we look in wonder at the night sky
but the night sky is struck silent
looking back at the Earth.

It was years ago , A fellow writer who felt it was there duty in life to judge others wrote me.

Dear John

I have read a few of your works and believe someone needs to tell you to save you the embarrassment .

Your antics are not talent your
words are muddled at best .
And your gutter sense of humor is childish and truly a embarrassment to us serious writers.

You should probably seek out a workshop or look to your fellow writers for some tips or maybe just stop writing altogether .

I read the message and laughed .
I have over thirty works in publication and far more on the way .

Opinions are like *******.

And to that writer I shall leave unnamed .

Who's words fall flat on the sidewalk like a **** from a mongrel dogs ***.

Hope your doing well.
I never listened then and I **** sure am not listening now.

When you hand out advice you better make **** sure your standing on solid ground before you cast a opinion

Keep writing is all I can tell you .

Through the rejections and the people that tell you to give up .

You will pass them all by eventually.

******* are not a dying breed.

Cheers

Gonz

All of the shining mad ones
With their heresies of reality
And other visions and other voices
Are not diminished
By the multitude of choices
That is their truth
Upon each waking day

They are woken by the howl
From beyond the first ear
And into the deeper mind
Where there is other language
And blinding colours of emotion
For madness has the purity of pain
That martyrs can only long for

                                           By Phil Roberts

I hung on her laughter my bad jokes kind of filled the void between us.
Like a fog of ciggertte smoke that cast its illusion over the room I sat as we spoke over the phone.

My drinks flowed and my words slurred .
She hung on the line.
The best kind always do.

It was the simple flirts that keep the soul young and the liver well its a sad customer to begin with on my side.

I imagined are time together in person.
And she shook her head , Wondering was there more beyond the train wreck of a person on the other end of the line.


I poured another .

"You should probably slow down don't you think?'

"Yeah probably but with company like your's sweetheart who would ever want the night to end".

She laughed .
"Your so full of **** ".

"Tell me something I don't know sweetheart".

Even when I was drunk I was a first class ******* artist.
And a grade a smart ***.

I kept her laughing and although she would't admit she was having fun.

She was tired though and me I  was a night owl besides I was never eager to face the silence of a long night ahead.

"I'm so tired lets go to bed"
She said half asleep not realizing the words she had spoken.

"Why darling I thought you'd never ask "

She busted up laughing .
"You know what I meant good Lord your just gonna have a heyday with that one aren't you"?

"Oh now sweetheart would I ever give you **** bout a simple slip like that"?

"You ****** I bet you write about me saying that you watch"

I pretended to be mildly insulted joking the whole time.

"Me exploit something said in the  privacy of are personal conversation darling"

"I'm shocked you would ever think I could sink so low ".

"Goodnight John".

She said said as she hung up the phone and the warmth I felt just turned a tad bit colder as I faced yet the rest of my night alone.


Be careful what you say to writers.
The red light in my minds always recording.

And this rose is for you my dear.

Sincerely your favorite fiend

John

The inner spin which once spun within
Is slowly rolling on the outside
And interest wanes into a feathery sunset
Above a vague horizon

Questions cascade into a mist of dreams
Without purpose or need of answers
There are other things to do
I'll smile if you want me to

Standing alone by a closed window
Just watching nothing happen
Writing on the misted glass
Slowly falling
Away

                              By Phil Roberts

You carry your memories
shaped in sadness, and the glad
yellows of suns setting
into seas of blue thought.

The ache of the weight
of your life, the bareness
of fatigue, the soft depression
left by sorrow, a soul embossed
with a notary’s seal, the truth
that can be sworn then lost,
a kiss in front of a stranger.

Sad that you have forgotten
the what, or when, or where
of Neruda’s beauty of a sonnet.

Yet you know the dark
space between the shadow
and the soul, the slowing
of eyelids closing.

You who build hopeful temples
to possibility, mirrors of light
to warm yourself by the flame
of offering, a dance born in sweet
smoke, the incense of conciliation, supplication, the medication of desire.

Rest my friend, wherever you are
and don't forget to remember
when you get older and colder,
it is only the winter of a new world.