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Face Time.

I showed her her face.
She wouldn't look. I said.
Look.
See how beautiful you are.

It took days.
It took months.
She looked.
She could not. But finally did.

I said. Please say hi to yourself.
Say "Hi Leslie". It took a while.
So many tears.
She finally started to look and say hi.

This went on and on.

There were so many slips.
Falling back down to despair.
Oh our love seemed so desparate.
So unfair.

I started saying we won't sleep,
Each night
Until we resolve it.
So we did, we sat in the bathtub.

Talking and talking 'til resolve, came.

More years.
Building and building.
Life became our family.
Alone, then two children. Finally seven.

It seemed like climbing from hell to heaven.

Sure it was hard.
Sometimes it was fun.
Rolling back down.
when trouble would come.

Disease came. Physical. Mental.
Both sides of the coin.
Through weakness and trouble.
We shared in our pain.

The children grew up
at least they could see
Love.
That was shared by Leslie and me.

Now that we are old.
Grandchildren and dogs.
I'm so far away from it all
For income from the desert.

She.
Lives by the sea.
Near where it all took place.
We share through computer
Face to Face.

She looks at mine.
I look at hers.
A little relection of each.
Each day when we say.
Hi.
With Face Time.

8 Jan. 2016
Dr.mgm
make each other happy
if you can and when you can
and especially when feel you can’t
because opportunity often eludes us

we're all colour and bliss as we sit
fleeting guests at the table of life
where we learn to savour the sweets
of the world's ephemeral treats

when our little dance in the sun is done
like butterflies we fold our wings
till the next flight, as memories mope around
in the vaults of our shared experiences

thinking and feeling something's just not enough
and never thinking and feeling anything's just as rough
so while there's time for hope, love and sincerity
have a heart to heart talk about the things that really matter
this is most likely the final version
The days can raise colorless
Born among mysterious everybodies,
The Sad Ones carry shreds of darkness
With them tangled in the fringes
Of their lives.
They cannot drag another down,
They give happiness where
None can be taken,
They can illuminate
The saddest people and take
Their pain like an offering.
They walk among the souls
With silent faces and drowsy
Existence.
The Sad Ones
Disperse into the Winters' depths
Where winter honors grey days
And starless nights.
From their secrets or pains
Come a gathered endurance
And can illuminate with
A wisdom of regret and sorrow,
Like colored plumes of dark flora
They roam spinkled among
The masses to bring the bright side
Of things they know nothing of.

They have wings,
The Sad Ones do,
Gentle but firm wings gilded
In murmured words never spoken,
Winds of the lovers never taken,
Watching moonrises
Over sighing waves.
Their home is a lonely peak
Where clouds sit on mountains
And forever remain,
There they reflect on the sadness
Of most kisses and symbolic love.
And they are forgotten when
The people encounter them,
Though misery loves
A little company, the others do not
Stay in the dark.

The Sad Ones,
They are dreams forgotten,
A smile returning,
The bring about the light for others
In their dark lonesome hearts,
They are hidden away like memory,

And they keep other smiling
As they sigh above the moonlit waves
Sighing in the darkness.
Poetry gives the magic back to words
and makes words flesh again
as it was in the beginning
till our quantum-leap thoughts
spurred on by incantatory rhythms
often like latterday Gregorian chants
materialize into the dancing silhouettes
of solid but surrealistic forms in fantastic hues
thus the poet is the custodian of creation from nothing
poem enhanced and expanded
When it's late
Don't mess with sticky notions
Don't fool with dangerous spaces
There is no peace in such locations
And time shall have all traces
Of the needed restraint and sobriety
To see us to our dotage

But then
How else are we to grow?
And then again
Who  wants a dotage?

Because when it's late
Mocking caverns of reality yawn
And toil tedium and trivia
Are in the eyes of statues
And these cry glass marble tears
Because they cannot move
They cannot leave the ground
Their lowered heads like ageing flowers
Sadly shrunken and dried
With a gluttony of hours
And all love of life long gone
That's when it's late

                                 By Phil Roberts
bright, light
i thought 'illumination'
in truth, it was blinding
they taught 'hope'
they were lying.
time, fleeting
a while ago, it felt like forever
goodnight, maybe i'll see you later

darkness, white in shreds
it took me a while but
i found truth, in the dark
the bright is a lie, there is no hope
things aren't so easy, no, not at all...

this light's all gone
drowned out by black
i could hope to go back
but it's no use
things can't ever be the same

gosh, where'd the time go?
i think i have places to be
sorrow is built up but it doesn't mean a thing
goodbye, old me

light
dark
take away the color
this is real
light
fake
i wonder
empty, dark... still
some metaphorical crap
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