Naked as Spring
Several propositions,
Like life,
Offer themselves to you
And to the heart of you.
They make themselves available
As naked as the newborn Spring.

It's your choice.
Several propositions,
Like your life,
Become themselves of you
Or of the heart of you.
Some make themselves inevitable
And you believe it's your choice

And now a silence
A crushing roaring silence;
As those propositions,
Chances
Become fewer and fewer
And in the heart of you
Some things become inevitable
And this very loud silence

And now this silence,
This bruising numbing silence,
As these dispositions,
Attitudes
Become stiffer and stiffer
And in the head of you
These things that are inevitable
Are getting slower and slower

Those naked Springs ago,
All those propositions,
Your life
Fasten themselves to you
And to the heart of you
You're getting older and older
And you're as naked as a bone

                                 By Phil Roberts

Little boy,
one day when you wake up and peer outside,
I hope you see flowers screaming in color and children dancing.
Little boy,
someday when you look up the sky
I hope you don't see gray,
but bright, bright, blue.
Little boy,
I hope the loudest noise you will ever hear
is your own laughter.
Little boy,
I hope one day you look at yourself
and don't see ruins,
but buildings standing tall,
guarding the city.
Little boy,
hope.

Just in the pubs and clubs
******* our own gear around
Seemingly, always upstairs
For weddings and birthday parties
Sorting out miles of wires
Well-worked practise

But when those amps were turned on
With an audible amplified thud
As switches are flicked
And their lights gaze like tiny red eyes
That's when I am ready

First number and the drums and bass
Connect to create new heartbeats
And now I'm into it
Not the man in the mill anymore
I'm the frontman for the band
And the music soars through me

As the night goes on and grows
The crowd has grown and is dancing
Gaining energy from the music
And feeding it back to us in turn
Now THIS is being alive

And so it was

                                 By Phil Roberts

793

Grief is a Mouse—
And chooses Wainscot in the Breast
For His Shy House—
And baffles quest—

Grief is a Thief—quick startled—
****** His Ear—report to hear
Of that Vast Dark—
That swept His Being—back—

Grief is a Juggler—boldest at the Play—
Lest if He flinch—the eye that way
Pounce on His Bruises—One—say—or Three—
Grief is a Gourmand—spare His luxury—

Best Grief is Tongueless—before He’ll tell—
Burn Him in the Public Square—
His Ashes—will
Possibly—if they refuse—How then know—
Since a Rack couldn’t coax a syllable—now.