The universe closes in on me
galaxies align
in matrices of light

This moment was never
meant to be

I'm a cloud
telling tales to the sky
a bit of wind
and I'll be gone

The moment slips through
my fingers
water into the well
while time
that mortal dragon
is readily slain
for there are no dragons
time is a myth
and this universe
bends backwards upon itself
eating its remains
and issuing forth
new life
in a fugue of renewal

again
and again.

The words that leave my lips
Shall disappear
Like breath in cold air
Going nowhere
Meaning nothing

These poems into which
We pour our hearts
Other than the smallest few
Shall be lost in endless cyber space
Like billions of trillions of others

The loves that we swear eternally
Can last no longer than lovers' lives
It shall be negated by death
Other than to an unknown
And unknowing energy

                                        By Phil Roberts

On a windswept plain in a quiet place,
Beneath the stars in the moonlight’s glow,
Memories drift on the rising tide
As feelings flow through the seams of time.

Bound together they whirl and spin,
Weaving threads into fleeting glimpses.
These little thoughts are born to feel.
The meal’s been ground on the miller’s wheel.

A misty vision settles in.
It grows into a mighty swell.
Rolling over the present tense,
It leaves the heart with no defense.

No fence can bind this fertile field.
Its earthy yield is what we feel
But wrapped around on the spinning wheel
We’ll twist and turn ‘till those feelings heal.

The starlight sings to the dead of night
crimson lullabies from times long gone,
stories of sorrow, love and might
that keep the dark entranced til the break of dawn.

Though the sun rises, outshining the stars
their shimmering voices can still be heard,
their silver tongues weave tales of Mars
the great God of War and the battles he spurred.

They croon of the lovely Venus, goddess of love
whose body beguiled the lustful soul of man,
whose beauty enchanted realms below as above
and inspired tomes of poetry as only woman can.

As the sun grows weary and his brilliance fades,
and the cotton candy sky gives way to ebony,
as the phantom moon begins her promenade,
the stars reemerge and resume their symphony.

Cold beer fills a chilled mug
The crackle of tobacco , the creak
of a rocker , the croon of crickets ,
Alabamas distant thunder* ...

Deer run in brown grass , water bugs strike
the porch light , cars hum along the distant highway ,
cicadas foretell the shroud of night ...

Clocks become amplified , ceiling fans -
tickle door chimes
Drab curtains brush plastered walls , dry
corn fields trill , crackle and moan

The final slurp of Michelob as -
someones trash crawls down a forgotten country road ...

Remember something that ties,
Something that holds
Holds the stilled face
In the cavernous heart,
Like a shirt worn
In a way that it tore
Itself into your mind,
Because they cannot see
Time and the finite body
Cannot contain the soul,
But remember the spirit
Of the displays through flesh,
Because the infernal
Tear that burns
Upon dying cheeks whom
Utter hate and love
With last breaths at the same
Time joy and sorrow complete
Then whispered life,
They cannot wear another
Sleave, adjust another collar,
Wear that shirt in a certain way,

Because the body
Is only action
In a windfall,
And every one grows apart
To syncing the mad pace
Toward death,
Because the earth swallows
All,
Please, please remember
Something that ties,
A memory's drift
The eye of invisible winds.

Pitiful October sunbeam
Warm nutmeg concoctions
Visible morning tide breath , cherry cheekbones ,
gas lamps , golden leaves o'er cobblestone
Silvered gardens , blue eyes hold pine grove
reflections , knitted scarves , Fair- day candy apple
obsessions
Magenta Dusk , harvest time orb , funnel cake
wisp in the fleeting , western Sun
Barkers , musicians , cider and ale
The windy pull of nights clutter , the Autumn wail

the banners are blowing steady
(fully extended in the hot august wind)
contemporary in style
tightly trimmed
and all gloriously dressed
in the latest colors and hues
it’s a fleeting distraction though
as the caskets
and children
and grieving widows
are rolled steadily across
the burning tarmac

it’s the beginning
of that inevitable
two part proceeding
a skotoma for the ages
delusionary in nature
rich in grays
and eerily reminiscent
of that foreign reign
clipped in silence
with dark roots of fear
set deep in the bowels
of a chapter
of unimaginable sin

indifference as pronounced
as the accompanying salutes
haphazard sentiments that are
cloaked in the horror
of endless
aborted days
forgotten buggies
and bunkers
and rat packs
how could the switch
be set so wrong?

it’s truly an illusion
(this way of the world)
simple indulgence can grow
so beastly and consuming
try telling the tale to the
tibetan monks
or broad peak sherpas
(those boys know how to get it done!)
how to bask in
the ice cold waters
how to savor
the lava hot falls
couldn’t the others
have figured this one out?

the flags have settled
at half mass
and are tinted
in a charred yellow brown
the lifeless dreams
and inspirations now
in the rear view
leif running solo
(exempt of his trusted gunners)
ready for the numbered lines
his eyes open
to the ever changing
enemy at hand