Shimmering stars above your head,
Invigorating wind rippling through your clothes,
Strapping waves hitting the shore,
Astonishing music emerging from the violin..

But then i wake up,
I wake up and everything disappears
How is that possible? A place that means so much to you disappearing so swiftly..

I truly wanted to live in that moment
I truly wanted to stay there forever and ever..

I left so much behind
In those places and times
I still see the faces
Though I can't remember names
So long ago
So much has happened
All trickling through ghostly fingers
Pictures in black and white
Life in many tints and hints of grey
Some walked into the sky
With memories trailing and fading
Such memories make up a life
Create a past
Become what we are
Until we walk into the sky

                                             By Phil Roberts

I honor my brother in spirit
one who burns a bonfire
on every high hill
to celebrate the proposition
that mere words are a match
for eternity.

One whose poems
though misplaced
are always found when needed.

Luiz
here is my humble advice

Keep the predators at bay
never let a day go by
without committing
a flagrant act of love

Dream always.
And awake from your dreams
with the certainty
that dreams
are the daily bread of our lives.

I know you will.

They call me dogsbottle
don’t ask me why
it’s a story out of time
branded by eternity

Charity was my subterfuge
desperation my defense

I came here seeking refuge
terrified and angry
ready to sow the seeds
of my own defeat

But a breeze on my cheek
deterred me
the chime of the church bells
stayed my hand
some tempest of grace
soaked the parched ground
of my parents’ need

I was relieved
through generations of grief
and ill temper
given grace as thunder rolled
and lightning struck

a sweet song in the wind
soothed my mind

And me.
Not knowing the day.
A dotard of the hours.

Well and yet alive
breathing still, dear ones.
Grateful.
And with fiber enough
for another blessed day.

The knife of life carves indiscriminately without warning
said the runts of the pumpkin patch now lined in mourning.
A farmer plucked biggest one, cutting vine, as the runts cried
a black harvest, Mama being carted off, as she died.
Sad black crows circle the day and night sky abreast and stressed
as the winds of fate wielded its teeth at the oppressed.
A blur of orange is all the crows saw amongst the quivering patch
as the farmer tiptoed the pasture wide-eyed on getting his ******.
Now at the hour of her death angels play harps of fruition
in wake of the wide-eyed farmer's wayward act of abscission.
Billows of black smoke followed, taking to the ominous  skies
as the incinerator took matters in its own hands as she lies.
Then all that was left were the ashes and whispers of the past,
a eulogy, as her quivering kin sat in the storybook downcast.
Pages cried out, tears filled the chapters of a great pumpkin patch
her roots holding each on the vines with love that's hard to match.
No day came off, of a jack-o-lantern smiling in a window frame
for in this family house cancer snatched mothers life just the same.

Logan Robertson

8/4/2018