Madly beautiful
I should never have a thought
A stray cat in a parking lot
And this is the real world
While I live in dreams
That cannot be

I thought of you
When the fires of hell
Came blaring through my radio
As I drove to another place
I could never call home
You cannot be

Only your name
A song of blissful spring
I want to be an instrument
In an orchestra
I want to play a part
I cannot be

Blue streaks shew across the sky.
Manic days and semper fi.
Red dawn smashes out the sea.
Honor is all I claim to be.

Though I love and feel like saintly.
I reek, timorous, spineless and dainty.
But I have no respect for you!
Till we are in court, tried and true

It was the world, the world of defeat.
I planted my flag on a daisy and creek.
On a light dominion of my summerhouse place.
There sit, the lovely Welterman case.

Weltermans family gathered in boon.
Farewell to a daughter, a motherly loon.
I killed her. There. I said it okay?
But don't blame me, she was just in my way.

On a cold summer day, and a hot summer night.
Cicadas bizzled but hardly struck a fright.
Daisy lay sleeping, sweet next to me.
Leaving behind her unfinished dreams

But lo and behold, an undertaker.
Ruinous desire, I decided to take her.
My confession means nothing, my killing, an iota.
So love would not infect Alexander of Macedonia.

Down the throat and across the sea.
Of loquacious gelatinous sanctimony.
I'll cut deep without thinking, I'll slash without aversion.
Ophelia and her love is a tainted *******.

I bathed in the blood and cried myself silly.
She only deserved death, that ***** old filly.
No more would Welterman reek of my sin.
To lower a king, to a peasantly Tim.

Lost games
Longer lost rules
Night-time crimes
Lungs full
Of pungent smoke
Bellies full of *****
And heads full of
Something
And nothing

A kind of homage
To a kind of music
Riding across vinyl
And even crackling shellac
And the dead man's foot
Still taps inside the coffin
Refusing to relinquish
The hard-wired hammer
The outlaw life
Is hard in the dying

                                    By Phil Roberts

Glass after glass
She writes without her mask
Vomits words on paper
She'll regret later

Bottle half empty
Her hands are sweaty
Bottle half full
She drinks another mouthful

She writes and writes
sleeps day and night
She reads and reads
lets her heart bleed

what she has written
is what is forbidden
she writes what she wants
expecting no response

Lost in desperation
She finds inspiration
drifting in the ocean
mind full of commotion

She continues to write
until her chest feels light
then lets her readers figure out
what she's talking about

I sit beneath the tree of Innocence, hidden in the forest of Tomorrow. There I cried a lake so vast, neverending tears of Sorrow.

I can't look up towards the sun, its vanished from my view. Blue sky's I painted grey, yet another reminder of you.

I'm stepping off the edge soon, thought maybe this time I might fly. I'll climb to the very top, and hope that I won't die.

Muttered prays that only fall, they're just to heavy in heart. Everything that I touch, always falls apart.

I can't ease this ache in my chest, nor can I mend what's gone. So I sit beneath this magic tree, and listen to the Winds song.