Upon this starry night
In a breath of sparkling life
My grand-daughter was born
In a world full of beauty
As well as traps and snares
She faces her first dawn
And we can give no more than love
Nor offer more than guidance
And vow only to be constant
For that is more than so many have

And so I whisper to her

You are made of bright newness
Innocent of prejudice
So to yourself be true
For many would give you their bigotries
Sell you their corrupted histories
But your truth lies within you
You, the blood of my blood
The child of my child
Have moved me beyond reason
At the wonder of creation

                                     By Phil Roberts

Never trust the establishment
They do not exist for our benefit
For they believe  that we exist
For their convenience
Their only purpose is self-perpetuation
And they think that our only function
Is to accommodate that purpose
Whereas our true cause should be
To get rid of the *******

                                        By Phil Roberts

He rolled up yesterday
Out of nowhere
As always
My old friend and me
Sharing news of families
And where he's living now
With a million memories between us
We laughed about the past
Gossiped about the present
Who's with who these days
Why when and where
Gigs and music
As always
But we never mentioned the future
We rarely do these days

                                        By Phil Roberts

Let me be easy
to let me rest my head and close my eyes.
Let me be at peace
with the world and even myself.
Let my weary soul rest.
May the demons sleep tonight.

                                       By Phil Roberts

There are times in my life
When all I want to do
Is to disappear
No plans
No questions
And no recriminations
Just disappearance
To nowhere

                            By Phil Roberts

The comedian starts off with
"Ladies and gentlemen,
It's wonderful to be here in downtown Telford..."
Enid in the audience says, " Ew, I don't like his
shirt. What colour would you call that...puce?"
Edna says, " Looks more like puke to me."
Giggle giggle giggle
The comedian carries on unaware
"Yes, downtown Telford.
The Hollywood stars all holiday here y'know.
Oh yes, the place is awash with champagne and *******."
He smiles ruefully. "Asif. I'm lucky to get brown ale...
and all that gets up my nose is the wife!"
Enid says, "I don't get that."
The comic continues,
"My wife is very demanding y'know....
She says to me recently that she wants more ***!
The ****** woman's never satisfied....."
Edna says, "That reminds me....
how did you go on with him from packing?"
"Well...." says Enid.........
and the comic continues
"More *** at her age.......!
So, I thinks to meself, I'll play along, so
I says....What's the matter with you!
Ain't once a year enough for you?
Quick as a flash she says, "No it ain't.
I'm sick of waiting for Santa!"
Enid says ".....I just saw this purple thing.
I had no idea what it was 'till I touched it!"
Much laughter ensues
And comedy continues.

                                By Phil Roberts

Come here and listen to me
There are ugly deep shadows
Where things could be leering
Snarling and hungry
Heavy and threatening
****** in the wriggling damp
The age dripping damp
Where dead leaves rot and fatten the earth
Come close and listen to me

Don't go down there
No, don't go down there
They're doing strange things in the dark
You shouldn't have come to the park
On your own
Don't go walking alone

This is no place for one so young
And soft
Delicately tremblingly white
And soft
Run home with your soul gripped tight
Before someone
Some muddied gritty  someone
Touches
In the shadows and shrubs
And the night

                             By Phil Roberts

A hippy sits on the ground
Eyes glazed and idiot smile
Singing loud and proud
"Were you there when
they crucified my gourd!"
Night-eyes see as they prowl

A group of young girls passing by
Look at him and laugh out loud
All dressed in their weekend best
Bright and tightly fitting dresses
Their aim is for an older sophistication
But their unknowing youth makes them miss
And night-eyes miss none of this

Around the corner there are three guys
Too busy to even watch the girls go by
Two are hustling the one to do deals
They've got something he wants to buy
"But it's the price boys, it's the price."
They haven't  noticed the cops close by
Night eyes see all that passes in the night

"Hey baby, d'you want a little fun?"
Says the woman in the short tight skirt
"You want a date with me, hon?"
She continues her professional flirt
But she knows it's too early yet
They need drink before they pay for her dirt
But the Friday night-eyes see the hurt

                                                       By Phil Roberts

Slender and tenuous reasons
Run through the droplets of motive
Which impel us in our actions
Direct us to  our self-fulfilling fates
Our cleverly devised mistakes
For we each bear the scars
Of our own fatal flaws
Victims of our own design
As I have been of mine
Haven't you?

