So we're here again
To learn to do what we love
oh, the irony

Up on Boulder Hill they gather
to celebrate what really matters
finally, a winning football season
as higher and higher glows a worthwhile fire

The bonfire for the team

It is as important
to recognize
what love isn't
as it is
to know
what love is

mistake not
lust
ego-driven
crush
flash flood
rush

nor need
the kind
that scours
the bones
licks the marrow
clean

not apathy
silent killer
complacent
acceptance
of less than
we deserve

violence
physical
verbal
control
love is never
these

it is
easy breathing
reflexive
vital
doubles down
no surrender

love holds
through heat and cold
sick and old
when age
erases my name
from your memory

I will come to you
fresh every day
someone new
different wig
ravish-me dress
old-lady hot

we’ll have a little fun
with the time left
at least you’ll die
thinking to yourself
*still got it
with the ladies

I felt this primal urge
This trance-like instinct
To set things right
In case I have to leave
Move on, so to speak

So
I took my jaundiced eye
And rolled it from corner to corner
Of this, my situation
And I felt so very small and hard
Lost in largeness
For cynicism is a tight thing
Which allows little movement
A strange kind of chastity

And then, you see
Changes
Honesty demanded that I see more
Grow, so to speak

And oh, my poor sore eyes
See how the children starve
All over this bitter world
This bitter, sickened world
And cynicism did this
Through the slack hands of millions
Who still refuse to believe
That things can be changed

                                    By Phil Roberts

This feeling...
Heavy...
Like a wreath bearing down my neck.
Every fibre in me seem to be at loggerheads.

My heart...
Pounding.
Each beat is a hammer
sledging away at my saneness.

My breaths...
Premature and short.
Inconsistent.
I respire full but with punctured lungs.

.

Love

Why is it that the faster I run towards it
the further away it seems

Love

Am I destined for shadows,
empty masses of luring movements
hiding behind me,
disappearing each time I turn,
fading on a cloudy day
forever just out of reach

            (Your's is the smile
Love
            that makes my smile smile)

Why is my puzzle always missing
that one perfectly fitting piece
that creates a beautiful picture
of a country landscape, an ocean scene at night,
or a heart that is complete,
leaving a gap in my happiness

            (Why can't you see
Love
            it was always you and me)

The last page of a mystery thriller
torn out by the desire to know,
ripped from its binding,
jagged paper edges seeking
a conclusion that doesn’t come from
reading between the lines

            (Every time I wait
Love
            it always is too late)

I sat in a garden
on a beautiful spring day
pulling petals off of a forget-me-not
just hoping she loves me
I should have known the cycle would end with
“me not”

            (I just want to love you
Love
            to show you that it's true)

Maybe if I write it enough times
Maybe if I were a glazed donut
Maybe if I were a fresh cup of coffee on a Sunday morning
Maybe if I were a cocker spaniel puppy
Maybe if I was a soft comfortable pillow
Maybe if I were a poet

Love

Probably not

it's crazy how
a year and two days ago
I went on my first date,
a year ago next week
I had my first kiss
and
it almost killed us,
a year ago next month
I did something
I can't decide if I regret or not,
and a year ago this July
I leaned that I was head
over heels for someone
who was already three steps
ahead,
moving on.

I used to stay up all night
driving through pastures
in a sweetheart's daddy's jeep

I remember the moon in the woods
through the trees like a girl
running in white *******

Like a boat losing its shadow
to the wind, you can lie
yourself back into bodies
you never touched

What love there was
flashes by like chrome
on a fender skirt.