Tree, I have come to shelter and with the rain to weep
I am soaked, barefoot with mud running through.
Soft the moss, cool and cold
to soothe my heart that bleeds.
Our waxing nights of love and moons
now fallow, a field that burns.
****** our hollow bed
of haunting, silent screams
too soon the fiery devil
too far my lover
the spring.

On my selling on a day in the blazing May
I was looking for a small place for a light bite
when I noticed through my heat dazed eyes
the signboard "Snack Bite".

Inside was the peaceful coolness of a suburb bylane
and I would have pretty soon dozed off
but for the strong smoke of spice, garlic and onion
that shut out every senses except hunger.

No menu card, sir, the waiter cut the silence,
on our menu at this hour is only fish fingers,
all else sold out.

No problem I said, I have been here for a light bite.
How many pieces come with a plate?

Ten, sir, superbly fried.

By ten minutes the steaming thing was before me
ten red crispy slices of fish fingers
and I immediately got into business
remembering what my ma used to say,
To a hungry mouth every food tastes fine
and so neat and fine the pieces looked
so artfully arranged on the plate like human fingers
I reflected on the pause having finished the fifth.

Human fingers? I froze in terror,
why didn't I notice
leftovers of crunched bones and nails
on my plate?

The only other man at the table, I heard
was ordering for another plate.

the shapes that keep appearing on my electronic page
struggle to become signs communicating meaning
     that reaches people at their core
so they can simply not resist responding to a message
the sense of which only evolves when they allow
to let themselves get lost in the uncertainty
of these strange writings on the virtual wall

For so long
Wanted death

(From the womb
Hated life)

Now death nearby
Fear loathing terror

And prospective
Oblivion

How cruel
And sad

And unyielding

This solid slab
Of time

In any event
The mind goes
Telescopic

Time has me by the throat

And

Squeezing

These days it seems
I remember my early childhood
Better than the contents of my last meal
Dementia creeps.......

Right now,
I'm remembering one early evening
With four of us small boys
Sitting on a wall
Discussing the realities of the world
As we knew it

The moon was pale but visible
And a subject for discussion
As serious as old men playing chess
We wondered how far away it could be
One lad said it was farther than London
But we knew that was obviously wrong
After all
We could see the moon
No-one had seen London

                                       By Phil Roberts

it has come out in a rush of words, i do not wish to offend.



i have been studying history lately, and though i cannot spel

correctly always

i have to say that i am ashamed of my country too.



and the effect all these things have on people

who do not offend.



sbm.