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phil roberts Sep 2016
Now that I've lived all these years
And experienced so many things
With my march to Oldfartdom
On it's inexorable way
I've been thinking about the things I've learned
Perhaps to pass on to others

Well.......
It's like this
Life is wonderful
And life is ******
Love is elating
Love is devastating
Birth is a true miracle
Being a parent is scary
Money is a blessing
Whilst wealth is a curse
So......
What do I know?

                              By Phil Roberts
  Sep 2016 phil roberts
Joel M Frye
why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds
For my friends here and around the world on World Poetry Day.
phil roberts Sep 2016
A mind can burn
So white hot
That it bleaches the senses
And dislocates the soul
Did you know that?

And sleep can be terrifying
Because of haunting dreams
Dreams of huge steel wheels
With vicious toothed cogs
All waiting to catch and crush
As the dreamer slips and falls

Reality etches with acid
Ignoring hopes and plans
And the innocent shall scream
As the guilty creep away
Food turns to maggots
And drink turns to ****
And this is the intensity
Of madness

                             By Phil Roberts
phil roberts Sep 2016
The wind shuffles the long grass
And the broad green reeds
Shifting and rattling
By the rippling black water
Chuckling water fowl splash
Swans and cygnets hurry past
And the weather is on the turn
It's time to be heading home

The last of the daylight creatures
And the very first of those of the night
Are sharing this half-way hour
The sky restlessly moves and changes
And bruised clouds rush over head
Like the rubbed eye-lids of a child
A weary teary child
Going home and ready for bed

The slack and glossy water
Laps at the stone beneath bridges
Echoing with the ghosts of barges
And spits of rain flick the air
Studs of cold hitting the face
Turning a collar to the cheek
And urging aching feet
Home-fire yearning me home

                               By Phil Roberts
  Sep 2016 phil roberts
Stranger Blue
I'm not delusional.
I'm insane.
I have amnesia,
or is that my name?
I must have caught
the crazy reason train,
or it could be my loco motive brain.
phil roberts Sep 2016
Fear nothing
Because fear is always
Worse than the fact

                                       By Phil Roberts
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