“Withdrawn from Salem Public Library”

“Salem Public Library, East Main Street,
Salem, VA 24153”
A happy book, thought-stained, and often-read
An anthology of Russian poetry

Salem, Virginia must be a marvelous town
A library stocked with poetry, and stocked
With poetry readers who have turned again
And again to favorite pages here and there

Long-ago poets murdered by the Soviets
But finding love at last in Salem, Virginia

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense

I have eyes
But I don't see what I don't like
I have ears
But I won't hear what I don't want to hear
I have a memory
But only remember what's convenient
I have thoughts
But I keep them in safe cages
I have a mind
But I refuse to change it

And so, you see

Let rhetoric over-rule logic
Let fake news obscure truth
Let corruption replace propriety
Let bluster confound reason
Let nepotism overcome merit
Let democracy be obliterated
As long as I don't have to admit I was wrong

                                              By Phil Roberts

It's a blessing and a curse,
    this connection that we share
A balance between the love we feel
        and how much we should care

milk thick
with clotted cream
not conversant
with homogenization
sat it a sqaut blue
earthenware jug
in the coolness
of the foodsafe
with the pan of water
cold from being ice
below, the soothing drip
part of the melody
of the old kitchen
along with the slap of dough
on the slice of marble
cut from mountainside
in a counrty old and
across a sea of troubles
tibits of sweetness
handed down
for consumption
dough and flour dusted hands
leave imprints on cheeks
and warmth in hearts
in the oven thick ginger bread
rises bringing hunger
to stomachs already full
as women talkand bake
and solve the problems
of the world, banished now
we sit on the step, out the back,
the sun warm on our faces
waiting, waiting, waiting
for a slice of gingerbread
hot from the oven
and a glass of
cold, fresh, creamy milk

Battered and bruised
this heart takes a pounding.
As the mind goes into the spin cycle.
Taking no notice of time
that elapses regardless.

Worn and exhausted,
these lungs yearns and fights for...
Air.
Sweet air.
As if tomorrow would offer no more.

Unnatural and numbing...
Sleep.
These meds promise only the illusion
that all is good and well.
Encapsulated in high sheen gloss.
Shaped such to go down easy.
A means for a convenient albeit
temporary escape.

Maybe the moon isn't as full from where you stand tonight across the distance only fools and coyotes know.

Maybe my old vices will do me in as you always said they will.
If it were nothing more than traggic  wouldn't that be something just the same.

I never was meant for a vision you see of better days locked within your head.

I told you goodbye that night as the stars were masked by street lights and the pavement gave little cushion for are demise.

Maybe is a word often used in dreams but im far to awake to care for now.


The luck like the bottle around me is often empty.

I never hid behind dark glasses kid .
And I know you will learn to forget with time.

I never was meant for the sunset guess I will simply have to fade with the night instead.

Maybe you will recall me later in life .

Something tells me you can't love a lie no matter its intention.

And nothing understands the truth like the night passed .

Maybe .