west london fire stories
stories i can't finish
you are in this story

what's the problem called
when the sun is coming up
and you've been awake all night because
ugly sleep sleeps all day,
and the groom's ******* are
too large for his beard

someone said no to reality
someone put the greed in poverty
but what can i say, what can i say
forgot who i was long ago
don't like who i am today

my back was turned
when the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell
while the london fire burned

cheap, chinese, and rainproof
that's how
the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell

Through labour divine have I crowned my true self
Through heart I have nurtured pours love so to help
Mine eye witness the highest of truths
Whilst the lexical throat turns to glorious sooth
With grumbling pride geared forth in direction
Clutched sacral chamber in the hope of perfection
To be found

Let the beast within me refuse to bow
In the face of doubt
Conjure king bearing iron sickle
With this riddle he tickles and teaches me
That to let go risks one anonymity
To the passage of time

I shall have to decline thy generosity

For his other bears specular mountain to climb
So I may look upon splendorous peaks of life’s mind to remember
How these steely, dark quandaries must be quietened and tempered
Upon the anvil of hope

The hammer of the philanthropist’s humour will bear down
On this ill-advised, mischievous sprite renowned
As she nibbles at my future’s lobe with sensual demeanour
It is a pleasure to see her

Yet I know this dark queen is a **** in disguise
As the beast rattles its cage demanding demise
Of the higher self
One stroke
I allow
For the sake of goodbyes

These phantom personas aside
We will quickly define ourselves
Alive and well
Each limb we have is able to tell
The story of our privilege
Honour this
Dally not
This is your shot
With the arrow of certainty
Blessed with serendipity
Honed by universal energy
To focus your senses
Then fire away
The reward is life’s blessing
Beginning this day

Words as solid objects
take the shape of moving air
if intention could be felt through skin
what protection would one wear?

Thoughts are heavy objects
to speak them is relief
but the burden collects like leaden dust
around the listener’s feet.

The mind creates these objects
it thinks but cannot speak
and as these objects fill its space
they become the speaker, me.

The raw me that dwells within the I Am that is Me is not of this world, yet exists in this realm just the same.

Dreams are for me temporary respites, a sojourn in relief from the dense material yet hallow Frames of this world; and to be in it, not fully understanding yet accepting, seems to be the biggest of undertakings.

What becomes of the soul that encounters mirrors along the way? Mirrors in the form of dense shapes filled with diverse spectrum's of light. The light in the me comes to know, that alone the light is not in this corporal world.

What happens when the light meets with fate and encounters beings in the shape of other life forms? Intertwined in this vast web of mystery of the unknowable yet deeply felt within? Seems Conspiratorial.

The truth remains, and even more so a reminder of the me that dwells within the I Am that is forever Me; ever connected, ever intertwined in the journey of life longing for itself. Longing to be asleep, for to sleep is to dream, to dream is to be free from the bonds of this body that seem like such a prison to the soul.

A light seeming so far from the home I truly know as real, where the me and the I Am are truly One and indeed free from the constructs of this separated world which contrast exists.

W.M. Smith III

You know I've always been a fighter .
And even when your on the ropes you still got to think there's a chance.

Many things in this life will attempt to break you.
People ,Disease. , Addiction .
We all fall down sometime .

Never ******* stay down .
I do t give a **** if it hurts .
If it's easy.
If we all can do it .
Then it isn't anything to begin with.

Ive broken my knuckles both my feet.
Destroyed my back and neck and I'm still standing nothing separates men more than the willingness to except defeat.  

I will never say you are better than me even when you are.
Its not ego but if I become your mud puddle to step upon .

What are you when you stand alone but a fool who never met a challenge .

Do not allow this society to mind ****  you into submission.
Far to many settle and get along.

You don't have to like me but you do have to respect I won't take your **** just to stand in your shadow.

I stand in my own spotlight and I suggest you find your own and allow it to shine brightly until your exit.


That's my advice kid.
Call me **** ,Call me a drunk .
Just never forget to call me by my name.

I'm always the hero of my **** as Bukowski would say.

Take it or leave it.
Some good sense from a life lived is far more useful than kissing *** and pretending to be something your not.

Be you and nobody will ever question.

Common sense goes a long way to well intended lies meant to never ruffle a single feather .

Fake pages and fluff writing are alot like toilet paper kid.
Except toilet papers more useful.

Keep your hands up and your head out of anothers ***.
For in life with age and ego you'll have to pull it out your own plenty if times .

             Fin

what's behind our eyes these days
is it memories
or dreams
of things yet unseen

what's behind them these days
history, hope, damage and pain
a cluster of neurons
igniting the brain

besieged by screens
with eyes of their own
that record and reflect
all they've been shown

are we any different
have our eyes turned to ice
milky and blank
a clean recording device

what's behind our eyes these days
is anything trapped and want to break free
the answer is very simple
open them and see

She hides quietly,
folding the saffron scented apron
over here shy blue eyes;
A timid and mini sized
mirror of his younger life.

Her mother smiles,
gently pushing her
sweet Penelope
forward to meet
the man coming in
from off the street.

Out of a cab
with a camouflaged
duffle bag
watery eyes
weep.
Not hers
but his
are wet
with the same blueness.

His uniform smells
but does not repel
her curiosity.
Inches away
from his scraggly face
a tiny voice timidly says.
“Are you my daddy?”

With one hand
he wipes away
the purest tears.
With his other arm
he pulls her into
the deepest embrace.

smoke break one when I walk in at 8
though it could be two already today  
as I don't know when she got here
only that she disappears
at 8 and then 11 to see her through
to late afternoon
when she'll leave and be returning
empty packed as I’m packing up,
and she hides it so well
her fingers aren't yellowed and the smell
only faint on her breath if you’re real close
it's not even on her clothes
scented the way some say
a woman should of flowers
I want to whisper in her ear
that whatever leads her
over again outside that door cannot
hurt more than the loss of laughs
to gasps for air and coughs
don't take your breath away  
let me take it instead.