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Yvette Smith

No intention

These words were never meant

The word poetic

Has found itself unpoetic

Never intended for music

Or for argument

There is no epic, or sonnet

Of rivulet

Neither is there purple tinted skies

Or timpanic symphony

'unpoetically'

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Graffitti Artist

I blame the graffitti artist

Whose stolen swollen words

Emblazon me with rage

Paper walls torn

Page from page

Limbs discarded

Unwanted bodies

Cluttering the stage

'War made art'

I blame the graffitti artist

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Stranger

love has become stranger

the more older it becomes


With years of doing being seeing


Shot down

with guns

That mark the

beginning

And the ending


Of a race

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No Reply

No reply
Is a sign
That no one's there
And no one cares
Enough to
Reply
With a sigh
Or a word
Or two
A lack of reply
Is a sign
That you
And you
Are alone
In the world
In your room
In the street where you walk
Unheard
No
no one is listening to you

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Cancelling the meeting

Not out of intent but a drive towards a natural leaning

Tired worn out day beckoned to my inner self to rise

And 'cancel every meeting'

So many weeks beneath a plastered ceiling

Rooms filled with sanitized 'chat'

And endless boardroom meetings

Tired of this thread of wasted days

Of Rotas and Agendas

And 'after dinner smoke and haze'

So much sound and noise

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Pub Face- Loneliness

Pub Face -loneliness took his seat by the bar
Having forced himself through a hysterical mass

Of delerious, but serious
Women and men

Proffesionals
At the heart of the City

Now giggly google eyed
And child like adolescents

Stomping around handbags
Shifting in time to pub music

On a loop
Drinks flying across saloon bars

Taking their pills
with a shot glass and cigars

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An apology

If I have grieved you, I am sorry

I didn't see you there

I watched instead

The rubbed out face of a picture

Dissapearing into rain

On the side of the road

A man kneeling

Bent with a broken crayon..as if in prayer

If I didn't see you

I am sorry

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This Poetry

This poetry is not poetry

This poetry is not poetry as poetry goes

But is as silent as a man in a rollo neck jumper

Almost reading yesterdays news

This poetry is not poetry

As far as poetry goes

It is neither verse

Or poesy prose

This is a debunking of 'The poetry'

Everyone knows

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Viewpoint

some people said I was crazy

And some people said I was lazy

And some people said I was on course

For a fully fledged 'divorce'

Until I said 'listen, I'm not married'

Some people said I was always carried

By other people with as much emotional baggage

Some people said I looked like a cabbage

And some people said I was as BIG AS A HOUSE

Some people said I was as quiet as a mouse

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Margarine Days

lost in those margarine days returning

Those big white sliced days

The bleached overalls of my learning

The ink smudge and the after school grudge

And the hungry plates of them and us

The H.P and the annual debt

The shopping queues

And the washing line heavy with all you could not get

In the january sales

The broken doors forced entry in to consumer paradise

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