and i am sorry, oh
god i am so sorry that
i cannot apologize for the
things that have made my love
hard. i cannot take blame for
the way other fingertips have burned
my skin, i cannot atone for the bite-marks
on my wrists, or the start and
finish lines, the races that have been run
down my thighs and to my ankles.
i cannot pardon the graveyard of past
love that vandalizes my body like an oil portrait,
i have always looked like a museum exhibit
for the art of leaving. i am carved out by
the stained glass of all of my goodbyes
and it has taken my love by the throat,
it has rubbed my mouth raw, it has made
gasps of air between the breaks of kisses
hurt my teeth. i am sorry that i cannot
excuse the people that have
made me flinch, made me distrust, made me
carry myself gentler when it rains. all i can do is
give you a paintbrush and tell you that
i will still be art when you are finished with me.

Never ordinary
Never easy
Nothing parts the sea
Nothing moves the earth
This is a hard world
And there is no give at all

Don't press your face to the ground
It does not help
Don't shout at the sky
It does not hear
Nothing helps
And no-one hears
This is desolation

In the wavering distance
Less than light
Reality  drifts eerily by
There is no need to go
No reason to stay
Grey coiling wraiths
Rise and slowly sway
They could be anything
Anyone
Distinctions have no place
Nowhere to hide
Here is where souls shudder
And shatter


                                    By Phil Roberts

A lone tree stands out
Against the stormy sky

On the far side of
The lawn in our garden

Surrounded by snowdrops
Quite a pretty picture!

Keith Wilson March 2017

fallow winter does not bring
peace to the restless soul
finger-licked, waiting
on subtle winds shifting
for the tropical taste
of exotic droplets of rain
a salt-stained remembrance
in this time of dreaming

red-light ladies hatch
in raftered minds
a mass awakening
beneath hardened shell
freedom awaits wings
a collective opening
an essential
transformation

From September - 2016*


"Comforting", it is-
in its application"

"Calming", it is-
in its purpose"

"Love",
is its message"

Whether applied to an infant babe in a crib....
or making the tears of a crying child disappear...

or, simply giving a hug to mom and dad.......

or, your children.......grandchildren.........

or, to a friend.......

Channeled thru you... from heaven..........

The "power".................of..............a "touch"


r.riddle: 09-18-2016

*inspired by Pradip Chattopadhyay's "Distance"

The setting was beautiful..
Some forest somewhere as green as envy itself..
There was a very calm river with a covered bridge that ran over it..
The bridge was all white and looked like a house..
I went inside and found that the ground was made of glowing green grass..
The walls were made of dirt with flowers growing out of them..
The smell was so nice..
It seem cooler inside the bridge..
I walked on through bare foot..
The flowers were now an aura of colors..
Endless colors..
I awoke from this dream..
And I can't stop thinking about it..

There is a early spring flower blooming in the late winter sun..
I think they call them indian paint brushes..
Its firey red pedals shined brighter than the late winter sun..
It was the only color we saw in the new green grasses..
Green grasses brought by a thunderstorm from a week ago..
There is a small hint of spring perfume in the late winter air..
We feel her pass through us every now and again..
We continue forward on our walk to no where..
We'll go as far as we want to..
We cross a bridge with a small stream running under it..
Although full of trash it still holds a majestic beauty under this now one star evening sky..
The stream is strong creating musical water notes and songs..
A cardinal bird follows alongside us from tree to tree..
His red feathers are the only thing that has surpassed the beauty of the lone beautiful indian paint brush we came across earlier..
The night is now kissing the day away..
Time to walk back..
We will let you know what we see..