I want to spend my mornings drinking tea in the early English fog.
Spend my afternoon at the foot of the Eiffel Tower being touristy drinking dark red wine.
I want to drink beer in Germany and head on over to Ireland for dinner.
I want to get sunburns from sunsets in Italy.
Talk to the deadliest animals alive in Australia and swim in the blue ocean near New Zealand.
I want to pic flowers in Thailand and eat sushi in China.

My heart will never stop wandering.
My heart will never be still.

You starred in Worzel Gummidge with Jon Pertwee.
Sadly, you died in 2001 at the age of thirty-three.
You starred in Four Weddings and a Funeral and sadly, you had a funeral of your own.
You were one of the greatest actresses that Great Britain has ever known.

You also starred in Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit.
People loved you because you were sweet and cute.
You died over a decade ago of an acute asthma attack.
Sadly, you passed away and you won't be coming back.

I am from Home.

I am from hot baths in the summer and winter alike.
I am from a silver ring decked with a ruby.
I am from laughing faces and weeping hearts.

From Pilaf and Tabuleh.
From the lonely, and the love.
I am from music loud in my ears so I don't have to listen to anyone.
I am from late-night arguments and early-morning apologies.

I am from cousins and children
Staying in my home despite
Their heritage.
I am from Untitled Documents.
I am from Marisa and Ben. My namesake and her lover.

I am from hand-washing dishes.
From Mrs. Laird and Mrs. Tans.
From Eagle Crest.

I am from Volleyball.
From late practices
And broken limbs.

I am from the world.
From crushing decisions that don't matter.
From school-induced insomnia.

I am from the wind
In my hair.
Stars above my head.
Children in my classroom.

I am from England-so far away, and yet so near.
I am from Doctor Who and Sherlock.
My inspirations.

I am from Sobahn.
My friend I have never seen.

I am from swinging into the lake from a tire swing and a zip-line.
Dogs.
Stray cats.
Army games.

I am from fake battles and singing hymns in the shade of the hot summer day.
I am from Christian and Kira.
From red paint on the pavement-lying to me, telling me it is blood.

I am from my childhood.
I wish I could go back there.

I am from home.

My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes.

I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me.
I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil.

I walked through mud. I waited for French tides.
I trudged in heavy water waders.

My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport.
The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there.

We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark.
I never learned how to drive manual.

We flew further south. I dried out in the sun.

The glands of Spanish streets pulsated
citrus mist into the air, my lungs.
I never did remember the difference between limon and lime.

We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween.
The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner.
We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore.
But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon.

Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been.

We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.

Stroll through the vast fields
Where the sun's evanescent rays shine still,
Where the wind whispers a sweet melody
To the graceful willows,
To a place where wildflowers dance
Silently amongst the golden barley,
Further still, to where the humble oaks
Survey the land below with unrivaled wisdom,
Forge through the gentle sea,
until the crisp breeze of spring carries you away.

-E.M.

The steel grey skies of the humdrum city
Hang over the cracked and dusty sidewalks,
The paint crackling and peeling off of
The once bright houses.
Lonely wanderers stroll silently down
The aged muddy path in old well worn shoes,
Miserable thoughts on their minds
But no expressions on their faces,
The sun dare not penetrate through the misty clouds,
And the sky is tinted a dark and murky grey.

-E.M.

What will haunt me until my dying day
is electricity pylons on motorway verges
for mile after elongated mile

and crash barricades, ebbing and flowing
with nauseating regularity and the
inexplicable sadness of the north circular

because believe me, purgatory is real
and its the central reservation of the A406
a haunted island where time is suspended
where days are ruined, dreams shattered
and lives ended

Why the hell ... do they do it … ???
They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!!
  
Well ... THE TRUTH is ...
Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ...
  
... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!!
  
Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!!
is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!!
  
But ... Let me ... Proceed ...
cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!!
that ... ANY ... Police Force ...
is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!!
  
" This Morn' " ...
It was ... ME ...
who they wanted ... " To be " ...
  
ANOTHER ... Young Black ...
in .... " Police Custody " ....
  
“Excuse me sir,
your car is registered,
to a national bank ?”

“THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED,
I’M PAYING A FEE,
SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS ….
IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…”

“Okay Okay !!!
but, can we have,
your name please ?”

“LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE,
IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !”
  
See .....
That's when ... their faces ...
Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!!
  
of ... seeing a black ...
Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!!
  
The car that I drive ...
is ... " LEGIT " ...
  
That's a .... FACT .... !!!!!
  
While ... RACIST OLD BILL ...
NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! …
  
When ...
" Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!!
  
They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!!
and then ... just .... RESORT ...
to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!!
  
Which ...
Just goes to ... SHOW ...
  
It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ...
who take drugs ... when they're low ...
  
It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!!
who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ...
  
But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ???
is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!!
  
because i'm ... Getting Sick ...
of ...... " ALL TELL " ......
and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!!
  
They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!!
Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ...
  
"Blacks being mis-treated,
is NOT a Race Thing !"
  
But …. ???? ….
  
These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows
Now Show ... how things' go ...
  
It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ...
Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!!
  
Now ... Journalists too ...
have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?!
  
That .....
" White Men " ... under cover ...
Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!!
  
NOT ...
A figment in ... Black peoples' ...
“******” …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! …
  
Now ...
Those are not words ...
I believe to be ... True ... !!!
  
I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ...
  
.... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! ....
  
Giving people ... " Some Clues " ...
as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ...
feel the way that ... I DO ... !!!
  
Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!!
  
But ...
Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!!
  
" Some " ... Black people STEAL ...
and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ...
Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!!
  
But ......
THIS ... Does Not mean ...
that ... EVERY ... Black Person ...
is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!!
  
and that ... Money they've made ...
Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ...
in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!?
  
It's Policemen ... to me ...
who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ...
  
and then in ... " Their Dreams " ...
Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!!
  
Just check through ... THE NEWS ...
  
You'll SEE ... what I mean ...
  
Well .....
  
My day's getting ... better ....
now i've ... " Typed " ...
These few ... " Letters " ...
  
But it's .....
Time to ... STOP TAPPING ...
  
cos' this poem i've written ...
has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!!
  
My View ...
On These ... PIGS ... !!!!!
  
Who ...... THRIVE ON ......
……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!

Above cushioned wall seats,
Where locals sit with dogs
At their feet,
Hang photos
Of footballers
Smiling still after near-forgotten games;
A farmer stands beside his blue ribbon boar;
Horses tethered to carts,
Near soldiers smiling with
The Republic's grimmace of war.

Outside cobbled streets
Lead to stone bridges
Walls and houses,
Near the shade of umbrella trees.
Turrets stop whispers
Wrapping their heights.

Black, white and fading.

Nine o'clock arrives
And pictures shake
From laughter
And music,
The click of dominoes,
And clink of pints,
In the pub life.