Falling from one day into the next
They slowly drag and the nights ache
But I'm used to feeling the cold.
With no direction required
And hopes of salvation long gone
I shall walk calmly through the fire
And simply carry on
I refuse to lose the gypsy within
Old and ****** and ****** if I care
I shall continue to sin and to grin
With new roads to travel to nowhere
Amen

                     By Phil Roberts

on a day hanging in haze
the crow sits glum on a perch

do the flying pairs overhead
remind it of the lost mate
and in the midday lull
it feels a vacuous dullness
when even the search for food
seems purposeless?

i feel a stab of pain inside

whoever goes first is lucky
not so the one left behind

maybe the wings are now too heavy
for the bird to fly into the sky

Synchronitities

It's 11.11 again,
AM through to PM,
Just to see you again,
In all your simplicities.

11.11 again,
Now tell me what's the relevance,
When I see you there,
Lying in sentimentality,

You got the 411,
Telling me just about anything,
That you can breath,
Steals your rationality.

11.11 again,
The sentence that won't ever end;
Caught up in a comma coma,
Blinded by the clarity,

11.11 again,
I seen it on the TV screen,
What does it mean to you & me,
Simple sequenced synchornities

More people should
do their homework,
if they did,
there would be
healthier conversation
and less devastation.

Trying to reach out to life
Feel distanced from me
I have travelled a distance
Went beyond the road I planned
Life will not let me walk back
The erased road remains a memory
Now I have to move ahead
Without looking back
Life has strange ways
Where you travel without itineraries

The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his *****
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist  cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his *****
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got ******
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed.

Our hearts,
So much like trees
The heart dies a slow death
Each hope,
A leaf
They all blow away,
One by one
Till nothing is left

None of the rays of sunshine
would deign this waxy skin,
just sand burned to ashes,
regurgitation from the slobbery hysteria
of the filthy sea.
None of these days of summertime
would violate my inner ancestral frost.
Red dragon of stone, this soul of mine
beneath the labyrinthine ghost,
of the wicked fate.
The stoic age wears the same livery,
in the smoke of my hyperuranium
no scream comes over this far
where the solid patience
is the only certainty
that dwells inside my self.