I am the saboteur of my dreams
Picking at the seams
Of a braver me
A wiser and unlikelier me
All my tendencies and traits
Conspire and defeat me
To subtly beat me
About my empty head
With every word I've said
Every thought I've had
And that's why

                       By Phil Roberts

Coughing like a cold start
Wheezing like a bag
Spitting through the back door
Have another ***
Doing the dying thing

Filling up an ash-tray
Feeding a fat face
Drinking cans of lager
Getting in a state
Doing the dying thing

Reading ****** papers
**** and bingo cards
Have another lager
Another pound of lard
Doing the dying thing

Sitting watching game shows
Rattling paper bags
Looking bored and farting
How the sofa sags
Doing the dying thing

Working for a *******
For very little pay
Yes boss and no boss
For eight hours a day
Doing the dying thing

Safely empty headed
Dull of thought and eye
Ignorant and vacant
There are many ways to die
Doing the dying thing

                                       By Phil Roberts

When your footsteps falter and slip
Hold on to me
If your eyes fill with tears
And the future seems blurred and distant
I'll be there to take your hand
You may not see me
But you'll feel me there
Right beside you
Always
So hold on to me

                        By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

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

In little over two years
I have had more scans
Than a supermarket checkout
There is more of my blood in path labs
Than I have in my body
I've had nasty painful biopsies
Things up my **** and cameras down my neck
There have been countless appointments
At four different hospitals
As well as being hospitalised five times
Including one minor operation
And two major ones
I now have ******* up kidneys
Veins like ropes and arms like Twiglets
And more scars
Than a bad knife-throwers assistant
But what the hell !
I'm still growing old disgracefully
HA !!

                               By Phil Roberts

Caution?
I never quite got the hang of that
Never a gambler as such
I have been a creature of impulse and instinct
Of uncertain intent
Unknowing and unmeaning
I have created crackling static
Out of consequence and recrimination
Trying not to hurt anyone
I do right by no-one
But I cannot change my gypsy way
I have always said and will always say
I won't die wondering
I hope I will die laughing
But not today

                                             By Phil Roberts

The tenderness that you give
Makes trash of clever words

                                     By Phil Roberts

I've been lucky over the years
And I've saved enough money
To last for the rest of my life
As long as I die on Tuesday
                                
                                      By Phil Roberts

The dawn has turned the dimmer up
Painting the watery sky grey
And the dew hangs everywhere
Like polished tears glinting
And an early sign of impending spring
As the birds begin their choral efforts
Later in the year they will sound like
A busy open air market
As the business of the day begins
And breakfasts are squabbled over

                                           By Phil Roberts

I do nothing about the sunrise
It just happens
Like moments and days
On and on
There is a rhythm if not a theme
I do nothing about the theme

I did nothing to be born
It just happened
Like tides and moons
It was easy
I was there at the right time
All I had to do was be there

I know nothing about our fate
Though it exists
Like time and death
Always there
There is a fact if not an end
I know nothing about the end

THE END

                 By Phil Roberts

To casual observers he seemed to be dead
But those that knew him could tell he was dancing
There was a latent devastation lurking
Behind those strange hungry eyes
Which remained stationary with a speed that was treacherous
Well-trodden paths could be seen in there
Definitely a man of extreme possibilities
An absolute play on words
This is very tiring whilst cornering
Here comes another corner

Sharp as a pencil and twice as right
Exceed with caution and a perhaps

To those who knew him he seemed to be dead
But casual observers could tell that he was dancing
All around the bonfire
He could have been naked with writing on his body
If he had only wanted to badly enough
An ambition
Please turn the corner

Sharp as a twig and twice as wooden
Have you noticed how much today is now
It makes you know something could happen
Danger lurks on every breath
Adventure in your very feet
Proceed with greatest caution and something
To peep from behind

To casual observers
And those who knew him well
They agreed he wasn't at his best
Rest assured that nothing's certain

                                          By Phil Roberts

I am so tired
And it's the kind of tiredness
That no amount of sleep or rest
Can ever cure or ease
World weary is what I am

All my life
For as long as I can remember
I've been fighting for or against
Something
Anything
I only knew the fight

Bodies become battered and broken
And minds become anxious and paranoid
But both of these can be fixed
However
When a soul becomes worn and diminished
Medication does not help

                                            By Phil Roberts

When I was little
My mother bought me a tiny sailor suit
Why?
We didn't even live near the sea
However
She and grandma decided to take me to town
To show me off in my new suit
And so I was scrubbed up shiny
My unruly hair was plastered to my head
And proud smiles were exchanged
But
They must have looked away for a second
Because the next thing they knew
My sailor suit was stuffed down the toilet
And I was doing a runner up the road
Completely naked
My first protest made

