Fields of foliage green, with endless dope yields
streams of wasted life, Churchill's empire threadbare, poverty and ***** of its dignity.
I wish I could bury the soundless whispers that I seldom resite, turn off the light and with pride retire.
I see conceived walls of destitute junkies, rejected societies and abused deafness of blind philosophy, I highly rate the nostalgic plea.............
Postwar shadows of hidden government policies that call, I will, I shall, I will never.
Dust to dust, neon lights and queues to the other side, Cheque books and empty ink pens of thoughts i wish to re-sight a wasted life cannot do so............
I sentence you to a death of insanity, and still the concaved walls molded from the backs of bodies once leant, Rocking and craving I shall, I will, I know I'll return.

at home, november,
trailing rain, floods
the field,
damp horse droops,
dark, shiny, mud
splattered.

we walk, talk to the roofer,
jen on her bike, slimmer.

we draw, as film negative,
to replace the drawings
lost in post.

resite.

sbm

There are only a few people
I'd trust to:
resite my deepest poem

So few people to flip over my heart
on the worth of a coin

When you have so many idol's
who eventually seem so idle on inspiration

You think you know your heroes
Until they fail
to only then realize—
we're all still human

Sometimes foolish

To be around so little people, to remind
you it's ok in a harsh occasion

But lately that's what I've come to find
realest in all my unreal imagines
And choosing to still be happy in all
the strangest of happenings

Tell me who hasn't met daily tragedy

When you've done so much
but it never feels like enough,
or whether you've given it your best start

As when you've been fooled into
being a successful man early, is mandatory
                   "Better know how to provide
                                        for your family"

I'm still stuck on the idea of providing
for self
And the selfish me, of wanting to enjoy
my wealth by myself

Call me selfish for seeking
my own independence

Till I rest my case,
I guess I'm destined to be restless

Poor Mrs. Sincere Lee
Stares longingly at a frame
Gilded gold and empty
On her wall
Once a portrait of her younger face
If only her wane and fading
Mind beneath her thin thin crown
Of silver white,
Could she remember
Nimbly
If she could only resite
Brush stroke memory
Back to life

Since thoughts have drowned
In misty loss
Her youth and summer gowns
Gone to distant shores
From regretful ocean of forgotten
Melting days before
Like Salvatore Dali clocks mocking
Time in dreamy lacquer.
Her emotions turned against her,
Enemies at the door,
Draining the vivid Now demurer
Most recollections are merely
Half together sewn no fervor,
But Waves of ups and downs
Cast away in an album of
Forlorn, her own war
Old timers Alzheimer
Fading to devoured
Mindless hours staring
As colors fade to
Frailty to
Deathly
Darkly / But only a black
Black door...

She recalls her own demure lil curtsy
She was as loyal as a pet rock,
Still she stares at the blank canvas
Rather than the dawn on the dock
Frozen in the lack
Of having not known nor found
Someone
More than this
Silent dame of down,
With more to her than some
Husband's name
Mrs. Sincere Lee in her pink
Lingerie
Can only stare not at the painting
But it’s decaying frame…

With a thinning crown
Of silver white
Of wish of need of crave
The days without an empty canvas
Or her sentence
of self blame
Time is leaving her
Frozen In such hollow canvases
Not angry but a foggy haze
And a wrinkled touch of
Shame.

Ennui.
The trenchant ocean
Burns with out a flame.
Truth is a light
Love guides your way.
Forget me not
She says, to the ocean
Why stay...?