The weekends are definitely the worst
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The weekends are definitely the worst
Having got thru the last five lonely days
Experiencing the life of a single man

Well baby it’s not fun. I so miss you.
Even though I have a free reign in everything
Everyday the freedom to explore new things
Kind people tell me each n every day heals
Even though the weekends are definitely worst
Notwithstanding , it’s only 8 weeks since you
Died in my arms on that Saturday morning.
Saturday’s have become a dark day for me

As I miss you babe, reciting my poetry to you
Reciting the entreaties I wrote of togetherness
Every day I spent with you were happy days

Days filled with mutual and unconditional love
Even as we gave each other everlasting love
Failing to ever take death into consideration
I think the weekends are definitely the worst
No as I lay here in my very lonely apartment
And watching happy people enjoying life
They act as if they think nought has happened
Even if they do know and display condolences
Like it’s a band-aid over to mend my sad heart
You know Baby that I will never get over you.

The weekends are definitely the worst
Having made recompense to your children
Experiencing the slow ostracism death brings

Weekdays can be filled with many things to do
Only reaching Saturday...I crash land burnt out
Remembering that tragic day of all days.
So my Darling I sit and write my poetry.
The weekends are definitely the worst

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Written by Philip.
November 10th 2018.

The long and winding road.   (4)
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The long and winding road.
Have you any idea what it’s like driving here
Especially in the desert hundreds of miles

Long distances never agreed with me,driving
Or did I want to take this trip in the first place?
Not ‘til my Daughter called me three days ago
God knows who she got ******* with this time

After all we did for her ..  sent her to boarding
Nine years old. Yes I guess that was so young
Didn’t see her much for the next seven years

When she left home at sixteen. Now she’s 20
I  never heard from her till now...? Oh dear.
No doubt she won’t recognise me I’m aged.
Divorced her mother three years last week
I sit at home all day writing poetry. It’s a drug
No I can’t stop writing n posting and critiquing
Got divorced ‘cause  of that. She hates poems

Rhyming was also a problem , I talk in rhyme.
On Sunday I talk in Biblical phrases. Don’t ask.
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. !!  
Daddy hears you Baby. I’m still on my way. !!!  

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Written by Philip
November 9th  2018.
Episode (4)
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Respect for the other poets point of view
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Respect for the other poets point of view.
Especially if we talk of poetic justice
Some say you get out of life what you put in
Poetry critique is most important it takes time
Every poem read can be acknowledged with a
Click to the heart or thumbs up icon box.
Though I prefer to give an in-depth comment

For me it pays the fees for my poetic license
Oh I know the other way is quick n sterile
Respect for the other poets point of view.

The work expands to fit the time availability
Hair should be kept on if responding critique
Especially if to you it is rude or offensive

Only sometimes comments  r lost in translation
The meaning very different in other ethnicity’s
Hey poets , soften up and use your skills
Establish a system of in depth kind critique
Respect for the other poets point of view.

Poets are human, they have a heart you know
Only oft it’s forgotten behind a non-de-plume
Every poem read is subconsciously brain fed
To the deepest channels of your mind.
Sometimes....Eureka.... it triggers a process.

Processing beautiful poetic verse of others
Oh you do get out of life whatever you put in
I have experience and I know this to be true.
Now my poet friends please mark my words
To have respect for other poets points of view

On a scale of one to ten. Let’s say a ten.
For if you make the time , whatever you have.

Very soon you will become a blooming genius
I know that is the ambition of every poet.
Ethereal guides and Angels follow your efforts
With that in mind, go and be inspired today.
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Written by Philip.
November 9th 2018.

Where have all the poets gone. ?
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Where have all the poets gone. ?
Have they all been transported to the moon?
Even the poets laureate the ones from school
Reading all the $5 thrift shop bargains
Especially the classic writers of bygone days

Have been so prolific with a pen and ink.
And those huge anthologies 3” thick.
Very often giving the students a hernia
Each time they attended the class of ‘59

And where have all the poets gone ?
Little conversations between Lovers.
Lovers conversations that seemed to rhyme

Though fashions change and poetic forms lost
Having been lost in the forest of social media
Each missive awash with errors n paraphrase

Paradoxes have vanished along with the poets
Only I so miss the giants of the poet world.
Early in the twentieth century poetry was king
Those days gone .A poet had Rock Star status
So much so. A good poem n you’re Knighted

God knows where all the poets have gone.
Oh I guess they are in heaven everyone
Now I think all are reincarnated as us on HP
Everybody gather ‘round n make ‘em PROUD.

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Written By Philip.
November 8th 2018.

The long and winding road.   (3)
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The long and winding road.
Hostels are few and far between out here
Except for those beat up Winnerbagos.

Like as not those are all crack cook shops
Oh yes I can see the steam from their chimney
Narcotisation of a whole generation my my.
Gods grace always kept me clear of all that.

