Grand Poets, one of today, Phillip Mathew Roberts

A Poet

Hello Phillip!

It is my pleasure to greet you once again here on my blog. Thank you for agreeing to share your self with me and others!

Phillip and I met on FB as fellow poets. When Phillip writes he absolutely sets the poetry bar higher and one becomes deeply connected through emotionally charged thoughts within his poetic words. There are times, Phillip, I have to switch my energies in order to read your words, to get onto your stratus, and to understand and know what (I think 🤔) you’re thinking or saying. You always say, “wonderful…” etc, etc, etc… Phillip is always pleasant and polite and never has a negative comment for anyone that I know of.

Phillip has given me permission to post his bio and three poems.

So here goes… let’s go down and onto Phillips road and into his heart.

Phillip:

What did I get in life?

My curriculum vitae–the early years–includes being adopted at 2 months old and an ample helping of sexual abuse by the time I was 6 years of age followed by swiftly being informed I wasn’t my parent’s biological child at the ripe age of seven. I could divulge further but at the risk of audience boredom. Mostly I think writing kept me from becoming a full blown criminal who invariably would’ve been imprisoned if I hadn’t discovered my lust for language.

How I first began writing?

I’ve a fetishist’s bent that announced itself early in my life. Around 8 years old I became intrigued by a beer stein on my father’s work-desk stuffed with all kinds of pens. One in particular made from a faux bronze metal especially fascinated me and so I proceeded to steal it and eventually use it. Feeling its heft in my hand compelled me I suppose to do my best to write something important and meaningful. Not sure if I’ve accomplished this goal yet but I keep trying with the same fervor as I did then which makes for roughly 37 years worth of enjoyable effort.

🍂

Apology for a degree in the 

fine arts and belles-lettres: 

Silence 

my mother 

split by an opened mouth: 

words, phrases–a kiss 

sharing the commonality 

of tongues sheathed 

or brandished. 

Propagations whose demise 

comes softly, patient antithesis, 

a minotaur embedded in eventualities. 

Voice of flesh still warm to be 

buried beneath recitals 

of a sabbath night. 

Leave my first floor windows ajar 

near the poor-district thoroughfares. 

Footstep-measures of daily commerce. 

Sounds (zounds!) from distant train horns 

steadily through the rustic-dark elsewhere. 

Vigilant yet nearly four decades hence 

I await one undisclosed who taught rape 

disguised by games wearing pliant innocence 

denied with an adult’s diplomatic irreverence. 

Criminal hopes his thievery will again arrive

a captive this time to my incisive harangue 

on murder emboldened with works cited 

and thesis trenchant as a blood-slick knife. 

PMR

🍂

What drives me?

A drug-like addiction to beauty no matter the medium or genre. When I sense this quality or aspect, feel it in some way coursing through my nervous system, it’s similar to being drawn toward a gorgeous woman but easier because I don’t have to woo a painting or piece of music. In fact, I don’t even have to be clever or interesting and I’m allowed to openly ogle without societal standards booing me for being so demonstrative in my displays of bad behavior.

Unexpurgated etymology of Logos: 

Everyone bears a residual taste 

disgorged out of the first scream. 

Womb-blossoms, saline wounds 

spilled from kisses 

forged in feminine depths

where fires weep and hiss. 

Prayers and impious poems met

like plump lips… mandalas cradled 

between serpentine thighs. 

The subconscious ripened by unplucked urges 

and their near-impossible sublimations. 

Sweat upon globed fruit

feigning dew… 

Mendicants pricked upon thunderous soles. 

Jagged stones cast against a nervous 

system awakened along the glans, 

ablaze-warmed maternal areolas 

lighting one’s way toward 

suckled-dawn 

succor.  

Words preferably encountered with a calm 

eased across limpid waters rippled 

by a single breath. 

Awaiting the response that requires a lifetime. 

PMR

🍂

The other notable thing to mention is I tend to get naturally high when I write. Something about the process opens certain neural pathways that light up my synapses when I scribble and spill ink across the pages.

Six unfinished fragments in search of a poet: 

“Life is full of strange absurdities, which, strangely enough, 

do not even need to appear plausible, since they are true.” 

–Luigi Pirandello 

1.  Wield a blade that winnows 

vanity from inspiration. 

(Bookish youth spent unsupervised 

in the bloodshed depths of the bible 

revealing choice temptations.) 

2. Certain abuses teach 

about inhuman endurance. 

Trauma so severe it forges

thought and flesh 

into one 

quintessence. 

3. A voice tempered by the sun 

speaks brilliance… 

4. Severed egos die 

more quietly than hushed orgasms 

opened beneath the ribald night. 

