Number 3
number 3
Is never free
Always arriving after
number 1
and afternumber two
number three is theunmentionable
forgotten middle
The child missing at the edge of
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Stones
Some are soft and smooth and small
Embedded in the sand
Some stay hidden
Like a memory a word
And some are swallowed by the rain
And some lye still and glisten after storms
And some are ochre
And some are dyed in crimson shades of red
And some are smooth soft pearls of sapphire blue
Gracing the sea and sand
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Talking Cabbage
A talking cabbage told me, it would prefer to be in a side salad
Than watch the news
The couch potato listless of endless media coverage
Said it would rather be mashed and squashed
Than bored by another soap
Then it changed it's mind
And said it would prefer to mingle with mayonaise and chives
The talking cabbage said it would rather be coleslaw
Than know the weather
At least it could mingle with the onion and the carrot together
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poem by Yvette Smith
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R T A
They didn't see the collision coming
They were always coasting
Never looking with their eyes
Choosing always to stand
On the sideline where people were talking
They were all strangers
Huddled together under a january sky
Bodies spewed their contents
Emptied handbags
Broken cellphones
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Grand Central Lonely
At Grand Central 'lonely'
The workers are all going home
Leaving the dregs of the day
The littered side streets
The delinquent and the hobo
And the street musician
Those who are oblivious to time
Who move in and out of it
With drifting thoughts
More lonely than lonely?
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poem by Yvette Smith
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People Need People
People need people to
Put up shelves
To be themselves
And to laugh with
To unblock blocked toilets
To make their sandwhiches
And watch T.V with
People need people
To live with
To argue and forgive with
And to agree to disagree
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Man called DUD
There was a man called 'DUD'
Who thought himself a 'stud'
Infact he tried so hard
He quiffed his locks with lard
Unclipped a button from his shrt
Bore his hairy chest and tried to flirt
He sought a younger blonde/ brunette
Twenty somethings in a skirt
With his think lens he scanned the lonely hearts
And dyed his hair mexican red
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Brown Paper Bag
Brown paper bag
Squalid incomplete
slumped to the side of the street
Like unwanted sacks of garbage
She left her track her smell
And like the brown paper bag
She had travelled well
She had a whole world in her head
Her first love
The man she wed
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poem by Yvette Smith
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[not] A love letter to Arthur [Schopenhauer]
How could a man called Arther be so glum?
[I am being ironic! ]
Having made the sum
And found the sound of silence
Lost in space and nothingness
As if you were and are the only one?
Could love not have relieved you of your necessary pain?
I would have wished it there
Admidst the harlot and the angel
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poem by Yvette Smith
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Anorak
Walking in my anorak down memory lane
I realised my toggles were driving me insane
So I bit them off
Walking hoodless in the dark foreboding rain
Anorak Anorak all alone
Run away
Run away and find your way home
Your heads in a map
Your eyes in the clouds
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poem by Yvette Smith
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