And a good thing too. This Life is hard ‘nough
Now I really must find a place to sleep.
Dusk is falling and I have a modern map

We just need a couple o’clicks to get to a place
I can see it in the distance neon lights flashing
Now I needed a little luck and this I guess it is.
Diesel and leaded gas. Three $ a litre. Oh God
I have never had to pay that much ever before
No  well. Beggars can’t be choosers can they?
Goodness not on this long and winding road

Ribs gravy , maple syrup , and fresh pancakes
Only room available is an extortionate $200
Anyway. I must rest still five hundred miles ...
Daddy hears you Baby. I’m still on my way. !!!  

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Written by Philip
November 8th 2018.
Episode (3)
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The long and winding road.   (2)
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The long and winding road.
Hopefully that leads to my Baby’s door
Evokes fear n dread ‘cause I ain’t been afore

Long and winding roads not my specialty
Only my princess is in big trouble I guess.
Never calls for help, this time it’s serious
God knows what she has been up to ?

And she seldom takes advice. Not from Me.
Nor from her poor mother, they didn’t get on.
Doors used to slam if this girl lost control.

Winding road driving is t’  last thing I wanna do
I still have not recovered my senses yet.
Not since God took my wife off to Heaven
Do you know how that makes one feel ?
I am washed up stranded missing everything
Nothing really matters except everything.
Grief is something that there are no lessons for

Really all you can do is make the best of things
On this long and winding road thru the desert
A mission to rescue my dearest daughter.
Daddy hears you Baby. I’m on my way. !!!  

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Written by Philip
November 8th 2018.
Episode (2).
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The long and winding road.
Highways that never end
Especially when they have repairs

Long mile after mile after mile
On valleys without a sun’s blessing
Nor a single tree or prairie grass in sight
Gas and diesel stations few n far between

Anxiousness building from a lack of fuel.
No wonder it feels like a long and winding road
Do you think she will be there when you arrive?

When you received that frantic text message
In the middle of the night. Help me. Super-poet
Now that I know that I can trust you HELP !!  
Don’t you always find that ? When your busy
In the middle of the night , dreaming dreams
Never hearing from your lil princess in weeks
Goodness knows what she has been up to ?

Road trips never were my favourite pastime
On a long and winding road into the desert
And I understand that you now need rescuing
Daddy hears you Baby. I’m on my way.

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Written by Philip
November 8th 2018
Episode (1)

Air conditioner.
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Air conditioner
I made it possibly to live in relative comfort
Refreshing air by clever refrigeration cycles

Clever cycling of Freon gasses as compressed
Oh Mr Carrier you made it all so possible
Natural climates in the home and malls
Dynamically altered to a comfortable temp.
I am a poet n dispense without condition
To the world I give my poetry for free on.
In some places the Freon gas is taboo
Only my free poetry creates conditions
Never has so much poetry been released
Earth bound and channeled by Gods spirit
Relax now and read in the comfort of home.

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Written by Philip.
November 7th 2018.

No obligations
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No obligations
Oh I expect that you’ve heard it all before ?

Only this time I mean it and that’s for sure
Because my love is so very unconditional
Love sneaks up on you. Whereas mine won’t.
It is heralded by trumpets and a symphony
Grand poetry recitals in your sacred honour
And gifts of inspirational fruity lollipops
Tutorials in the art of writing ancient forms
In a classic style or any style you wish for.
Only you just need faith. Yes faith in God.
Now make a special note of me. And follow
See I am the 1000thman  Kipling created.
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Written by Philip.
November 7th 2018.

To breath and not be tired by breathing.
   (an acrostic )
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To breath and not be tired by breathing .
Or to catch one’s breath when about to choke

By slow suffocating and no I’m not joking
Really it’s like a plastic bag over your head
Escaping death is the only natural remedy
A tube connected to home compressed air
That is the fate of sufferers around t’ world
Having chronic asthma it ain’t no joke.

And I have witnessed first hand the fear.
Not being able to breath when you awake.
Do you have that trouble now I hope not ?

No I wouldn’t wish it on any one this day n age
Oh to breath and not be tired by breathing
Tired by just keeping that old body alive

Be thankful if you can boast such good health
Each day count those blessings God has sent

To breath and not be tired by breathing.
I warn you that you may be old someday
Relax and remember this poetic warning
Endeavour to give up cigarettes today.
Death warnings carried on every packet.

By songs and warnings all around about
You listen but one more *** won’t matter

But there you cannot put the **** thing out
Relegation to the designated smoking area
Even though it has become a social place.
A conversation with a fellow smoker is sublime
Though to breath n not be tired by breathing
Having left if much to late to then escape
I see the grim reaper as he comes to get you
Nothing I could ever do again but pray.
God has now granted you relief from pain.
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Written by Philip
November 6th 2018