5. Only so many different diagnosis 

within the cacophonous walls once 

referred to as an asylum… 

So many more strolling freely 

beyond these barred windows 

starless and gap-jawed. 

6. Crystalline body of water outstretched 

undisturbed under downy billows 

mirrored at the midpoint horizon. 

Narcissus dreams before he drowns. 

PMR

🍂

What did I get in life? 

my answer to Phillip: the ability to write like non other. You sir are gifted.

🍂

Phillips last poem and I added late after reading it on his FB site. So, I asked permission to use it as well. Smiles… my favorite Phillip.

🍂

Key themes for a grant in the arts:

Modernity went another direction

my steadfast idleness.

“Path” and other synonyms

for way or route lack denotations

where self never arrives

post-schism.

Alters, personae crowding persona

disguise themselves as burlesque aliases–

they’re rapt quixotic

by a circumcised sun

hung larger than Milton’s

“ponderous shield” trapped

easily in a tramp-sized

parallax compact.

Center stage

(casual motions indicative

of someone who does this routinely):

cheeks brushed sluttishly red to honor

the drag queen, Hester Prynne.

(A for autoerotic gallows–tiny ruses

become necessarily un-tucked upon

the hangman’s scaffold, the deadman’s

last authentic signature…)

Ruins that follow Zeitgeist foreplay.

The bearded gurus

slum street bulletin boards

plagiarized self-help shelves

and nudie mag 900 numbers:

all different circumferences

with the same redundant ratio,

the sangfroid vicious

cycles repeated like cliches,

history and fruitful propagation.

Vivisect the shy reflection.

Autopsy ego

fondled by a listeless id.

Etiquette of the postmortem cigarette

cited from Tropes to Tropism

of the Dawn-Embraced

Male Groin.

“Even night doesn’t want you”

the proposed vanity-press expose

that tentatively, will uncover joyous

impotence in this proposed memoir.

PMR

🍂

Oh Phillip ~ thank you for your gift of writing poetry. We understand the horrible childhood you had and am so sorry for your tragic youthful experiences. There are no words to express the sadness that you endured. It makes us realize that right now there are other children going through similar situations. May God stop all the horrible losses.

Thank you for your gifts.

It’s a pleasure to have had you once again on my WordPress blog.

Thank you so much.

Hugs to you!

BoJenn

Experiences in Reincarnation

There within your lips notably tangled

An undelivered message about your mangled

Thoughts about right and wrongdoings

How you are left behind and so taken advantage

Breathe in and rest your eyes on the heavens

Understand that life has unending lessons

Perhaps we agreed to fulfill the duties

Pressure and persuasive anglings

Until the last class in Pieces with Pieces rising

We are meandering our paths and often hurting

The wounds slashed open again and again

Laying down the whips as my heart is driven

Down to the earth below the tears

Wishing it would end and quite nothingness to discern

But nonetheless after nightfall shall be Monday

Then Tuesday, Wednesday, so forth to Saturday

Again and again each week of life

Then another day in several lifetimes forward

Perhaps lovers then or circus clown fools

Running about telling everyone’s story

Reading palms, stealing bread, running a business

Who knows what we’ll choose to linger the cruel

Sadly it is love of one more than the other

And one giggles after the birth of the other

Jumping into many births chasing the other

Never crying at death for it’s just a game

Never ending tragedy for everything is the same

Let it rest, I tell you! Let us go!

And one day in heaven we’ll greet and whoa

Because resting from battling, warring fights

Brings clearer perspectives into our sites

Let the Middle East go to bed, so that their eyes will smile.

And peace and safety will jive in their prides, and rest in the kingdoms by giving up the rights.

Sleep well little children and kiss each other goodnight.

Call it quits.

The end.

BoJenn 2018

All Rights Are Reserved

Human Euthanasia

You ask what is on my mind and I need to say some things that are difficult.

Should I go on beyond our image of a healthy life may I request that you plainly not keep me alive

In a cage of sicknesses sadness and poops

Just simply let me go into the wonderfulness of my dreams

Hold me not in a wheelchair bound in diapers and sweat and turn me over at noon or at half past twelve

Now let me go so that my arms shall take me to flight

See me smiling as I zip past Jupiter and Mars

And do not bury me under soil in a locked casket

No do not but let my ashes fly away from a mountain top

Where peace from wild animals is within my heart and the breezes blow dramatically upon your face

That is where I want to be

Not in a wheelchair or a nursing home waiting to die

Let me go within the love of god where heaven flows

Kiss my cheek

Smile

Perhaps one day you’ll know then also go

to the place of freedom upon this earth

Where death meets life again and again

Until the next encounter I might see you soon

BoJenn

De-Culting

When do we become totally enlightened with the understanding of what the supreme being is?

