Your lissome regrets

Harbour no sails

As I groom you to know

I am not equal to your love

I sustain

You envelope

Me in your lusting

For More.

I wonder at my name

Prince William of Brit

For never shall I know

How you found me

Alone as a knave

Now my wish has been

Granted. I have found

A Tommy but you are

The swell I have been

Swimming for.

Lift me up so I surf

The Kalahari again

Resist not

Dear Kate

You are the timely

Saint of my

Longing. B


COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders 2020

And they call them antipsychotics

Olanzipine makes you obese

Aripirazole makes you lactate

Clozapine makes you faint

But I’m not worried about the seniority of the doctors in charge

Who are too young to understand the sensitivity of the psyche

And its warrants to allow those with undue pressures to perform

To allow them to feel secure in the findings of medicine

They don’t understand the use of prescription medicine to help their cause

To understand feelings misjudging them as faithless beings

Inscribed with the factual and not informative.

I feel they are killing us successfully as they use their means to open doors they should leave shut and to close them is impossible once they begin their terror.

Picu is psychiatric intensive care which they do not do. They don’t care and leave you caged with your medicine until you adapt to their way of thinking.

It is sure to be the end of all thinking when they absolve themselves of all jurice prudence and allow the writing to say it all.

Okay, here it is let’s take on all comers.

There once was a little ti’e called the end.  ((sic) = time))

It was the end but not the begin, so to speak

In other words

It did no’ begin with a shrill shriek

It begun (sic) with a shrill overtone of li-fe

Such that it did no’t (sic) (i.e. “did and did no’ ” with the “and did” missing)

Such that it did not matter what survived the poetry but

the end game of souls and selfless want.  (This means that it is the time of the new energy but not the time of the old thing called cellular microscopy – you’ll see)

Once there was a new man in town called Bruce (me)

But now there is only the new kid in the block (again this is me)

But I am not a new to this game I am an ol’ hand that is the end of that.

Hence my Credit Control game, you juvy-bound horsewhip Seabiscut

You head is in the sand but soon it shall be between the sheets

If you don’t watch it!

Bye! (Some poetic licence is allowed, your honour – this is not a dire threat, this is against the possibility that she shall  try and draw an account against my name in A-meri-ka)

I am watching and waiting to here the results of her brain scan.  (Hence the cellularmicroscopy imagary – try to put THAT in a poem!)

Copyright B E Saunders 2016