I spent my day breathing life into my memories.

I often walk or sit among them.
I give them
the attention they ask for
to maintain their roots.

I administer
the moisture they desire
to retain their colour
their scent.

I know they aren't
what they used to be
but they grow with me
and give me hope
for more
more beauty
more life
and more to live for.

I spent my day with my memories.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

I want to smother you
with my pillow hands
suffocate your skin

Scoop out your eyes
so you see no evil
blind you from all sin

I'll wrap you in chains
secured to my heart
control your brain
take away your dark

Twist your words
around my tongue
scratch them back
in your back
verbatim

I could cut you up
so you fit in my pocket
bleed your soul
into a precious locket

Smash your skull
to ease your mind
clawing my way
to your insides

I'm the ripples in the water that fight the current
created by the forces from above and below.
I wrinkle the surface and add dimension.
Would you see me, if I wasn't mentioned?

I'm the splashes caused by a heron diving for fish
and missing its prey by mere inches.
My waves of frustration can be felt by all.
Would you see me, if you heard the Heron's call?

I'm the droplets shaken from a doe's wet pelt
that splatter on the surface, broken by her hooves.
I'm water that fell as silver, but was picked up as blue.
Would you see me if you had to?

I'm the flowing motion of rivers and streams.
I'm the dark water of your dreadful dreams.
I'm the rain that showers land and sea.
I'm the tears that form when we are set free.

And if you see me in the water,
would you come and join me?

. poetry & sobriety are still... very alien mediums of mutually inclusive reciprocation, hardly, serious overtones, rigid Appolonian entrapments worth nothing more that a billboard slogan; mind you... frivolity in drinking... but those drunks suckling of a heart like a violinist on Westminster Bridge? a poetry that's drunk from drinking the yet untested ideal of love.

you can't exactly play
the guitar
  and be expected to read Braille
(without
   some major gaps
   in the fabric)...

which is something
you might say
  on a rainy January day
having finally found
about the LP siren...

new year's eve?
went to bed at 11pm,
   with fireworks by my ***
to say the least...

yet never have I thought
it was necessary
    to have to overstate
the whole 'speak for
yourself' bazooka-blah...

winding
   intra- / inter- & trans-
generational
    b'ah b'ah black sheep
mantras,
    either side of
harangue & pandering
click-baits...

  back when trendy
at school was also equivalent
to donning a hoodie
with the word DUFFER
  printed on it...

pandering, smoochy pups,
as with all things small /
young, a kaleidoscope
of sighs and hopes
     twirling,
   tangled in burning ribbons
on a gymnastics floor...

vox politico
   on a canvas of
      votum ad status quo...
who would have expected
to be lectured either
side of the same bollocking
of an algebraic bashing
tedium via
       this horrid concensus
excuse...
     but it's the 21st century!

well... one thing is for
certain, just prior to the tickling
of EMO...
    even the 80s weren't so
bad when it came to music...

/ nuclear fallout tongue
    rigidity:

for all the politico right-think,
a clarified enemy
like a diamond smeared
with oil and dipped into
a lake at a pristine sunrise,

  voices outside
of parliament
    turned in a burping
vacuum upon its threshold...

in no defence: contra cultural
Marxism (whatever that means)
capiulating...
                                  /

for all the political
              pandering...
just so buttered to levitate
sickly visible in moonlight
like a firmament bullseye of
a gaping ***-hole...

    cultural Darwinism?
  (i'll have to drill this term
in)...
      seditio ad concensus...
i.e.
        they might have
the "right" political verbiage
in the anonymous forums...

but sure as **** they
have some sort of ID...
    they'll probably shop online...
and as far as i am concerned...
nothing to look
forward to in terms of
   music.

There are no Apaches
With flaming arrows and piebald ponies
There are no writhing jungles round here
There are no lost temples
Hiding untold treasures

There are no damsels to be rescued
By a knight on a white charger
There are no pirates on the high seas
No skull and crossbones flying
Above a deck bristling and glistening
With cutlasses and flintlocks ready
And hook hands and black eye-patches
In the sunlight of the Spanish Maine

There are no interplanetary wars
With hand-held laser guns
And weird creatures from strange worlds
They just do not exist
I learned this when
I was very very young
And I really wanted to be a pirate

                                    By Phil Roberts