Other Poems by:

Brenda Roberts

Raspberry Essence

 Today, in raspberry, I dreamed --
the essence floating up on
the heated moisture of my bath...

and I was in the country with you.
In an old garden filled with blackberry bushes,
Today, in raspberry, I dreamed

of strawberry, raspberry, and sweet grasses.
The warm damp earth after the rain held me in
the heated moisture of my bath...

I heard the crickets singing in twilight, 
felt the softness of your love as
Today, in raspberry, I dreamed

I tasted your longing in your kiss.
Raspberry echoes of summertime fill
the heated moisture of my bath...

Thunder spoke of happiness, 
angels cried tears of joy awaking me as
Today, in raspberry, I dreamed
within the heated moisture of my bath...

In A Mason Jar

Sensual musk and sandalwood
mingle to create the vehicle
taking a sideslip through memory
to a sandy beach in Texas winter.
Galveston's birds beckon
and I am there
barefoot and 
watching shells 
throw themselves into 
waiting hands.

Morning mist and midnight fog
securely wrapped our grief
and gave guilty pleasure to laughter.
Our love went in sealed jars
with the pictures, live iris corms,
and letters asking someone to find and
grant, by planting the flowers,
the last request of family
separated by bullet and disease.
Many years have passed, 
no word has arrived from 
anywhere in the world
saying that our love grows
on foreign shores.

The call of seagulls always 
leaves me questioning
where those jars are... (end here)
do they still travel the currents
or did they toss themselves
like those Galveston shells
on beaches and grow alone
and beautiful?

amy's dilemma

he called at 2 am and asked to speak to her
he claimed in a perfectly calm voice (after
being told twice everyone was in bed asleep) 
that he Needed to speak to her that it was an 

he got drunk, busted up the house they were 
staying in and threatened on more than one 
occasion to kill her,

but now that she found the courage to leave
to get out of town where she wouldn't be
so tempted to go back into a shaky situation

he swears that if she will forgive him, and come back
to him, that he will stop drinking, he will get a house
for them --

amazingly, she found the courage to say she wanted
to believe him, but some how, she didn't.

this morning at four a.m., just after she made the 
decision that she really loved him enough to consider going back
she called and the hotel desk said they couldn't put her through
so she, like he tried to fake an emergency,

they said, sorry, he had his emergency last night,
he had cut his wrist and was bleeding all over the room,
and when someone went to help him from the office,
they had to kick two girls out of his room.

amazingly, she found the courage  to say,
though she wanted to believe him, some how, she just didn't

his faked ploy for forgiveness and a sucker to punch at will
didn't work. and I pray for her sake, she continues to have the courage
to, though she wants to believe him... she just can't

Arsenic and Old Lace (a haibun)

In Grandmother's house were tiny delicate lace table cloths, crafted with 
her gnarled arthritic hands.  She had the bitter - almond tongue that 
poisoned the love offered by everyone. Grandfather suffered the worse - 
living in the tornado of her jealousy and insecurities.  He remained, 
somehow, cheerful in our presence.  I don't think she ever loved us, she 
might have if the cancerous bitterness hadn't eaten her alive. She went 
into surgery on my birthday in nineteen-seventy-four.  That bitterness had 
spread wild-fire-like though her and she died two weeks later on my best 
friends birthday.   That was when we found out her arsenic ways had been 
passed on to her two daughters.  Grandfather sold my uncle one acre of his 
land to put a trailer house on. Uncle Fred approved of the woman Grandfather 
married a few months later.  She was a tiny birdlike woman who was as 
cheerful as Grandmother had been bitter. Then Grandfather died after less 
than a full year of happiness and those scorpion tongued aunts used a will 
that they'd forced my illiterate Grandparents to sign to take back the acre 
of land from Uncle Fred and then they tried to force Flossie May off the 
property.  But, Flossie wasn't as unaware as my grandparents had been.  She 
left on her own terms but not before making sure that my father and my uncle 
had what my Grandfather had planned for them to have as keepsakes.

cookies on lace doilies
tastes like bitter-almond
poison for rats 

Fantasy Doorways

moans, sighs, trembling voices 
enter my mind through 
open eyes and ears 

love sounds drifting here 
driving me higher into 


dream-like hot passionate love 

dripping through reality 
like soft sweet nectar 
   and reaching 
in -- 
    out -- 
me deeper into desperate 
     soft porn dream-ways 

love spent cries of 
and tomorrow 
and drifting back through 
fantasy doorways 
to reality.


Brenda Roberts lives in Sansom Park Texas with her husband Cliff. Both are very 
active promoting poetry.  She is the immediate past president of the Fort Worth 
Haiku Society, now serving her second term as secretary for the group. Brenda 
is counsilor-at-large for Poetry Society of Texas and created PST's original
website and was editor of the PST Bulletin (newsletter for 3 years) 
Her work has appeared in Desires (an erotica anthology), La Femme Poets anthology, 
the Go-Shiki-Go column of the Daily Yomuiri newspaper in Japan, bottlerockets, 
and many other anthologies. She is author of A Cold North Wind (romance novel), 
Psychosis (poetry) and co-author of The Poor Man's Cook Book. Brenda writes for 
SpiritSpotDFW online magazine and DFW Poetry Review.
Brenda Roberts,
Secretary, Fort Worth Haiku Society

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