Two poems got away last night when I was dozing
bolted out the door
before I knew it
laughing like fools
Stole my last two beers
and they were gone

“Ya see, officer,
They didn't have their names yet
so they don't know themselves at all
or to answer if I call
They misbehaved and
Never learned there's rules out there
I'm a lousy poet parent, yeah,
I know
I shoulda been tougher on 'em
Half their words 'er scattered
twisted, misspelled, unreadable, inept
with rhythms all askew 'n weighted wrong

They will surely fall over their own lines
and into big ****-trouble
***** little scribbles!
sorta clumsy like their mother"

Meanwhile, the grammar cop is thinking,
“They do not pay me enough for this!
I'm looking for children of the village idiot and a *****”

"...Across the yard and down the alley
They must've run
Hopin' they didn't figure out the stick
on the Toyota

I'll never see 'em again
Pretty sure they got my keys"

The cop is nodding, bored, polite
but I notice
He's written all this down

As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts

slipping past my bones
deeply over the rim

nightfall liquid rushing
through the crown
of my head
eyes wide, a-glow
            with new vision

Yes. I will meet you there
in subconscious phosphorescence
pools of knowledge
forming between
the feather weight
of our lashes

wait for me
for I am floating
stellar-dipped arms
outstretched,
feeling the particles
the soft space between our
eyes, aligned

Come
let us receive each other
in astral ease
a rocking delight
of non-physical
until we can one day

touch

Oh, Winter...
She says, “Come hither...”

She is an alluring *****
with her pure and virginal whites,
chaste as an egg.  Mm hmm.

Her flash frosts,
her intricate, fleeting diamonds,
her dew when she warms
drips and drops into ******* spears...
She pulls you in.

She pulls on you,
draws you,
milks you to the core.

She whispers “Come hither...”
in her squalls,
but she leaves only shells.
Such small feathered things,
stiffened and dead,
touched by Winter’s hand.

But she is beautiful,
and you...
You can not help yourself.