Calmly
Serenely
The sun slowly subsides
From the still-starless sky
And the moon is still a ghost
A time of mystery and myth
Half-light illusions
Unusual shadows
And strange delusions
When memories and dreams
Wander from one to the other
Blend beyond relevance
And I once remembered
A memory I never had

                                       By Phil Roberts

Where the tides of Magnus swell
And his thundering roars beat lightning to hell.

We've been living in a maze.
We've been digging up our graves.
We've been throwing up our brains,
Yet these quakes will still go on.

Sickles and hammers
And tall corporate buildings, portly businessmen.
The windows and towers they will smash because of the beast inside their heads.

Black and white
Good and evil
Are there two sides? Four, eight? Or are there billions of coloured pixels;
Each twinkling their own ideologies.
But once they blend, like watercolours,
The wars commence and their crimes they won't repent.

Our conditioned brains
Entertained by an electronic screen, or perhaps a print of lies on paper.
And we will curse, wail or put other opinions on bail.

Will we live a life of sepia, of black and white?
Or will we respect all sides of that rubix cube which becomes ever more difficult to solve.

The algorithms twist, intertwine, sever
But there is not one single lever- we can pull

to save our bleeding earth.

The quakes will go on
We will not have a break from them.
We are veterans of psychological corruption;
And our armour and weapons are destroyed.

If space and time
were to entwine
I'd loop through
the galaxies
with fantasies
infinite times
in my mind

Over stars and black holes
comets and planets
If only time and space
were to entwine
infinity would turn
into my everyday

do you wonder who I am
by the words that I now write?

do you wonder how I look
an if my hair is steaked in white?

do you think I ride a broom
do you think I'm just a witch?
or I have some kind of powers
an I can charm a wooden switch?

well ...
I guess,
I can -

douse for water
an I've seen nightmares come true
I've seen the sky turn black once
an in a multi colored hue

well my Aurora Borealis
my mystic native lights,
an in the spirit of the animal,
yes amazing are the sights,

I don't know if I am special
tho my grandmother said I was
all I know is who I am inside,
please don't say that I am weird
or acting
kinda crazy
otherwise I'll only wish to hide,

I see so many things
that others just do not
and I am at a loss for as to why

but if I am just so strange
that you worry about my mind
perhaps you are not seeing
with your "eye"?

Ma Cherie © 2017

I'm not in love
with your words

I'm in love with
the way you think

not just
delighted,
entertained,
endlessly curious,
sufficiently bewildered
and longing to climb inside
the gears tick-tocking your mind

but that your brain takes me
into a state of utter awe
blissing me still

it's looking into
this distorted hologram
mirror where I'm seeing
more of me, but from
different perspectives
than the usual 2D
similar to me, yet,
inversely intriguing

it's live and undulate
reflective truth serum
rooting me in now

that's why I slid
right down your throat -
I speak your language
and apparently intuitively
know how to crack you
allkindsa open

(even if it takes a
white-hot light year
and unprecedented doses)

it's like with you
I'm the me-est me
I can be
it's so

magically delicious
I don't try to escape
inside me anywhere

you make me want to
be more here
with you

on the outside

share all the parts
I learned it best to hide
on the in

though I know
it's a wee bit ******,
if these treatises become
merely the sheer prologue
to The Most Unbelievable Tale
of Mystical Love Perhaps Ever Spun

the fact that
seeing you is
seeing me
means

loving you is
loving me too

this could be
- so -
healthy

like shots of
marine phytoplankton
chased with green smoothie

and my ponderings
keep meandering
around this one thing:

what happens when
it gets to the point where
your pictures painted of me
completely override
my false stories

- forevermore -

when I eat
so much of the mirror
I become - fully -
the me I see
through your
Windexed eyes

I daresay
that’s levitating off
the porch of full potential
outside our diamond-cut pyramid
with the gold-engraved signage
hanging in front of our
intergalactic portal

where one
might have
once

looked for a door

that now seems
completely archaic
and unnecessary

After the magic man had packed up and gone
we left too and
never saw who they pulled out of the hat to take his place,
in any case the pretender to his throne had been known to stack the deck in his favour.

Across town where the Sun never shone,
where the daffodils died for want of its song,
we drunk ourselves senseless
aware yet unwilling
to get the last beer in lest morning should come.

Things get in the way of things we should do,
like the excuses we use.

you wouldn't walk a mile in my shoes
I
wouldn't want to walk the same mile in yours.

Doors.
entrances
and each give chances to enter or leave,
unless the doors's ajar full of gin in a bar on the other side of town.

The man with his magic tricks sticks up *******,
a Churchill impression.

Someone shovels up the sawdust
someone just sits there and weeps
someone calls out for another cold beer
and someone sleeps,


pictures from yesterday's camera,
an album in the suitcase of dreams.