At the end of the day, I await the night
As it slowly sets in
With a prelude of colours.
It grows quieter and peaceful
Birds cease to sing
And fly home to rest their wings
On long limbed trees that weather time.
Noise ebbs, save for the throaty croak of frogs
Or the mating songs of cicadas.
The sky is lit with silver lamps
While the moon looks on
Smiling with cherubic cheeks
As the blanket of darkness
Tucks the world in
Ushering a world of dreams.

=====================
For old boys
And new boys
I forgot to have a body
And a husband
But I lived
My beautiful ordinary life
Created with writing
With the help of your pen

In Sunless sea
We painted a scene
Then filled it with sound
And smell of our intimacy

And at last in death of a stranger
Tantalizing puzzle
The secret of the Monk's past
Dramatically revealed the Nirvana

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

I can say the right things
yet in the wrong time,
while I say the wrong things
in the right time.

She hides her smile
behind black lipstick.
Her voice is low
and in between.
She smells of loneliness
and cigarettes.
She sings for me
when she is high.

She gets me higher
than I can go.
She takes me low
and in between.
Her heart's on fire
when she sings.
Her voice is smokey,
full of pain.

She sings of loneliness
and broken dreams.
Her dance is low
and in between.
She gets me high
and lets me down.
She kisses me
with black lipstick.

r ~ 4/29/14

I came out of the north-west
Staggering from the storm
The surgeons had repaired my body
And my mind hung by one hinge
So I headed for the coast of Wales
To assume the healing rhythm of the sea
And breathe the briny air
Where no-one knew me
Nor called my worn out name
Sweet freedom in isolation

And so, in smiling solitude
I walked and smoked too much
Staring at the moody ocean
As we all inevitably do
As though it holds answers
And indeed it does
The answer is "being"

One hot but breezy day
I followed the coast from north to south
Not too far but far enough
Until I came upon a harbour
Tiny and insignificant
But a harbour nonetheless
With a clutch of small boats
Bobbing and swaying lazily
On the backwater slack water tide
And somewhere close by
A nautical bell tolled the rhythm
Of an endless heedless movement
And an oddly comfortable melancholy
Rocked me in it's arms
Lost and found
Beginning and end

In as much as everything matters
Though nothing matters much
This place was nothing to me
No more than countless others
But that harbour bell
So patient and so constant
Touched something deeper than knowledge
Perhaps it was the state of my health
Or the glowing heat of the day
But some vulnerable receptor
Vibrated to that gentle toll
I've been in many places in my life
And seen wondrous famous sights
All seared into my minds eye
But their memories will last no longer
Than the haunting harbour bell

                                                By Phil Roberts

Poetry
Is
So
Light in weight
It can be carried on lips

Thinking about you,
And not
You.

I'm obsessed with the gray space.

Obsessed with the east side.

With the jungle that grows inside what no longer
Is.