yonder is a constant
each step brings us closer

what will it be like to meet
the otherside of all this?

of this I am sure
we will recognise each other

and we will know each other
as we are known

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."
"Wha- 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

If insomnia were a bicycle, I’d ride it
As I watch my yawn open eye
Wide awake I’d smell the roses
trace their spikes and wear their lipstick
And pardon me if dreamers can’t smell it
A fever akin to a violin’s soundest
Cutting right through 4AM
with a blade of flicker and undestined dim
I’d ride past the bus stop I walk to everyday
Hang my black coat and never claim it again
Ride past the point where I’d make it to work on time
But my boss to never see my face again
And if the hour hand were any slower
I swear…

I’d finally meet you
And when I do finally see you
our glass cages will then shatter

Out of the wreckage, a new kind of disaster

A happy one
but I’d have to warn you

I don’t have time for greeting cards
There are no lungs in paper
Life is
a box of limbs
And that,
I would open
And you bet!
That, I’d claim
If insomnia were a bicycle, I’d ride it
Straight into the sunset, I’d watch the sunrise

being me comes with repercussions.
I can now laugh at them.
Younger they hurt my heart.
Though the trust is developing in self.
I keep choosing a path that gives me
what I need.
I feel crazy sometimes, though I know
everything is ok.

Sometimes my writing is weak and
my choices bleed.
Recently they've been so cloudy.
I am ready to see clear again.
The distractions of the world are plenty.
I just want to do my work.

I want to get back to this work.
Focus in on the work.
the plants lead the way.
I know I can trust them.
I do not know what just happened
though I trust it was just.
it was a must.
I hold each moment in this embrace.

I wish to race home.
allow my body to relax.
to be healed.
accepting of things.
allowing some time to pass.
valued mostly a healthy home.
my heart continues to moan and
call loud. patience for the time.
moments to know.
I know this soul will feel the bond of One.

I know one will appreciate all of me.
one will lead me through my dark spaces.
hold my hand down the path.
knowing who is within.
feeling the desire to heal.
needing my trail, wanting more than
the idea of me.

all these moments, they prepare me
for the one that my smile gets big again.
when I feel it within, I will be ready to deal
with it then.
ready to step again into the moments that
have yet to come.

I loved you on a quiet day
And I loved you on a stormy night
I loved you through the fog and mist
The sun's scourge burning bright

I loved you like fire does
Drops of water that keep alive
Like wind that breathes on a leaf
Like earth that cradles life

I loved you on a rainbow
When seven colors filled the sky
On feathers of white hope
As wings spanned across to fly

I loved you when waves rested
And when the river was serene
When grass by it wilted yellow
When waters turned shadowed green

I loved you when the sun set
And when the moon was veiled in clouds
When the stars shriveled and hid behind
Despair's dark midnight shroud

I loved you then and I love you now
I loved you all I could
And I'll love you through the beats of time
Just as love should

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a large boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But eventually I'll get through
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

                                         By Phil Roberts

Two days
from now
you won’t remember
how I laid you down
delirious,
my six-year-old
daughter
swooning

spoonfuls
of purple
medicine
sickly sweet

your body burning
up beneath
pink sheets
you kicked
to the foot
of the bed

I swear
you were
dreaming
of mermaids
saddled on pink dolphins
like bejeweled rodeo stars
mermaids
swimming closer
mermaids
with long yellow hair
bucking waves—
sea girls with
one hand raised
in salty air,
orbiting
in circles
overhead,
wee galaxies
of ocean mist,
droplets
of sweat
on your lips.

At dawn
your fever
broke with
the sweetness
of candy glass
mason jars;
fireflies
escaping
as embers,
a dimming
delirium
of stars.

Two days
from now
you won’t remember
how I came to you
in the middle
of the night
when you cried
out for me,
your voice
unfamiliar—
a song sung
by a small girl
burning up
beneath
the sea.

The heart wants what the heart wants
The mind deftly follows
the eyes open wide
The mouth cannot swallow
the skin starts to glow
The ears hear it all, even the lows
For when the heart wants
What the heart wants
You must let your soul follow

When I was little
My mother bought me a tiny sailor suit
Why?
We didn't even live near the sea
However
She and grandma decided to take me to town
To show me off in my new suit
And so I was scrubbed up shiny
My unruly hair was plastered to my head
And proud smiles were exchanged
But
They must have looked away for a second
Because the next thing they knew
My sailor suit was stuffed down the toilet
And I was doing a runner up the road
Completely naked
My first protest made

                               By Phil Roberts

Sometimes I think myself clever,
a genius in horticulture,
harvesting perpetual fleeting moments.
A muted gardener.
Watering without promise or
sentiment.

When the air grows stale
I can disappear
(I always have),
like so many ghosts
or smoke
A nomadic farmer.

But today
I want to be
old and knotted roots.
stationary and permanent,
nourishing and timeless,
impervious to elements
so that she
might flourish.
I want to lean hard into the wind,
sway with it and
bend
while holding my
only purchase.

And when she opens up
it will be enough
and maybe for the first time
neither of us
will be
murderers of perennials.