When this skin
was young and ironed,
well it fit,
like new things do;

that was then
but now I find
the cracks within
are showing through.

The empty silent house seems so devoid of scenery
Sullen shadows and somber echoes that bring no joy to me
Outside the door the meadow beckons springtime's greenery
On the shaded porch I stand in quiet revelry

The wind that whispers through the trees brings reminiscent dreams
And new thoughts born of yesterday's less vacant lonely scenes
Restless deep emotions that make my true life seem so lean
Mourning sunset's fading beauty , colder soon is all it means

Never act like your a writer .
Or say the things you believe others want to hear.
Art is in never being certain.
The page has no time for half *** lines .

Do not be what you think a writer is.
Writers are ego driven ******* to self absorbed to see anything in front of them.
And thats just there good quality's .


Don't pen it the way you believe that will please others take it down the road as far as it has to go .

Let it get messy let it be awkward.
If your thinking bout other people your ****** to begin with .

You the page the ******* work that is all that matters .
That is what makes you a writer .

Not people blowing smoke up your *** .
Not how many people read it.
Who publishes it and if you made a dime off it.

Make that page bleed .
And **** those who dont get it.
Lemmings have often had to be told whats in .

They think there hip they want to hang around those who have it in hopes they can maybe find it as well.

They are like cancer you listen long enough to there ******* and they poison the well of your imagination.

Never take advice from someone who can't do what you can.

The world is not a play.

Never act just be one with the page.

I never act.

I.
I sat in bed
With my monsters
Conversing about
Their favourite
Taunts in my head.
We play at the
Bottom of a lake
Making lists of
All the ways I'm
Going to drown.

NAPO WRIMO

Next month is  Poetry Month
Why not, endevour to write
a poem a day from provided prompt
Stretch yourself, find new sources of creativity.
Discover new poets, new resources,
Celebrate yourself and other poets
Check out the website:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

When your footsteps falter and slip
Hold on to me
If your eyes fill with tears
And the future seems blurred and distant
I'll be there to take your hand
You may not see me
But you'll feel me there
Right beside you
Always
So hold on to me

                        By Phil Roberts

I will not cross the river
those boundaries in my mind
I can move across the desparation
not the dessication of my time

There's the threat
of another breaking dawn
Too late to contemplate
the all night mental storm

But al least there is one beast
That has kept me
in all night company

It seems the mocking bird
hurls threats to no one
as he flies by on the run

Just to remind me
poets are just one poem
from ever being done

He makes for
such poor company
I wish I had a gun
I wish I had a gun
I wish I had a gun .

i am naked
and been exposed
i deserve it
i suppose
pretending
at mending
a broken-ness
and making
such a mess
of things
among an audience
never once
thinking
of the pain
i'd be bringing
of a secret
i behold
i regret
i never told
the tears
i cry
i, now
disguise
failing
to realize
my character
being
compromised