Five thousand trees between his knuckles
Crushing the bark, choking the oaks
Straining through leaves with makeshift sieves
Angling to find an ankle or two
Praying that even a toenail would do
But all to be found was her mountain laurel crown
Still tangled with strands of burnt-birch down

Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass
Barely perceptible colours
Hung with liquid haze
Dog **** and thunder
Heavy close and thick
Miasma
Clings to sweat
Running with drizzle
Clings to damp
Drowning the pores of the skin
Making collars clinging sticky
Rubbing and abrasive

In view of the towering flats
The greyly awaiting wait
Standing at the bus stop
Speaking quiet weather talk
In the distantly English way
So safely meaningless
This polite evasion
Ignores their damp dilemma
Soon, as they sit inside the bus
These bodies shall steam
Like cattle in a byre

Kids hang around the shops
Emptying and kicking cans
The younger ones
Run and shout manically
Their elders spit
And swear casually
All hoods and shadows
Asking adults to buy them lager
Because they can't get served at the "offie"
Rain changes nothing here

A bedroom guitar plays
Weakly electric
And the Turneresque sky
Swallows the sound whole and flat
Sophisticated trash
Crying into a cloudy breast
Shaded darkly round
Full and swollen
Grey and sodden
The distant rumbling
Tumbling closer to home

                                    By Phil Roberts

What would you do if I were to leave
If something were to happen, a horror to conceive
My darling I don’t mean to be
So melancholy
But what would you do if I were to leave

What will you say when I have gone away
Was I still a stranger on my dying day
Had I let you in or kept you locked out in the cold
My dearest I pray I loved you well
As we both grew old.

What will be done as I’m laid in the ground to rest
I hope I’ll not be dressed in my very best
Some old worn and tattered clothes will do
For it seems such a waste
To leave fine things to death and decay

When you’ve finally passed my dear
Will your soul come rest with mine
As the world continues turning, paying us no more mind
Our tombstones declare me loving, yours will claim you were kind
But both words suit yours better than just one does on mine.

my naked lady framed
in twilight is an accident

whose niceness betters easily the intent
of genius—
                        painting wholly feels ashamed
before this music,and poetry cannot
go near because perfectly fearful.

meanwhile these speak her wonderful
But i(having in my arms caught

the picture)hurry it slowly

to my mouth,taste the accurate demure
ferocious
              rhythm of
                            precise
laziness.  Eat the price

of an imaginable gesture

exact warm unholy

People scare me,
They feel so much,
When they know so little,
They try to control,
When they can't do it themselves,
Love or destruction,
Both are the same they just are different words,
One mans Hero is another ones villain,
With this mentality no wars can be won,
And now everything that's is done,
Can't be undone.