between reality and imagination
between literal and figurative, the thin line,
is not there when I tuck my grandson in,  

all six wise years of him, and assure him
I’ll keep watch  to make sure  no dinosaurs come
and ****** him away in the night

but instead of feigned fright, he proclaims,
there are no more dinosaurs, for a meteor came,
and “****,” says he, they were all gone  

I don’t bother to tell him, some were incinerated  
in the blink of an eye, while millions of their cousins suffered
a slow, gray, choking fate in a forever winter  

still, he is content that I was there
to bid him goodnight, to turn out the light, and wage war
with whatever creatures remained to roam,

or stalk the streets outside  
his room, or any other gathering gloom  
in the spirit or in the flesh

you were born in Denver
during a white out blizzard

like all round babes,
you had no clue, what was in store for you
you couldn't have known...

you would be
the last nickel to ***** through
a five-cent coin phone box,
in El Paso, Texas

or that you would sleep
for a year in a piggy bank,
of a boy named Felipe, who would die
of white blood cancer, before
he could spend you

and who would have thought
you would be in the linty pocket
of a serial murderer named Ray, when
he was captured in Santa Fe, a sunny day
on the ancient square, stalking
his next victim

a jailer used you that very night
with a twin of yours he found in
another picked pocket, of a drunk drifter,
to buy a Hershey's bar, from a machine
that would have taken a dime as well

your face began to show the fingered
signs of age by the time the choppers found sky  
above the Saigon Embassy, where you had spent
an aching April night in the Ambassador's pants

when you turned a half century, you were tossed
into a gallon jug, e pluribus unum, no more special
than others a third your vintage

I finally met you today, only because chance landed you on
the top of the heap, waiting to be saved from further folly

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

Sleep.
First a wink,
Then a peep.
Neverland with general admission.
Slipping by in a second,
While taking it's time.
Proof time is long,
But short in memory.
Proof that they grow up so quick.
Evidence that death,
Is always right around the corner.
I can't get to sleep;
Sleep is getting to me.

Startled like a spring
Opened wide of eye
Suddenly a newness
Rushing pushing by
This mortal instant
Here
Now
See?

The black-edged pram
Softly ticking wheels
"Isn't it" and "Isn't it"
Squeak those ticking wheels
Passing always passing
Ever-changing sky
Moving always moving
Opened wide of eye
The black-edged pram
Goes softly ticking by

                                         By Phil Roberts

Pete and me had this mate called Charlie
He lived in Manchester
And he was a rogue
Whenever we called on him
He'd rub his hands and say
"What can I sell ya, boys?"

Once when we went
He opened a large drawer and
It was full of gold and silver rings
All types and all sizes
He opened the drawer beneath that
And it was full of ****** and vibrators
I kid you not

Another time we went he said to Pete
" I've got some leather jeans'll fit you,"
So Pete tried them on and they fit
Sort of
This was in the days before stretch fabrics
And what Charlie didn't mention was
These were womens' jeans
So Pete looked at me and said
"What d'you think?"
I tried not to laugh but failed
"They look like leather jodhpurs!
You look like a Hell's Angel equestrian!"

So that was Charlie
The last I heard
Bad people were looking for him
Apart from the police
I often wonder what happened to him

                                    By Phil Roberts

I was a child
Precocious and arrogant
Lost in the light
But you found me

I was ambitious
But lazy and proud
You took my hands
And taught me

You taught me
That there is so much more
To learning
Than knowing

With every class
I saw that my mind
Needed my hands
To succeed

I was a child
But you took me as more
And under your light
I grew

Because of you
I am more
Than a curious mind
And a wandering heart

Because of you
I am more
Than an arrogant child
And a clever girl

Because of you
I found my impossible soul
Had more to work with
Than impossibilities

And though I waited
To tell you these things
I hope you can hear them
My Enlightener.

Please rest in glory

She's a messy lover.
She's most beautiful
in wrinkled sheets
and unmade beds.
With tangled hair,
chapped lips,
and confidence,
she draws you close.
She's a slow kisser.
She savors
every breath
you draw from each other,
until you're
living inside of her
and her inside of you.
She's the painting
that was never finished,
but is somehow
a ******* masterpiece.
She's a puzzle
that you'll never figure out,
and for that
you'll only desire her more.
She will
tame you with her charm,
frighten you with her truth,
and
make you fall in love with her,
because
you will never find a woman
as
simply complex
as her...