pigeons still
wait for meals
by that bench
where Sun once grew
in tufts of gold

girls skipping classes
to window shop
their scarves wild
and their nails chipped

tough boys go out and smoke
and cough and dance
and act brave
and cut their hair
in the dark

and words of a new language
tumble down our tongues
head over heels
tasting strange
but falling into place
after all

Sticky sweet memories
cling to the side
of my mason jar mind

Like blackberry jam.

Berries plucked
and kisses stolen
beneath a sultry summer sky.

Nothing but sweat and
white teeth and
purple stained finger tips.

But now it's cold--
too cold
for blackberries.

I spread what's left
of the jam
on some dry toast

And savor the taste.

On a beach at night
Moon shines across the water
Until the sun comes

Tears of sorrow,
  tears of joy

Conjoin together,
  laughter’s toy

Tears of sadness,
  tears of mirth

Their wellspring one,
—a dual birth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

With his head in his hands
And his heart on his sleeve
He closes his eyes against the light of day
And against his quiet despair
He pretends it is not real

But part of him knows
Deep down amongst half-remembered dreams
Emotions that appear from nowhere
And linger
Every cell of him knows

He knows a loss without closure
A conversation without words
Dreams without endings
And hoping without hope

He hears a knock on the door
But no-one walks in
He puts his head in his hands
And his heart on his sleeve
He pretends it is not real

                                           By Phil Roberts

When Phyllis tells you she'll
Always have a special place
In her heart for you, she means
Way back in a dark and forgotten
cobwebbed corner of the basement
Behind a dusty box of Mason jars,  
And a broken rocking horse that
Will never trot again.