Just a little doll
Wrapped in blankets,
Dark lashes
Pillowed on milky skin,
Still warm to the touch.
Only white lips
And eyes,
Not quite closed,
Giving lie
To the belief
That you're sleeping.
Be at peace little man.
Be at peace.

Every time I have all the pieces together again
You return
Silently
Smilingly
Just to let me know you're still around
Never quite letting go
But never quite returning
Well, I have new roads to travel now
And so do you

                                       By Phil Roberts

hard as we try to remember
grinding up mindless banter

green grass, yellow slander

what good is hay to a dead horse,
or a spring dried at its source?*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

I'm lost in search of comfort
I'm tired of looking and being tense
Can someone put in effort?
All this longing doesn't make much sense

All I want is relinquished fear
My cries are on the inside
How could I ever expect anyone to hear?
My wounds and words coincide

And I would never want to burden you with my words
So walk away and stay never
My thoughts are the worst instructions I've ever heard
Just take the high road and avoid this deep river

Whether I open my mouth and
doves fly out
or broken beetles,
black as
ink,
whether you hear it as a
song or as a
woe
as a cage being open &
40 wings flying out

I'll open my mouth and let it out
and you'll be there to listen,
or to cry,
and I'll finally be able to tell you
show you
the animals
that stir in me

you can watch them fly by-
be haunted by their
blur
or you can slow yourself
pace yourself
hear yourself
watching a telltale herd

Whether you take it as a song
or as a woe
at least the corral will be
unleashed and
you will finally
know.

Crisp, cold winds dance up a creaking trunk
lingering on the neck before tracing their way up the branches.
Leaning into the cold bark
interlacing long fingered gusts between outstretched buds.
The last leaves still clinging
quiver and drift away in swirling arcs.
A new dew rests upon shaking skin
glassy, smooth and sharp.
Whorling zephyrs drifting further
finding new flirtations in the night.

The ocean is calling,
calling for me,
he wants me to
get lost in him.
To join the white foam,
to go and say hello.
.
Nothing's here to stop me,
only the cold dry wind
of some cold and silent place
that lures me into the dark,
to some colourless scene,
to some lifeless landscape.
.
I try to run, to call out,
"I'm coming! Wait!"
But all I see is them leaving,
without me, leaving me here
on a wasted island,
by myself.
.
So I stay here,
without anyone,
waiting in the nothingness,
waiting nothing,
only the silence interrupts
all these thoughts in my mind.
.
These void and empty thoughts,
rough, cold and dry,
as the day on this island,
dark, wet and cold,
like all the nights here,
enlightened only by a dim hope.
.
That someday, someone
will come along
to take me back to the world
and end this loneliness,
erasing the memory of my time
alone here on the island of my mind.