The shortest poem
The poem arrives in the middle of the street
It travels across the lines that should be crossed
It moves blindly absent of danger
Avoiding the warnings
Stepping out at the red light
Side stepping into side streets
Finding a secret turning
The poem travels the distance of the sun
Lifting clouds apart
Cartwheeling in parks
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Yellow Jacket
There is a cycle brigade that leaves bright and early every morning
I follow them through the rustic narrow strips of park
Along the scenic view before the march, of traffic
And commuter feet swallows up this pastoral symphony
And one solitary lark rises above clouds
Its song unheard beneath the din of hooting horns
And bicycle bells
I follow them further still, under the grand wellington arch
Passed the soldiers in full kit on early morning drill
Racing down lanes beneath an early morning breath of trees
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poem by Yvette Smith
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The Art Of Rejection
There is an Art to 'rejection'
First they 'hook you in'
With tales of love and words of 'I love you'
The sugary sweet pill of flattery
Of making coral shine from broken shells
Knowing all to well
Such fragile beauty
Could not bear the lightening breakers
Mountain storms
Until tempest tossed
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poem by Yvette Smith
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I have written
And I have written sorrow many times
Yet never cried
These tears
I have written laughter in sunspilt skies
Though kept my laughter hidden out of view
And what you see, you who see these words?
What you see is true, yet not all true
For words hang in the air
Under a vacant sky
Leaving no trace or sign or clue
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Neet Ma Friend
neet ma friend please hot wen yee cum rounda bend
So we knee meet
Are woodnee looka at ya feet
Or take ya last sweet lassie
Are teem was a disaster
A na nooo happee ever after
Yee left me standin in the rain
Yarrrah Wee pain
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Silence
The silence gives me a tongue,
That I have not yet learnt to speak with
It suffers the drip drip dripping of the tap
In this dry urban flat
Before the rain has fallen
Silence gives me a tongue
That I have not learnt to speak with
It reaches beyond the language
More sacred than a prayer
More wise than holiness 'itself'
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Hamlet soliliquy insomnia
'To sleep, or, not to sleep?
That is the question
Whether it is nobler in the mind
To heave the leaded unslept eyes of sleep
Adrift in that uncertain hour
Between the hem of dawn
And sombre headed night
Or drink the hemlock of dispair
And sleep herewith eternally
In some far distant land?
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Borderlines
Beyond the limit of 'ourselves'
Beyond the making and the undoing of our tongues
Borderlines
No need for ritual here
No need for argument
The blank posters
The blind accomplishment
These borderlines
Leading
Seeking to
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Tomato
My love is a tiny red cherry tomato
That has found it's way into my heart by way of,
'An omelette'
'A cheese sandwhich'
A kittenish quiche
A side salad, that slid in through the side entrance
A tiny glistening punnet that flirted with the light
A drink carton full of bloody juice
A red nose that passed itself off as a tomato
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poem by Yvette Smith
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February
February came and went, like a love song never meant,
To be heard until summer.
Then march marched in, suprisingly late
The buds still swollen on the trees
The river stretching out beneath the evening
And april brought memories of you leaving
The sunlight left it's golden locks upon the floor
And may was full of sleeping in beyond the time of waking
Of autumn walks under overcast skies
And something out of step and out of season
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poem by Yvette Smith
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