                               By Phil Roberts

On cloudless moonlit nights
When the world is silver and darkest blue
And silence seems to reign supreme
If you stretch your hearing inwards
You will hear the distant moans
Of long lost lonely dreams
Homeless and obsolete
Fading away
To become endless shadows

                                           By Phil Roberts

Jokers and knaves are wild cards
As ever they were
What fateful houses these make
Breath-held balancing
Precarious shelters
Gamblers and wanderers
With tumbleweed roots
Clinging air instead of earth
The stuff of fools and stars
And someone's days and years
Are made only of this
This thrilling despair

Jokers and knaves and kings and queens
And some of subtler meaning
Mean nothing but paper
Numbers and trembles
Dry-mouthed mumbles
Prayers to a ruthless god
With no reason to pity fools
And a dark love of sacrifice
Yet still desperate belief
Huddled behind swollen eyes
Contradicts every probable outcome
And falls and spins

                        By Phil Roberts

You stand before me like a wall
Awaiting the character of graffiti
You see me as some frozen myth
Within the solid ice of past
You see no movement
Such short and shallow vision
I am already you and more
Listen to my years
Read the maps of my scars
Why insist on fresh blood of your own?

You are not me
Nor am I less
And you don't know anymore
It's different now
You're out of touch

Have new emotions been discovered?
New hungers?
New desires?
New hatreds?
New loves?

Different containers
Same emotions

                      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

The snow has buried
Yesterday's promise and shoots of spring
Nature's beautiful cruelty
Can only delay the inevitable rebirth
Which will activate the soil
And paint this piece of world once more
With bright living colours
And the chance to hope

                                        By Phil Roberts

Some things are indelibly written
Where mysteries and fates dwell

                                      By Phil Roberts

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

There are no Apaches
With flaming arrows and piebald ponies
There are no writhing jungles round here
There are no lost temples
Hiding untold treasures
There are no damsels to be rescued
By a knight on a white charger
There are no pirates on the high seas
No skull and crossbones flying
Above a deck bristling and glistening
With cutlasses and flintlocks ready
And hook hands and black eye-patches
In the sunlight of the Spanish Maine
There are no interplanetary wars
With hand-held laser guns
And weird creatures from strange worlds
They just do not exist
I learned this when
I was very very young
And I really wanted to be a pirate

                                    By Phil Roberts

When I was a young man
A heedless headlong consumer of life, was I
Above and beyond the norm or necessity
I wore paths deep and wide
To the pleasure centres of my brain
And I rode my soul like an easy *****
Oh happy daze of hedonism
How sweet life tasted then

If there was drink to drink
We drank it
If there were songs to sing
We sang them
If there were fights to fight
We fought them
We had fast feet and faster wits
If there was hell to raise
We raised it
Excess and adventure in equal parts
How fast, how high we flew back then

And then the magic playground
Became a bleak and dangerous place
Peopled by predators and prey
In an ever changing food chain
And I was only one step away
From the totally oblivious
One brain cell ahead of
The permanent reality challenged
Then friends began casually dying
Barely noticed in the rush to join them
Now the race is on
And I have grown old and slow

                                              By Phil Roberts

Narcosis wafts on the air
Pollinating the senses
Spreading dust on the years
Softening corners and edges
Disguising shapes
Until there is no point anymore
Nothing clear to be seen
But something pierced the skin

Wrecked witless and reckless
I have walked here all my days
In this land of rant and cant
Home of the brave and me
And I, the sentimental fool
Would keep the dream alive
Of gentle Wodehouse summers
And a myth of Christmas snow
Victorian values

Daylight is brighter here
So bright it laughs for joy
Dapple-dancing and doting
With no thought of cloud or rain
Not one word of unpleasant truth
No hint of hypocrisy
Here in Narcosis England
Everything is fine

                            By Phil Roberts

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

It has to be said that
I've always thrived in dives
And stumbled in polite society
You see, I tend to talk too much
And laugh in all the wrong places
These modern eternals hate me
Because I smoke and I'm still alive
And I constantly smell of tobacco
So I'll stick to the dives
And the undemanding low-lifes
Who, like myself
Simply do not care

                             By Phil Roberts

When the dragons are scraping at your door
The beasts of frustration and angry tears
I shall slay them with mighty truth

And in the night when they tap at your window
The dragons called Loneliness and Doubt
I shall wrap you in my warmth and love

I am your Dragonslayer, dear damsel
Awaiting your command

                                        By Phil Roberts

Oh, spinner of dreams
In the depth of imagination
Spin a dream for me
A tale of adventure and romance
Of myth and magic
And fragrant mystery
Spin lively for me
To take me elsewhere
To a place where gravity's pull
Is minimal
And reality
Has no hold at all

