Your name I say over and over.
I love how its kind shape feels
as it rolls over my tongue.

The comedian starts off with
"Ladies and gentlemen,
It's wonderful to be here in downtown Telford..."
Enid in the audience says, " Ew, I don't like his
shirt. What colour would you call that...puce?"
Edna says, " Looks more like puke to me."
Giggle giggle giggle
The comedian carries on unaware
"Yes, downtown Telford.
The Hollywood stars all holiday here y'know.
Oh yes, the place is awash with champagne and *******."
He smiles ruefully. "Asif. I'm lucky to get brown ale...
and all that gets up my nose is the wife!"
Enid says, "I don't get that."
The comic continues,
"My wife is very demanding y'know....
She says to me recently that she wants more ***!
The ****** woman's never satisfied....."
Edna says, "That reminds me....
how did you go on with him from packing?"
"Well...." says Enid.........
and the comic continues
"More *** at her age.......!
So, I thinks to meself, I'll play along, so
I says....What's the matter with you!
Ain't once a year enough for you?
Quick as a flash she says, "No it ain't.
I'm sick of waiting for Santa!"
Enid says ".....I just saw this purple thing.
I had no idea what it was 'till I touched it!"
Much laughter ensues
And comedy continues.

                                By Phil Roberts

Dude pulls up
In a Honey Bucket truck

I want to say,
"That's a ****** job."

But,
He's heard it all before
I'm sure.

“Let it go,” he said.
So I release it all slowly,
like those 99 red balloons that saved
our little misled souls on bad teenage days.
Release it, and watch it float up and away
in 99 different directions,
in 99 different shades of ruthless red.
Let it go, and instruct yourself
to set fire to any and everything
it’s ever touched.
Burn the bridges, scorch the paths,
cauterize the arteries that
pumped warm blood for its purpose.
Set the fires, and let the light
from the florid flames
illuminate the corners
of your newfound smile
as you watch the embers
dance themselves
into white, meaningless ash
above your head.

instead of sinning there would be a recess
where people all over the world every three hours or so just stopped
and played kickball or  slid down the icy slide cataloguing how far
down the playground they slid
tied rubber bands together , thousands of them , attached a small
plastic airplane to it , stretched it far as it could go,
and flew it imaginatively, then went back to being grown up?

Hall of fame
For the poets whom have left and came again, to those who
Write by the wire.
Cell phone
Tablet, computer
Laptop hot shop aquire.
For you who sleep and write
For those that write and fight
For you who are ordinary marksman like me
Hall of fame-your all in it you see.,
And the most incredible thing.
Is how incredible and awesome you all are
Poetry's greats! 2016s rockstars.

My heart beats with dissonance—
the kind of clash that grits teeth
and twists pretty faces.
Still, she pulses, unforgiving,
to her own imbalance,
aware of her existence;
aware that the definition of music
is infinite,
and her song will never beg
to be understood.

Lips move silent to treated voice
technically altered in a vacant room
smiling clueless to clueless drones
their thoughts suppressed since mother's womb
manufactured superstars
dressed and fed by faceless greed
their lives a myth
a stagnant dream
without a truth on which to feed
resist with me
this vacuous realm
lifeless words and endless trite
follow closer to the heart
on vapor trails of tear's twilight