Notes To An Amnesiac
memories are made of these
Your keys
Odd socks left on the washing line
names on a list in a book
You cannot find
That lost glove
Pushed under the carpet
Or the note you wrote about your lover
Before you ever met or even touched
And the television is turned to neutral
As you listen
And unlisten
To the radio in your head
Your dinner is left congealed
Your books dusty and unread
The puzzle
Full of words you no longer understand
The alien has landed in a foreign land
Memories are made of these
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poem by Yvette Smith
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For the lost
Grief, asks no questions
But still we strive to fill it with an answer
To pity the undisguised soul
That walks bare foot across our sanctuary of dreams
To paint mournful dancing tears upon the lonely strangers face
Stranger still,
Our own reflection in the mirror of their eyes
We stand by graves
With unsung hymns still held between the fingers of our hands
Tongue dry
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Human Beings
Human being beings are strange in being human,
Strange in love and art and vice,
Strange in being nice
Human beings are strangers in the night
Lights shining on a starry night
No sooner blinked out they are gone
A stranger in the human race
Keeping up keeping face,
Moving on
In crowds and queues and buses
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Return
If
memory escapes me
I have returned to you
A thousand times
In dreams dreaming
In streams glistening
In half light
You have become tiny stars
I return to you
In the unfolding hours
Of embracing
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poem by Yvette Smith
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The journey
Word sent
Word weight heavy less
I don' t understand the journey that you take
Only that your arrival is thread bare organic
Flimsy light purposefully driven
Under the skin of the object
You are telling me
That words
Are living
Whose cells unfold and multiply
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poem by Yvette Smith
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A tissue's lament
Once a perfect soft white sheet
Now a crumpled smelly rag
Once a song on a serene windchime
Now a broken chord in a backroom bar
Once innocent wrapped up in my pure white bed
And sheets of a hundred others
On which I rested my angelic head
Hopes smashed
Dreams of serviette fame defeated
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Two states
There are two states
One love
One hate
Two ways to go
At the fork in the road
Some choose left
Some choose right
And some sit up and think about it all through the night
And some walk straight through
Unplanned in what they 'ought to do'
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Fatigue
Tired today
Almost a reed broken
Worded out from speech
Finding a peace
In hung silence
And these are all clouds
No dreams tail
There is nothing to reach for
But this, in this moment
Loved out of love
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Tell me
Tell me about summer, about full moons in winter
Tell me the time in a face of a clock that has stopped
Tell me about rain
And the way that it falls
Tell me about love and about nothing at all
Show me a world in the palm of your hand
Tell me you love me you hate me you need
Tell me you own me
You'll bleed me exceed me
Tell me you do,
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Potato
My love is a potato
Crude with piggy black eyes
Slit in the side and soiled by sod
My love is the rough handled skin
That follows the relentless storm
The tempestous waves
That raged and rent its first soft form
My love is a potato
The first and almost last known outcast
In a jungle school
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poem by Yvette Smith
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