The old man mumbles in a dying voice
had my sons been alive.

A tear wells in the daughter's eyes.

She pours a spoon of water in his mouth
and wipes his lips and her eyes.

Having lit the pyre of his three sons
he was willing to barter his daughter's life
if that made God grant him another son
and here is the daughter by his bedside
feeding, cleaning and even shaving him
her only prayer to God being to save his life
bartering her entire means.

Outside the thunder cracks the sky
and she spreads a tarpaulin over the bed.

my son laments the father.

Inside her is no cover for rain.

Perfection of my bad habits/
headed to Budapest seeking Buddha/
the root of all evil had it/
bared fruit which is truth/
prequel to the madness/
time could only tell
so I'm killing it on tales end/
new urban legends substitution time just flew bye/
plane to see tail spin
nose dive flat crashing
I need coffee to survive/
know limit is the sky
I'm under the weather cloudless grounded temperature on the rise/
I could bite my tongue
So I speak with my eyes/
blink you may miss it like a mistress/
spending all yours with your wife/
life is a drug addicted/
I need a second opinion/
doctor told me death is all that can be prescribed/
what a gamble if I lose shambles all in or diversify/
Spirits in the air impaired perceptions unclear/
All these bad habits
I'm ill prepared/
Circle of life where do we go from here/

answer to the narrow mind

"Many folk do not marry for all kinds of reason, but can, and do, live a fulfilled life. Of course when speaking of the solitary life in relation to spirituality, the solitary is quite happy with their solitude, but if they are wise they will admit to being open to falling in love and consequently leave their solitude to fulfil that calling if needs be. Although one has to admit to leave the supreme advantage of the hermetical life it would indeed have to be an all consuming love in order to leave solitude behind."

All of the shining mad ones
With their heresies of reality
And other visions and other voices
Are not diminished
By the multitude of choices
That is their truth
Upon each waking day

They are woken by the howl
From beyond the first ear
And into the deeper mind
Where there is other language
And blinding colours of emotion
For madness has the purity of pain
That martyrs can only long for

                                           By Phil Roberts

love the oasis we travel far for
love the oasis that finds us
love we can never hide from
love a song the heart sings
love a beginning and ending
love the perpetual circle
love the bridge overcomes all
love a poet gives all for.