As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts

On park benches next to the elderly wise
In the library where the University lies
At seminars hosted outside for free
Or lecture halls with Professors facing me
In all these lands
My mind expands
For,
I lean in to learn where wisdom won it's wreath
And come away with a sword that knows no sheath

I have sunsets on my cheeks.
Blushing roses
and pinks.
I have flowers in my hair.
Blooming,
growing with me.
I am a wanderer
around my life.
Navigating
who I am
and who I want to be .
I wonder what
the seed of the maple knew
Before he was told
to be a tree.

My wife
Is a practical gift-giver;
Utility equals sentiment
Around the Christmas tree.

We have seen
"Fun" become
"Useful"
Over the years,
No less heartfelt,
Just longer lasting.

"You have so many colors"
She adds,
Extolling my flannel-bound
Manliness,
"This will match your beard,"
I hear as I see the package open
From Christmas tree green paper
To gray cloth.

Wistfulness replaces
Mounds of paper,
Toys have become
Socks and
Kitchen gadgets.
Time is the currency
Of love.