
I may or may not have had to hold up
the wall for a brief moment or two :)
Just goes to show you something beautiful
did come out of this evil darkened world
A world so cruel as to take a mom
from three daughters who still needed her so
I was just eighteen and beginning my freedom
and you were just born and beginning your life

Surely the saddest thing in the world must be
To see someone​ you once knew intimately
And they look straight​ through you with unknowing eyes
Which slowly dilate in surprise

Awkwardly you start to speak
And gaze upon that face, that cheek
That you once rained kisses upon
Now it's not yours, those days are gone

And you realise what once was " we "
Is now only " you " and​ " me "
Two people who are worlds apart
And once again you've broken my heart

Did you take your soul to a land
Where those with hope do not linger
And apprenticeships have been served
With cuts and broken fingers

Oh these days of hardships swell
Cries the mother with howling baby
Who would care and who would dare
To risk their spare change lately

And now you walk on broken stones
With your feet wrapped in newspapers
But they say it's alternative news
Perhaps you'll learn the truth later

So is this the place your soul should be
In this land of hate and anger
Where you would place your fragile fate
In the hands of a stranger

He may be God he may be not
He could be a fallen angel
In this land of decay and rot
Who would trust a stranger

                                           By Phil Roberts

Protected by a suit of dreams
And armed with a smile
He came out of nowhere
And went his own way

Seemingly believing nothing
And walking in no-one else's footsteps
He follows no rules without reasons
But he knows right from wrong
And he knows that's what matters

In a world of easy hypocrisy
Where compassion is stifled by fear
And belief is a reason to hate
To hate and destroy other beliefs
He goes his own way

                              By Phil Roberts

do you hear me now,
my beautiful beating heart?

I have sought
so erroneous before
so please-
tell me how we start?

oh sweet
transcendent love
my nameless
faceless
beauty,
hear me sky above
because to find you is my duty,

you are the fibre of my life
the reason I am here
the stitching through the strife
I so want to hold you near

oh my pulse
how it now quickens
at the thought of your sweet touch
an how every breath I take
I am loving you so much

you are the meaning
in my death
an so the reason for my birth
you are the draw
of every breath
and in what my life is finally worth

I couldn't see you before now
I was lost
within the dark
but you are the light within
the light,
I so need your lovely spark

you are my inner poet- bard
my poet laureate
an as we get ourselves in touch
we shall know our glory yet

you are the incentive to the stars
why I look above -my sky
where I circle
harmonized
in hopes to hear your cry

an I will love you always
until the day I die,

you are the heart that matches mine
an the calm within the storm,
in the center of the "eye"
where together we'll transform

into divine potential
realized,
that we were always meant to be
an thankful forevermore
for this gift of being set so free.

Ma Cherie © 2017

We live in a house, simple and nice
With a garden lined with crotons in rows
Not so neatly trimmed or pruned as before
And a lawn not always well manicured
But abounding in plants with blooms of varied hue
From shady corners, orchids peep
They bring forth flowers in bunches and mass
Only on certain seasons, not the year round.
Then a visual treat to the eyes, indeed!

Trees big and small border our land
Mango trees and jack fruit trees
Coconut palms and guava trees
Twining creepers with globular passion fruits
Bushy plants of sweet and sour berries
Rose apples, papayas and Chinese limes
An epitome of country abundance!

In front of the house was once a stretch of fields
Lush and fresh with paddy plants in June
And in autumn, bent with arching sheaves of corn
Green parakeets used to come from far
To eat the grains ready to be reaped
Having their fill they would fly westward in flocks
Such scenes were a source of instant delight

But sad enough, those fields were gradually filled
In place of paddy and other seasonal crops
Industrial units, big and small have emerged
By degrees, the quiet and coolness of the place
That once soothed our frayed nerves are gone
Now an exodus of men have landed here
Laborers who have come from Northern states
To eke out a living in a better clime
Speaking languages, Bengali, Hindi and Tamil
Leaving the area noisy with incessant chatter

Along the road that runs parallel to our house
Now speeds past, motors in unbroken row
Honking horns and raising a screen of smoky dust
Spoiling the ambiance of our verdant setting
And badly impairing the neat surroundings
But with every change of scene and setting
We, like nomads cannot change our stay or dwelling

Well acclimatized to all noise and commotion
We now stick to our home, our humble haven
And strive to create within an inner landscape
Not polluted by the ravages of time or clime

Home is the sanctuary where we roost and rest
A sweet dwelling, more than all mansions blest
And it should be an abode of love where hearts embrace
Every turn of life, grim or merry with no fuss but with grace

How sweet it is to dwell beneath this roof
Our wedded life’s enduring love’s living proof!

a bit decrepit
rigor mortis  feels
as if it sets in
and I am breathing
wrinkled gray was worn out
like yesterdays smelly shirt
and yet
with still the hopes
and dreams and mindset
of a four-year-old
on Christmas Eve