Never.

Angers gripped me lately as again I was sent an email with a conversation on it about me from two people. The gossip judged me unfairly and was also humorous at the same time. It gave me more power than I have or am aware of. I suppose that I will investigate my supernatural gifts more closely.

So let me explain if you have time. A brief history of myself goes like this. I was not raised in a Christian home until much later when I started attending an episcopal church. My mother and father joined me. I was 9 ish.

In my early twenties I became a Christian and by late twenties I was a born again, tongue talking, legalistic, finger pointing, gossiping and used overly sweet expressions like the ones I hear now. This was 1977. I could send a person to hell because I knew GOD so well. Hell we, at the churches, even cast other Christians out of the Church for not thinking like us, and this was in Miami, Fl.

In the year 1998, my mother and sister started de-culting me. I was soooo brainwashed. The de-culting has taken twenty years and my karma accompanied me during the years.

It played out that all the people I condemned for being a sinner or declared their going to hell for not believing was vehemently returned. Now, I hear the accusations of the church and their yells seem like screams, and all the while, I must remember the truth about how I acted.

No, I wasn’t religious. I believed and still do, but in another way. I am not higher, or better than others. I am simply on my own path and god is with me as it is with you.

Thank you for allowing me to share this with you.

Beliefs, Verbiage We Use, Freedom, Open Your Door

Perspectives about how life works and occurs for humans and animals and living cells are different for all humans. Every person has a different concept of their belief system unless that dogma as been hammered into a soul over time, and presently governs that person. For example phrases in conversation like “Praise the Lord!” Or “Bless you,” and “I’ll pray for you,” are judged by the circle of the congregation of “Believers.” Also, the New Age Yoga word, “Namaste,” follows another type of believer who feels their need to express their beliefs and so that word, too, becomes a word meant for dogmatic control and protection from an offensive adversity.

The point I am making is this: We become so easily swayed/manipulated because we desire and want rulership and/or governorship by a “King,” or a dogmatic belief that says we are accepted, loved and fit into the large scope of the kingdom of people.

Is it possible to think outside these rules that govern the above and ask questions? Is it possible that we are driven to the place of DOGMA for a reason?

Is it possible, now ask yourself “possible” that we are controlled by ideas, rules, thoughts, sayings, words, phrases, magnetic energies of one, that govern us in such away. It is from somewhere else our designated and herded lives and circumstances assigns to our lives rewards with wealth or poverty. We accept this as truth and do not cross over the lines drawn in the invisible sands in less we are atheist and believe that only we ourselves control the universe or our surroundings.

We are afraid to ask this force or question the intentions of familiarity to a religion or political group or any ideology because of the fear of going to hell or dying a horrific death or being cast out of a society.

I write this above because my story of events are based on the above dogmatic beliefs, fears and control. I want you to know that I serve a loving God who is supportive of me personally and is happy when I go beyond the lines drawn in invisible vague old rotten shells and sands.

My next story will be about my childhood experiences with my father, a mechanical engineer, who designed missiles, rockets, ammunition, and had encounters of the third and fourth kind in the late 1950’s, 60, and 70’s. From his experiences came mine. Perhaps this is the reason I am able to photograph odd flying images. Or UFOs 🛸

Courageous Captain

My destiny sits before me

And I am a fearful captain

The skies call loudly “this way!”

I hide in the room provided

The ships keep coming back

They are insisting on government

“Here. This is yours, captain.

Take charge before it’s too late.”

Courage is needed

I call upon the name, Courageous

“Come, now! I am ready! To take

My flight.”

BoJenn 7.8.2018

From My Backyard to You… East Tx

Time: 8 pm or a little later… not much.. I can look at the time on my camera, but right now, I am just chilling.

From my backyard in the northwest and southwest sky came an interesting display of clouds and here they are. July 7, 2018

Faint pink cloud caught my attention so I got my cell phone camera So, I took several pictures southwest sky at the same time as the pink ufo cloud. I wondered if it was traveling to the huge clouds in the southwest. Was that the mother ship or do I have an overly inquisitive mind. This very brilliant star post the exit of the pink ufo cloud

What remained in the sky post the pink ufo cloud that was in the northwest

The sky is amazing isn’t it?

From my backyard to you.

I hope you have enjoyed as much as I have.

Godspeed

🛸

My destiny sits before me

And I am a fearful captain

The skies call loudly “this way!”

I hide in the room provided

The ships keep coming back

They are insisting on government

“Here. This is yours, captain.

Take charge before it’s too late.”

Courage is needed

I call upon the name, Courageous

“Come, now! I am ready! To take

My flight.”

