this is heaven to me
this isn't happening to me
he is too good to be
next to me

beside the pane
i watch the stars from
the one i trace
raindrops down
and open when
it snows
alone

but not for once
not for now
this nightfall comes
together

i pull him close
and want him closer
who cares where heaven is
when there's an angel in
my room

i'm home with my
cheek on your chest
head caught in clouds of
your hair
mixed with mine

i'm home
with your arms around me
over me, under me
rocking me, raising me
anchoring us
home

Johnny was bored with his life as it was
He felt as though his fate was decreed
By the likes of Victorian undertakers
With professionally ingrained sympathy
Wringing their hands with grief to his face
Rubbing them with glee behind his back
Solemn faced professional men
Who were here to bury
After all

So, feeling as he did about his life
He packed a bag and headed for the jungle
Where there are no rules at all
Other than those which keep you alive
Amongst the roaring beasts on the ground
And the screeching creatures of the trees
As well as the snakes that hang, crawl and swim
Always beware of snakes and their venom
And even the tiny deadly mosquito
Filled his every day with possible peril
But he had freedom
Of a sort

                                        By Phil Roberts

Standing at my door
an old friend just met.
The veranda catches a shadow
still with a thick layer of dew.
Slow to talk about the real but not about
the pounding, look close, real close,
dare to see, offer the eyes, the eye
open always on the shining mind.
Breezily blowing into the kitchen
where everything revolves around a
couple of days, isn't it a gas, isn't
it a blast, or should language like that
be used?

Choose to ask the tongue once
when morning settles in to stay
brow beaten and lonely
asking her to play,
why does it turn out this way?
why does it turn out that way?

The choice brings no answers,
a frail silence, a brazen emptiness,
leading in the mystery meant to teach,
to scold, to fill,
to be bold,
to breach,
to breathe into that thing that carries  me,
one man up the endless hill, breath by breath,
no longer seeking, no longer tied to a home.