Come here and listen to me
There are ugly deep shadows
Where things could be leering
Snarling and hungry
Heavy and threatening
****** in the wriggling damp
The age dripping damp
Where dead leaves rot and fatten the earth
Come close and listen to me

Don't go down there
No, don't go down there
They're doing strange things in the dark
You shouldn't have come to the park
On your own
Don't go walking alone

This is no place for one so young
And soft
Delicately tremblingly white
And soft
Run home with your soul gripped tight
Before someone
Some muddied gritty  someone
Touches
In the shadows and shrubs
And the night

                             By Phil Roberts

He beheld an orphan as he rode by,
Not even her beauty could he bye.
A master of many slaves he was,
Who had just returned from the war.
Her chastity overwhelmed his senses,
That he was bound to keep her within his fences.

He tied with her the marital knot,
Showering his affection on her a lot.
Came night, he took her home in his carriage,
To consummate their blissful marriage.
In weeks there was a conception,
And he planned at the birth of his child a stupendous reception.

Come due time, the midwives held to him his new baby,
And when he laid eyes on it, his love died for his lady,
For the baby had the skin colour of a slave,
And he wondered if she had had an illicit affair behind him, slaked.

He was greatly in shame,
Not even her cries of innocence could redeem his fame.
He visited no more her bed,
For he would rather keep company with the birds.
He had broken her heart
And turned his attention to art.

Come one morning, he cast her out.
With her child, her fostal parents she sought.
All her belongings, he brought out to be burnt,
And there he discovered the letter of his brunt.
His slave mother writing to his white father,
That if his true identity was hidden, it wouldn't matter.

Now he knew, he was a mixed-race
Who had discriminately thrown out, his lovely wife who vanished had without a trace.
And his black baby he had scorned,
When his mixed blood had been the very thorn.

The Ghosts Of Yesterday

Today I saw some fog rise up above a pond
It reminded me of a specter floating in a scary movie
It got me thinking of stuff that haunts us
I am haunted sometimes by, I should have done this
or I could have said that
or I should have done this better
The ghosts of yesterday can cloud our vision today
To live in regret is not a good way to live
We can let go of the past and our vision can be clearer
Things can get better and our emotional fog can lift away
Freeing us to have better days
Let us not be haunted by the ghosts of yesterday today
Instead, let us live in the present and live each day to it's fullest!

I fell asleep but couldn't dream
so I walked through the mist
and echo of a black blanket
under a starless night
I came across a nightmare
crying under a leafless tree
naked and exposed with
soft skin and milky breast
Her lips were the color of poison
but her voice carried
no trace of a lie
As she said all she had wanted
was to kiss the moom
under a dark magenta sky
She promised me she could lead me back to dreams
If I would just take her hand
and let her walk with me
So our fingers entwined
and we walked miles
of soft footsteps
and shy glances
She would giggle and blush
from time to time
It had begun to feel
as if she had lost her way
and our journey would never end
When she suddenly stopped
and motioned she had
something to whisper in my ear
I leaned in close and she laughed lightly and said
"Your clothes fell off sometime ago... we are both naked now, so this must be your dream... before you go may I ask of you one more thing?"
She stopped whispering and
moved her mouth in front of mine and said the last part with
her eyes...
I didn't know it then
but that would be
my last first kiss
and now I am the moon
hanging dreamless
in a dark magenta sky

Running from a demented Ex,
Several kilometers to a lone cabin,
She travelled.
She was feeling comfortable
Although lonely in this forest world.
A glass of juice in hand,
She steps out on the porch.

Halting in shock,
For on the edge of the foot path,
Waits a big grey wolf,
With intense gaze fixed on her.
"Shoo!" She tells it.
But flinch, it doesn't.
Retreats into the cabin she does,
To bolt all windows and doors.

Soon, the wolf loses interest and leaves.
Come night, she undresses to bath.
But in her bedroom doorway,
Appears the grey wolf.
Caught in surprise, she gasps and falls.
And in her shock, she watches it
Morph into a man.
Not just any man, a breathtaking one.

