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 Dec 2019 Little Bear
Dominique
Give the knots that line my spine
The milky film that clots my eyes
The pride that grips my jaw
To be suspended

Hair blown out in rat-tail haloes
By soft ochre dispersions
To bob, a boat returned
Plunged into the myth of algae
Nymphs that bring dimension to the depths

To be an oil spill clearing canvas
A gliding watercolor rag or
Submerged irradiant water hag
Concealed by a cocoon

The overhang where beads of light
Exaggerate the urban dream
Freed from the stingy binds of gravity
The filthy nihilistic scene above

Just on display way down there
Beneath the ziplocked airless sky
For passers-by to glimpse the paradox
This wilful tragedy of mine

Through a waterlogged trachea
Umbilical cord to godliness stretched
Returned to me mangled and sore
Drowned in the canal of Little Venice.
"I had a dream I got everything I wanted"
With what wish would win
Soft silky sighs soaking sin?

Dirt beneath the nails
Heads beneath the hairs

With scent and with moan
With claws and with purr

Misty visage with a filled bed
Yet it could not be emptier.

How much sand can replace blood
Before life dries out and crumbles?
It burns,
The decaying heart within.
It eats,
A maggot feasting eternal

Love is not a gift
It consumes
Love is not a gift
It destroys

Yet we mortal plebs
Crave it and suckle every drop from another
We hopeless vagrants
Waste away within our addictions

Curse you!
With love!

Curse you!
With smiles!

Curse you!
With laughter, *** and sighs!

Curse you!
With my dying breath.

No curses of hate can I make as I say goodbye.
There's a shower of rain
Yet the sun still shines
There must be a rainbow
Somewhere

An old man nods in his chair
He came from nowhere
And went nowhere else
Journeying all the way

Now he journeys through time
Down the aching years
Things that he's seen and done
Some good and wondrous
And some of them terrible

An old man nods in his chair
Travelling
Behind closed eyes
All the things he's seen and done
The people he's known
All the things he's said
Within his nodding head

Tears pour down his face
Down the canyons grooved by time
And yet he smiles
Gently and softly
There must be a rainbow
Somewhere

                       By Phil Roberts
 Mar 2019 Little Bear
SophiaAtlas
A marvel millions of years in the making.
Where the womb of Earth chaotically meets the surface.
Under a clear blue sky, an expanse of bliss -
But beneath gray rolling clouds, an endless enigma.
The easiest world to get lost in
is one where everything can be found.

One can only build a sand castle where the sand is wet.
But where the sand is wet, the tide comes.
Will it gently lick at your foundations until you give in?
Or will a sudden wave send you crashing down in the blink of an eye?
Either way the outcome is the same.
Yet we still build sand castles.

I stand where the foam wraps around my ankles.
Where my toes squish into the sand.
The salty air is therapeutic.
The breeze is gentle, yet powerful.
I sink my toes into the ultimate boundary line, tempted by the foamy tendrils.
Turn back, and I abandon my peace to erode at the shore.
Drift forward, and I return to Earth forevermore.
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