Execution
Shots in the night
The child asked at
the breakfast table
they hushed him.
It had
been snowing
the prisoners camp
was empty
but he saw bodies
on the ground
A sergeant
took his hand
led him home
said the prisoners
had moved
to another site.
Later that day
his friends
the soldiers
were silent.
The winter sun
softened
the snow.
Next day he saw
grass greening
it was spring

What makes me so mad about it
is the being sad around it,

(thinks inside the bubblewrap)

it's like music where melodies go, there
but for memories and that would be fine.

Time being finite is not alright
and
we were conned from the start
there are
only so many beats allocated to
each heart,

am I banging a drum, beating the blood from my gums, are you listening out there, do you even care that the man in black only loaned you out and he's on his way to take you back?

There is no fair about it and that's what makes me so mad about it and sad around it.

this is like God playing bingo, four corners, a line
and your time is done
no fun in the fair here
this is a very queer place to be,
but for the memory
that would be fine.

The Coriolis effect
for those days
when you're on
the move

What you can do
if you can
is get through this
as a man.

Easier than it sounds when the ground's
always opening up to swallow you
and you
want people to follow you?
you must be joking.

if you look good you'll do good
and I could believe what I've read,
if I sat with a bucket on my head
I really could believe it.

But we do as we do or
we don't
and more often than not
we shoot the messenger
not
because we don't like the message
we
just don't like the messenger.

What bothers me is
what part of art and I
wonder where do I start
to paint the
picture.

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

Growing up in Torrance—
A suburb of L.A.—
Billy was a SoCal
Dreamer all the way.
He loved sunny beaches
And smooth mountain slopes.
A day without the sunshine
Would always dash his hopes.
Not the greatest student,
He wasn’t good with books.
Luckily, he quickly learned
To get by on his looks.
 
He never went to college;
School was not his style.
Modeling, he thought,
Might be more worthwhile.
Sure, he was good-looking
And knew he could excel.
But like many others,
He didn’t do so well.
Deciding on a path
Requiring looks and charm,
He felt that entertaining ladies
Couldn't cause much harm.
 
(Chorus)
The king of the ******* circuit—
The lord of the nightclub scene—
In New York and California
And places in between
Will walk into a room
And all the people’s eyes
Look in his direction—
Both the ladies’ and the guys’.
Although he’s buff and handsome,
He tends to put on airs.
Despite the six-pack down below,
There’s not a lot upstairs.
 
Being a male stripper
Could get mighty old.
Removing all those clothes,
Doesn’t one get cold?
But Billy loved his lifestyle
And took it on the road.
He even tried “escorting”
Whenever business slowed.
All across the country
You’d hear the ladies scream.
When Billy walked out on the stage,
You could feel the steam.
 
Pumping iron by day
And stripping after dark
To Billy was exciting—
A walk in the park.
It must take some talent
To strip before the lights.
But his knock-out body
Helped him reach the heights.
You wonder, Was he happy?
It’s really hard to tell.
All we know is that for years
He raised a lot of hell.
 
So what does Billy do now?
Ask at clubs and bars.
Some say he sells insurance;
Others say used cars.
Someone said she saw him
Last month near Chapel Hill,
Sitting on a bar stool
At a bar and grill,
Sweet-talkin’ the ladies
And trying to hold fast
To all the vivid memories
Of his glorious past.
 
(Chorus)
The king of the ******* circuit—
The lord of the nightclub scene—
In New York and California
And places in between
Will walk into a room
And all the people’s eyes
Look in his direction—
Both the ladies’ and the guys’.
Although he’s buff and handsome,
He tends to put on airs.
Despite the six-pack down below,
There’s not a lot upstairs.

- by Bob B