Put the kettle on
The Dodger's here
Him and me sat chatting in the sun
As happy as gypsies leaving town
We have a lifetime between us
Over forty years of friendship
And a thousand events and people
Indelible memories
Me teaching him his first chords
Fingers stumbling on the frets
Now he plays like a dream
And he's taking the band
Into the studio next month

All down the years
It's been music and laughter
And a few daft adventures
A few rows but then
We're both fiery characters
And they were soon forgotten
In favour of a laugh or a song

And now we sit in the sun
Remembering old friends
And "Do you remember when"s
The summer of '76 was rich
Guitars in the hills
Writing songs and poetry
Happy days, old friend
Happy days indeed

                                 By Phil Roberts

The plump moon lights up my room.

My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream

the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.

Eyes wide
you do not allow
oblivious sleep
shadows branded
on my retina
reveal all contrast
tattooed on my shoulder
a skeletal hand
this illusion  
pins me down

your questions
have no answers
questions remain
asked again and again
I swear
I know nothing

You say everything
is immaterial
subjectively real
ideas existent
in the mind
of the perceiver
I am
(you insist)
a true believer

Parched and shrinking
I ask for mercy
you bring the cup
to my fissured lips
but it is empty
a vessel of air
you murmur
there is only enough
for one
what will you give
in return?

Heavy metal
arpeggios of wind
head bang
petulant faces
inured to rain
a repeating refrain
in falsehood
lies your truth

but even you
cannot halt the dawn
a dark horizon
pulls the strings
powerless
you sink
behind the cloud-
wall of your storm

is it safe now to close my eyes?
three times whisper
be gone
              bright fiend
a weary incantation
spell of protection
the yawning wind
done with howling
hums reassuringly
                            
                       *“a change is gonna come
                                                            ­      imagine
                                                   ­                            peace in our time”

a cupped bush
holds a fresh-fallen sundae
of creamy new snow
topped with sprinkles
of tips and leaves.