                                         By Phil Roberts

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

Hello
It's me again
It's the early hours and I'm slightly drunk
And it's me again

He has the sins of his mind
Which keep him warm inside
Amidst the weary and the wasted
Such warmth keeps him alive

Restless
I've always been restless
I hate to move yet I can't sit still
Hours are endless

There is a thrush inside his head
An agony of wings
Panic beaten thrashing
A cage of singing things

Anxious
Still always anxious
Even though I've slowed right down
This edge is ageless

Laying low and watching
A million sub-plots hatching
Paranoid and paranormal
He scatters to survive

                                    By Phil Roberts

Let me be easy
to let me rest my head and close my eyes.
Let me be at peace
with the world and even myself.
Let my weary soul rest.
May the demons sleep tonight.

                                       By Phil Roberts

Once the beginning is over
It starts beginning to end

                                  By Phil Roberts

Look at me
Look at me
I'm scared into flames
And I feel there ought to be a joke round here
Somewhere
Hold onto me
Hold onto me
I'm flying into space
And I can't find anything that matters here
Nothing really matters

Flying high
Flying way too high
With nothing to hold onto
And needing nothing at all
Because everything is possible
So, let my wings glisten in the sun
For tomorrow I crash hard into the ground


                                           By Phil Roberts

Won't you sing for me,
Please?
It's been so long
Since I thrilled to the trills and warbles
Of your living song
This confused and bruised winter
Has defied nature's logic
So, set the world to rights
And sing for me
To remind me
That I'm part of something
That still remains wild
And vivid

                            By Phil Roberts

I always seem to have needed lots of time
To stare......at nothing
I went through my entire education
Staring through windows
At nothing much
Indeed, the essence of a good stare,
Is not to focus on anything
But to find that comfortable place
Where thoughts can wander
To find nourishing places to dwell
Where poetry is born

                                     By Phil Roberts

They lie warm together
In the afterglow of torrid love
Her head on his chest, he says
"Sing me to sleep, my love"
So she hums and croons
A tune he does not recognize
With soothing sounding words
In a language he does not recognize
"I love you," he murmurs as his eyes close
"I know," she says smiling
And so, as he sleeps
She lies open-eyed
Imagining a future he will not recognize

                                        By Phil Roberts

A simple man is what I am
I went to no university
Or college of theology
And no doubt that's why I'm confused

It occurs to me, when we see
Leaders and generals of all countries and creeds
Celebrate their victories with smiling pride
Shouldn't they be weeping with shame
For all the innocents who've died?

They all believe that their god is on their side
And quite often, the same god at that
All down the ages, our venerable sages
Have killed, tortured and oppressed each other
In the name of the wishes of god

Now I'm just an ignorant sinner
So can someone please explain
What kind of god do these people believe in
That needs the destruction of his own creations
And all in his holy name?

                                                          ­­  By Phil Roberts

The frost has everywhere
Spread with glittering white
And the air is still and silent
Not one breath of breeze
Moves the stark and naked trees
And the dawn is peace

                                By Phil Roberts

It's midnight soon
So I'm off to bed to read
May all of your dreams
Make you smile in your sleep

                                    By Phil Roberts

Spinal necessity exists
Between ludicrous *****
And the pulsating brain
Lumbering and slobbering
Separate from the mind
Which is tuned to distraction
Feeling every nuance
As a ricochet
For this sensitivity is not delicate
But damning and demanding

Tentative toes step around
Lightly sleeping memories
Which will bawl upon waking
Demanding delivery
Into the light of recognition
But, evading perspective
They become demonic in aspect
Causing crashes
Stamping all over corpses
Bringing them alive
And each of these ghastly debutantes
mutters softly
"Dream of me"

                                By Phil Roberts

He wakes in the morning
More tired than when he went to bed
He makes his coffee with too much milk
The TV news is pretty much the same as yesterday
Just the faces and names may change
The rain pours outside his window
Washing the colour from the day
And he is reminded of a phrase he heard
So often in the mills
A catchphrase of despair
"If this is living, roll on death"

                                             By Phil Roberts

Dripping with gory sarcasm
The sharpest tongue cuts a dash
The house speciality is cruelty
Naturally
And so, gathered revellers
To the evening's main course
An innocent
A babe amongst blades
Who'll carve?

With glinting teeth and cutlery
Feasting on the lamb begins
An ideal from each bone that's chewed
Is spat upon the floor
And they're snatching and snarling for more
More succulent and pure
Fresh blood for the body politic
Come to the party
Who'll pour?

                                By Phil Roberts