See through
Tall under the sun
Crawling beneath stars
In night-time skull
Thoughts behind eyes
Behind dreams
Under darkness
And above light

See through
Pretended truths
Without words or form
Shadow shapes
Lay like death
Choreographed corpses
Meaningless memories
Damaged dreams
Piled upon writhing hopes

See through
Tender tragedy
Daily despair
Grasping at lies like air
And in the stillness of dawn
The cold of morning light
Water drips
Or maybe blood
Tapping through silence

                                     By Phil Roberts

The day is drawing near
and every year it comes around
every year
the flashbacks saturate every
dark corner of my mind
I've written
and written
and written
about that night so many times
that I can't stand to anymore
you know what happened in that room
and so do I
but now there's someone new
someone who looks at me
and doesn't see your hand prints
on my skin
who doesn't know
that years later
I still carry the weight of that night
on my chest
it sits there while I sleep
counting my breaths
permeating my dreams
enveloping every empty thought
with an unwelcomed thought
of you
I've got so many skeletons
and I would love to say
that they're all buried beneath the dirt
of time
but they aren't
sometimes
they slip out from the closet
and sit right beside me
sometimes
they hold my hand
and sometimes
like today
they crawl inside my skin
and make themselves
at home

once seven pm
in this neck of the woods comes
'round
it's blues and gin time
a bit of eight ball
on the table
the dice in the corner
girls in short dresses
and perfume
Floyd Dixon making the women wet
a bonfire outside
a sip of moonshine
her looking
red lipped
licking
me trying to remember her name
beats turned up and the cue ball slams
into the rack and vicious
I stare seductive as ten grenadine bottles in the window
back at her svelte high hair  load of makeup
smiles tight assed hips posed just right there
hell its past 7 now
give yo a ride home Mabel?
she smiles

He presents what you see
with impeccable finesse.
He hides everything else behind the curtains.
Heavily veiled by his smiles...
Cleverly masked behind his script.

He stands elevated, taking his stage.
From his vantage he sees all.
He allows his facade to bask in the light...
Whilst keeping his back in the shadow.

He's renowned.
By the light that kills the dark.
He's addicted to the nightly ovations,
cascading cheers and gleaming reviews.

But every show has an end.
Come every dawn, he wakes to the reality
that tolls at his door.
He's owned and he knows it...
Too well,
by the stage he built
and the drama he wrote and casted.

.
If you happen to find a poet
hiding shyly beneath a stone.
Gently put him in your pocket
and carry him safely home.

Show him love and kindness,
take time to get to know him.
And if you smile so sweetly
he will gladly pen you a poem.

For if you hold his real value,
and recognise his true worth.
He'll look deep into your soul,
to give you the sun, moon and earth.

© Pagan Paul (05/04/17)

Misty words billow in the cold
Pluming from their mouths
Quiet swearing and first *** coughing
They walk close to hedgerows
Kicking the dew from the grass
As birds squabble over breakfast
And mushrooms are still socialising
They whistle the dogs to heel
All panting and wagging tails
Stirring the dawn damp air
For happy is the early dog
In these sumptuous fields

Now the business of dawn begins
Low sharp commands are uttered
Bringing the younger bounding learners
To a proper sense of purpose
And that high-toned cross breed
The sleek and swift lurcher
Is eternally proud and primed
This long-sprint racer
Takes inevitable chase
Without sentiment or concious cruelty
An ancient craft is practised here
With the dogs at dawn

                                By Phil Roberts