When I was very young
Certainly pre-school age
I had a little tricycle which I loved
One day
I decided that I could ride it down steps
I was wrong
"Whaaaaaah! Me 'air 'urts!"
"He's banged his head. You're alright
You're not bleeding so shut up skriking."

A day or two later on the same tricycle
Tearing down the hill opposite our house
In the middle of the road
It was a time when cars were rare on council estates
Indeed, ice-cream men rode push-bikes
With big ice boxes on the front containing his wares
And there was one on the road
Of course, I managed to hit it
"Whaaaaaaaa!!!"
"There there, yer alright, lad. Have a free ice-cream."
"Whaaaa - oh, ok."

My parents kept the front gate closed after that
I wasn't tall enough to reach the latch
They wouldn't let me ride my tricycle
Unless there was an adult present
So now that I was safe
I promptly fell over the dog and banged my head on the gate
"Whaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!"

                                   By Phil Roberts

December's child
with fire you were forged
your eyes are liquid amber poured
always I dream to kiss
your perfect lips divinely cast
the sweetness of your breath
the warmth that moves across my flesh
your hands and arms are sculpted bronze museum art
indelibly in mind when you are far
the hot of your delicious mouth
traveling gently, slowly south.

Ten black crows
in a red-budded
cottonwood tree
basking in the eerie
glow of the waning sun
bruised, livid sky
weighted air
waves shush, shush
on the receding tide
serenity reigns
but I can feel it
hovering offshore
a curled fist
wound tight
ready to strike

Yesterday I pulled the lever
How I couldn't say
Had to go with blindfold on
With the choices that they gave

For those who care, I was more scared
Than a date with Freddy Krueger
Just hope after the fact I haven't backed
Another one of many losers

The one thing I'd done was promise mom
I wouldn't vote for Trump
A promise told I took a-hold
In being a faithful son

Still couldn't watch as I took the plunge
Pulling down the lever
Voting out of consciousness
As if these days that even matters

Cactus,I could guess the secret
you'd rather love to see buried deep,
isn't  the thorny rose ,you dream
in your lonely sad nights?
Torrential rains lash long hours, you wait,
sun breaks his barrage of light on you,
it doesn't matter, foggy evenings tip toes to
ogle the dark beauty night wears,
oh! her starry necklace, that won't
brook any kind of description,
rose you have sent your fragrance
looking for the scent of your love, cactus.

Apart from thorns there is nothing
that bring you both together.
With the yearning each for the other
slowly waning, you  remain apart.
as a binding factor, are just thorns enough?

The sun
A bullet hole
Burning through
The grey-white sky
Waiting on a train
At the crossing
Traffic standing still
Graffiti strewn boxcars pass
Artful dodgers
On steel canvas'
Leaving their unsung scars
Smoky music fills my head
One of those moments
In my memory scrapbook
Thoughts of one who
Used to make me know
All was good with the world

Peace of mind brings my
muse nothing but stagnation;
learn to write happy.

At only the age of sixteen
I stared through the astral
Telescope into her window
I saw what I shouldn't have
Though her window opened
And my imagination ran wild.
Then one day it closed
So I supposed I'd marry that girl
And with her have at least one child.
And still with my wife
My love.

My imagination goes untamed.