BoJenn July 8, 2018

The Advisory

I walked into the field of games

The sky was clear accept for

the horizon

No one saw the darkness

No sword ⚔️ could win

Simple might of speech

Pressing verbiage was on target

Consistent positive words

Shifting the attitude into seat

Managing the masses of cells

With mind manipulation

Thanksgiving and quiet utter

Ask the warrior, how are you?

The engaged won’t reply

Look in the eyes of the attacker’s

Peace and reverence is for now

Watch the pool of ranting Dna

It raises a strong fist to finish

And yet it battles in confusion

It doesn’t have a plan

It shakes and rattles its world

One cell at a time it divides

It seems that it is winning… pause

Regaining the strength of the mind

Slowly getting into the proper position

Good strong posturing for the war

Take hold of what your silence taught you

Be ready to act once again

Now speak of words of healing

Keep uttering until you know clearly

Know that you are stronger than the confusion

And it’s grip begins to let go

Written by me 2017. Poetry and it’s not bad at all!

Whenever the whispering voice was akin

Time seemed to stop and all worries disappeared

It was if another world was at my feet and I was invited

The doors were open to adventure freely; there I awakened

Thunderstorms moved from where I’d come

Shaking the distant past, it crumbled there behind me

No cares or memories of where I’d been pilgriming

Nothing mattered accepting the mountains without valleys

The shattered mirror of fainted familiar faces

Found amongst the shambles of glass and pieces

Shoutouts called a name that I felt an attachment

Yet, set mine eyes upon a rainbow of brilliant colors

Louder called the tiny slivers of mirrored images

“Come back to us, you must not leave, please.”

Turning to address the pleas, I did earnestly thank them

Turning towards the lights rays, blinded momentarily

“But, I must go on my way, there is a rainbow of golden myrrh,

And angelic songs vibrating from the fountains, see friends.”

And a tug of war occurred whilst they yearned their prayers

The glass faces upon the ground had aromas of frankincense

The junipers lining the path set before the ascent permeated

The essence of the here and now waged a brittle battle

A tall man who radiated the warmest smile hugged me

Giving me a choice, that I’d never seen, displayed majesty

I looked at the broken mirrored glass

Saw faces of people from my present past

Heard their love and songs from a place I once belonged

Inviting me to return home, and then – clearly I did see that

The children’s eyes were wet with tears of loosing their father so dear

Compassion dwelling in my very soul arose to their immediate attentions

“Dear ones do not shed another tear, your father is nearby to hold you.

You see, I must transcend the sacred bridge separating man from all eternity

And I shan’t do it alone without your songs and arms of tender mercies

So sing me home then I shall find the way, lined by angelic children that love me

And prayed

2017 BoJenn

My Grandmother who taught English and attended Sophie Newcomb

Whenever the whispering voice was akin

Time seemed to stop and all worries disappeared

It was if another world was at my feet and I was invited

The doors were open to adventure freely; there I awakened

Thunderstorms moved from where I’d come

Shaking the distant past, it crumbled there behind me

No cares or memories of where I’d been pilgriming

Nothing mattered accepting the mountains without valleys

The shattered mirror of fainted familiar faces

Found amongst the shambles of glass and pieces

Shoutouts called a name that I felt an attachment

Yet, set mine eyes upon a rainbow of brilliant colors

Louder called the tiny slivers of mirrored images

“Come back to us, you must not leave, please.”

Turning to address the pleas, I did earnestly thank them

Turning towards the lights rays, blinded momentarily

“But, I must go on my way, there is a rainbow of golden myrrh,

And angelic songs vibrating from the fountains, see friends.”

And a tug of war occurred whilst they yearned their prayers

The glass faces upon the ground had aromas of frankincense

The junipers lining the path set before the ascent permeated

The essence of the here and now waged a brittle battle

A tall man who radiated the warmest smile hugged me

Giving me a choice, that I’d never seen, displayed majesty

I looked at the broken mirrored glass

Saw faces of people from my present past

Heard their love and songs from a place I once belonged

Inviting me to return home, and then – clearly I did see that

The children’s eyes were wet with tears of loosing their father so dear

Compassion dwelling in my very soul arose to their immediate attentions

“Dear ones do not shed another tear, your father is nearby to hold you.

You see, I must transcend the sacred bridge separating man from all eternity

And I shan’t do it alone without your songs and arms of tender mercies

So sing me home then I shall find the way, lined by angelic children that love me

And prayed

2017 BoJenn

Purloiners are Everywhere

Purloin is to take others belongings without permission. Thief’s are very busy this week. Here are a few examples that came to my account.

In the past week, I have had numerous phone calls, emails and new FB friend requests. I am posting some of the crazy emails. Scammers are active.

Be careful. Let’s post and stop them.