How the nights went on
Barely marked by the dawn
Madness and chemically driven
Hardly bothering to think
Just pass me a drink
Parties and music a given

Laughing too loud
In the heat of the crowd
And reaching far too far
Jokes and laughter
Now and hereafter
Following a falling star

                                     By Phil Roberts

I have moved to a different drum
With odd and peculiar rhythms
Dancing awkwardly through life
On my two flat clumsy feet
It is not the way I chose
To step on innocent toes
But the wildness of my dance
Has had no easy flow
The blame lies entirely with me
It's a genetic thing, you see
I am no more than this
The son of the gypsy's kiss

                                By Phil Roberts

I know that there have been times,
down the bruised and misread years,
when I have been hard and cold.
Perhaps even seeming to be cruel
But, please remember who I am
And where it is I've come from.
Born to gossip and scandal
and raised in the family war zone,
trust and tenderness, at times,
seem illusory to me.
Unknowable.
Like smoke in my hands.
But I still try.

                                  By Phil Roberts

Mothers are drowning their
children and piercing
hearts with nails
because they
fear ISIS

and Jordanian
military will
eventually
slaughter
them like

goats.