I write, I draw,
I paint and make things.

am quite patient,
hold my tongue,
but can't say
multi disciplinary.

easily
I write, I draw,
I paint and make things.

am quite patient,
hold my tongue,
but can't say
multi disciplinary.

easily

there is no replacement for mummy’s hammer or its official    name.

i saw one of a different style today…

more gutsy,  i laid it straight, removed the things for                charity.

the boxes all looked very well.                                                           no dust.

none that i can see. phillip glass is eighty now, the hammer from 1930

or soon after.

the middle drawer.

sbm.

pirate gun, a toy from woolworths probably.



they said to put my eye to the sight and pull

the trigger.



no caps, yet the hammer caught my lip. swelling.



badly. water to my eyes.



nearly forgotten yet i find that something still

triggers

what is assumed          a long forgotten memory,

bruising

“A bruise, or “confusion,” appears on the skin due to trauma”



aggravated note.
aggravated
ˈaɡrəveɪtɪd/
adjective

Law
adjective: aggravated

    (of an offence) made more serious by attendant circumstances.
    sbm.

time is upon us, as he writes, fine  dust from the fire,                                       the old way.



we used to sit the rise and think of this. drive the evening hunting the blue           flax fields . found and waded the poppies outside the dyke,             worked the red thread. again.                     danced .



it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that, he said.   does this mean it is spring now? it is such a pretty room.                                                                                                           yellow.



down by where we park is a cement mixer, sometimes.



©sbm

there are no set ideas in this house upon the repetition of words.        we are sorry that you cried.

it has been a good morning so far.   with fried eggs on toast and the air. sorry that i was hopeless, even with clues.

there is a mist, a cloth, hanging, while i have seen so much. i forgot to ask about your trip.   i had driven the mountain to see you, parked nicely,              kissed your cheek, talked about the issues.

it all showed pride and i know

you have seen it too. raddled

face in mirrors, knowing that we

are all much the same. we move



on. on.

together.



sbm.

it has been so, so many years. dormant.



hurts and atrocities.



you did not know you said it.

did not remember.

did not mean it.



sixty years later, passed it forward

when you shouted.         this is how

things go                                   round.



for which i apologise.

hurts and atrocities.



sbm.

darkness descends upon our houses.

watch  it unfold as predicted. you

did not listen.



you said it will all be great again,

not that it ever was. now we watch

as darkness descends.



descends upon our houses.

sbm.

ceilings, automatic doors. tread carefully the red carpet.
watch.                                                the landscapes quietly.



the



building where I lost myself, found one    worn stair,

walled words                                                  on bravery.



we laughed at his phone         vibrating the glass table,

automatically.                           there are no  heros here.



just quiet and responsibility.



books bound in leather.



©sbm.

 
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