What is it?
WHAT AM I TRYING TO NUMB?

This urge this itch I have
Is seems to come and go
But mostly comes

This addiction this
“need”
What am I trying to numb??

my brain is a broken record
of memories i'd like to forget
my mechanic heart that has lost all ability to feel,
now only focuses on beating.
i've become a machine
living in routine
just to keep myself alive;
i'm simply a pulse and brainwaves with emotions to the side,
a cluttered and broken device
with an almost robotic lack of enthusiasm to keep me under control;
constant regulation
to make sure i stay numb,
to hide from the overwhelming pressure to deal with
my inferior humanlike
thoughts;
pull the plug

(20 minute poetry)

Breaking out the cider as we sit beside the river and our dreams go ever downstream in the cycle of the seasons,

If there's resting there is reason and we scout the book of knowledge 'till we find the page we settle on and drink a bit more cider

and it comes to our attention that the span is getting wider 'tween the one's that have and those that don't and those that won't allow it.

And we sit and wonder why
underneath an Autumn sky

if there is inequality then change it
rearrange this awful system
feed the poor and bring the rest in from the cold.

An old adage will tell me

that 'the quality of mercy is not strained',
but I'm pained to have to  tell you
that the rich have more than
you do
and that's the way they'll keep it

just as long as we sit drinking by the river and only thinking

that's the way
that it
will definitely stay.

Bus stop Linda says she's 69
I said a 68 would do
She laughed then flew

Asian girl in hippie clothes
and boots-attire

Pretty girl in bunny boots
a look..desire
escapes me as I follow
Her footsteps elude me

and notice
A familiar face
Still looking so young

No

It can't be her
that was thirty years ago
and realize a mistake in identity

and move on

Black girl looking ****
like a movie star...

I was in a shop recently
And a voice said, "Phil!"
I turned to see a stranger smiling at me
I said, "That's me, mate but
You've got the better of me.
The face is familiar," I lied
He said his name was ****
Which limited it to the hundreds
Of Micks that I've met

Then he mentioned his surname
And the dusty rusty cogs of memory
Started to slowly grind into life
By the time I was leaving the shop
I knew exactly who he was
From when we met
About fifty years earlier

We both started our working careers
At the same textile mill
About four or five of us kids
Were the butts of all jokes and tricks
Mostly we would pull our faces a bit
Swear a helluva lot
And laugh it off with everyone else
A lot of how we would be treated
Would depend on our reactions to this
It was normal
Traditional even
Never too malicious and no-one got hurt
He brought his ****** mother down!
I think he left not long after

A couple of years or so later
We happened to use the same pub
He had his friends and I had mine
And we didn't mix, might say "Hi" at the bar
Then....
He got the landlord's thirteen year old daughter pregnant
Then dumped her and said that
He wanted nothing to do with the child
He was at least eighteen then

Now, whether through arrogance or stupidity
Or, more likely, cruelty
He carried on using the pub!
Unsurprisingly
He was beaten up outside
It wasn't serious
No hospitalization or broken bones
Just a softener
Then I was asked to be a go-between
Because I "knew" **** and they trusted me

So I went to his home and spoke to his family
A meeting was arranged I believe
And I don't recall any more
So yeah
I remember you
Ya little ****

                                   By Phil Roberts

Ali, the man.
The impact of the man.
Many will never comprehend.

They see a boxer.
Not the activist.
He became solely by accident.

He spoke poetry like a true poet.
Although many were simplified of fulfillment of pride.
He was bold, even in his stride.

He uplifted, he motivated, he lived accordingly.

After all, he was Muhammad Ali.

we don't miss
the things that we love
when they're gone

we miss
the things that love us
when we let them go

I once knew a man
Who believed he could
Conquer the world
He burned brightly.
And then came
The end of a long day
And the man lay down
To bed
And thus remained
Conquering nothing.

A pack of cigarettes, some gum,
some condoms, and $50 were stuffed
into his cargo pocket, in his left hand
a 9 millimeter, 10 rounds in the clip
he spotted a dead Vietcong.....

                                                              Yellow and scrawny....
                                                             a bullet through his right eye
                                                             his brains seeping out of his skull....

                     A little girl, walking down the dirt field road
                     a rice bowl in her right hand,
                    a bayonet in the left, it was covered in blood

Up the road, he spotted a fire,
the sounds of AK-47's whipping through the wind
a pile of bodies stuffed on top of each other

                             Ears and fingers wrapped around bare skinned necks
                                                                       the smell of rotten flesh....

                        To the south, a *******
                        high heel boots, lace *******
                        and a mini skirt, unkempt hair, pitch-black
                        red lipstick and hazel colored eyes
                        $50 for a hand-job, $75 for a *******
                        $100 for one hours and $200 for two
                       condoms still stuffed in the cargo pocket

                    A back alley, a sloppy *******
                    the ****** broke.....

                                                              The gum is still wrapped in foil,
                                              unwrapped, slowly chewed, sweet then bitter
                                           the roar of helicopters and the blast of grenades
                                                         American flags ripped and set on fire
                                                  A single bullet, a silent gasp.....