Beauty walks this world. It ages everything**
I love them according to the seasons
Let’s start with the winter scene  
It reminds me of June bridal dresses
Woven into the likeness of winter themes
Capturing Impureness without stresses’

The colors of springs, the beginning of testing,
  The attitude of one’s happiness that lies ahead for bracing sea breeze
The mindset of the summer beauty :shine through summer madness:

as we slowly move into the fall months
We tend to have spiritual thoughts about the madness of summer
The spring will dwindle, as the windy days come
Embrace the beauty of remaining days of summer

The beauty will be bottle in our hearts and mind for ever
Beauty walks this world, it ages like any another thing

it's gonna be dry one day
when it finally stops raining
down here in old Alabam'

seems to be either drought
or tsunami rain forest ****
down here these places

Outside the puddles
are taking over, the farmers
always proclaiming catastrophe.

like drug dealers, I used to know
they don't want you to realize
their prosperity

or find their two ounces stashed
buried near that peanut plant
in the field

or the fifty thousand cash

falling down the sandglass so
endlessly each grain second
so stopped a thought
stranded another grain of creative angst there
between the glasses skinny part
I sit whispering curses
I forget the
lines I had in memory when
I tried to write them down
turn that god ****** thing over
again
it is stuck

it ends in tonalities of spliced ends
some woven together others
jutting into nowhere dangling
like a Dylan song you love but don't
quite know all the metaphorical meanings to
of nowheres and space probes
sent to tickle you
on your own you must believe in
something more
special spacious
put meanings into amorous
trysts space gods
mystiques
unadorned with the accepted norms
a late night sobbing alone
cats and dogs your companions now
but knowing some outer space
visciously beautiful being
is gonna haunt you soon
and fly you off to the moon making passion
without touch a beam a laser like on your ******
tickles    get it doll

not an expose
I can't Kant I
am more the Freudian type
German Heil
or the deriving deviant

I am almost subconscious
in the inner sanctities
Darwin was half right
my thumbs up
my *** constantly

bachelors are neither
happy or malcontent
moreover, they are predators

so I argue
that a priori
intuition
one must preclude
is

quality quantity relation modality
is pure nomenclature and not psyche
I feel therefore I am
is was  am again was

was an am
were an I
am a me

come on I can play

occupy the windows things
the  outside lights and fleeting visions
live like a reflection always looking out
and never in

stand in the sun and hide
from tangibles that glow in
the insides shine the
things you hide

that to everyone
are obvious like elephants
your signature your
dispositions I guess

convert and consecrations
your only sin
but you turn away when looking at the
colored glass

the cross a searing soldier told
to wipe your secondhand mind
clean and when you find
the answers I will speak in sentences

Do you still remember: the flyer flies?
And the harmonic liturgical chant of the invisible crickets
Outside our window: oh how they soothe
us to sleep : an added plus to the sound of the falling rain
of all our wishes, did we meant to leave the
tropical sound for the deafen sound of gun fire ,sirens,
or burning tires of city life, startling's hearts everywhere;
almost every hour upon hours of restless sleep

awaken to the swift sound of chirping, squeaking engine
my heart longs for those crickets outside my window
as they hide beneath the tall wet grass,
I remember how I slept between darkness and dawn
Remembering happiness comes from contentment:

Keep the innocents in the village
Don't let the children play outside
The homeless and the nameless
Must stay huddled together
Finding shelter where they can

Because there are killers high above
Dropping bombs of hatred and rhetoric
Killing and maiming indiscriminately
And the killers are from so many places
Leaders from all over the world
Whose only morality is ambition
And their only emotion is paranoia

And those who dare to disagree
Are shut up or closed down
Never to be heard from again
And those who care to notice
Are watching open-mouthed
The bloodied stump of history
Right before their eyes

                                   By Phil Roberts