She's hypnotized by the sight of him.
He approaches, carries her,
In his arms to the shower
Where he makes passionate love
To her against the wall.
His fangs sinking into her shoulder
In the ****** of the ****** passion,
Until after a mind-blowing ******, she blacks out into unconsciousness.

Several hours later,
Her consciousness she regains.
On her bed she wakes.
She remembers. But perhaps,
It was all a dream.
But the soiled paw-print on her rug,
And the aching pain on her shoulder
Revealed otherwise,
Until the distant howl of her new
Lover, reaches her from the forest,
Making her shudder with a new craving need to be made love to-

**Again!

Love** is unique
It brings pain, tears and joy
It can bend even the strongest of hearts
When caught in between two,
Your love for one surpasses the other.

What hurts is-
Seeing the one you love,
Loving another
What hurts more,
Is being in love with someone
Who loves you,
But rather gives you a wide berth
Because it seems to be the best.

She's a stripper,
Who strips to stir the crotches of men.
She's a wanton minx,
But that's what she's paid for.
Her curves and back are
Strewn with a dozen of scary tattoos,
That no one can decipher.

Her honey *** is sacred,
Not even millions will win you a dive.
But come one midnight,
Closed from work she is,
A stalker tailed her
Determined to be the first,
Between her sacred thighs.

He waits till an alley draws near,
Then pounces he does.
Her clothes he rips off,
A couple of blows to stun her.
On the ground he forces her,
And into her he thrusts,
Panting in victory and pleasure.

She doesn't fight, she lets him.
And soon, he feels peculiarly hot,
Screaming in agony, he disintegrates,
Only to be ****** into her body.
His face, that of pure anguish
Joining the numerous tattoos
Of faces on her back.

Up she gets, gathers her clothes
And home she went, to strip come
Another night.

Prayer,
Yes, prayer.
The incessant chiming in the belfry,
But no Christian heeds its Sunday call.
Deserted was the small town,
But she knelt, palms put together,
Head bowed,
Prayer.

Alone in a cursed-deserted town.
The perculiar breeze from the open door,
Sweeps dead leaves down the aisle,
Towards her dust-coated boots
She doesn't stir, too still.

Noon suddenly morphs into darkness,
Crazy sky licking nasty lightnings,
Obscured by tumbling grey clouds.
Above the church, a grotesque's eyes comes alive
Wings shoots and it swoops below
With a noxious cry.

She scrambles out of prayer,
Lips quivering.
In steps into the old church,
The grotesque silhouette,
And into her almost due pregnant bump it plunges!

A cry of anguish!
She doubles in pain!
Eyes going inky black!
A cobweb of welts envelopes her stomach!
Something crawls within!
Bells' chimes!
A baby cries!

I began this journey                                                  life,
Not utterly naked or                                                 bare,
For every night I gather what is                              necessary
From leftover strands of someone else's                life -
I weave them into                                                      a tapestry,
So that when I awake, I sense                                  the richness
Of the Universe where everything                          continues
Broken down, then taken up                                    again.

Images extracted from
the tapestry of my dreams.
Sewn intricate...
Into a patchwork.

A quilt,
embroidered with lavish sequins and ornate beads.
Bringing forth fantastical motifs...
A dazzling display
upon the backdrop of my dreamscape.

Yet...
This mosaic of dreams
does not warm me so.
It never lasts.

They fall away like autumn leaves
come the dawning sun.
They get washed out and pulled into the tide,
as the waves beat upon the shore of wakefulness.
They fade into fragmented memories
that make no sense...
Incoherent and disjointed.

Eventually, they disappear...
For they do not belong
in a world of worldly things
and ticking clocks.
Their intangible and mismatched nature
render them inconsequential...
Naturally...
They get misplaced.

But I am stubborn.

I will fashion such a blanket.
One that skirts the boundary
of this realm and the other.

I will tailor it so...

So that...
I will sleep tonight,
swaddled tight and cocooned within its
glorious seams.
Tucked within the safety and warmth of
this blanket...
Woven immaculate...
Out of
worldly things and breathtaking dreams.