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Best Poems Written by Roy Smith

Below are the all-time best Roy Smith poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Making the Difference

Its full of crap this world in which we live
And it stinks
People get battered and bruised
And sometimes so do I
But wait
There’s a painting, there’s a song
If I would look with eyes that see
What the artist saw
And let the music move me
Then I’ll learn that laughter is allowed
That I’m not the victim
Behold the wonder in what’s created
There’s Life there
So I choose to love and to listen
To make the difference
Not to judge whoever, whenever for whatever
To open wide my heart in welcome
To all who would come
This is home and there’s room in here
To console the toddler in tears
And the teen with her fears
Choose to be gentle, to be kind
To affirm and encourage
Love the lost and lonely
Lift the desperate and those deprived of dignity
Catch an unhurried coffee with a friend
Believe that people try their best
Be grateful for it all
Not for recognition nor reward
But for the sake of Love
And love alone

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War

Bloodthirsty men in black
God is great they chant
As they discharge a barrage 
Of bullets from a mounted mobile gun
This round they’ve won it seems
Another dad has died
Another mum has cried
Children leave their games to run for cover
In abandoned homes and holes in the ground
Bullets blast apart families who flee to tented towns 
Far away war-mongering men in suits
Gather in their noble quest to start another war
Greedy for gain
Their efforts attain only hatred and revenge
They fight a distant war
Where talk is cheap
They’ll send a thousand jets a hundred times
To drop a million bombs
They’ll teach others the art of war
And drones will do their dirty work

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Another Day In Africa

In Africa another day is born
At dawn
The optimist awakes
To a world that’s bright with receding night
Hope and promise of things new
A world where dreams come true

In Africa another day is done
At dusk with setting sun
The pessimist seems right
In the fading light 
Of yet another day
Where despair and failure
Lie strewn along his way

Africa’s sun at noon 
Hangs suspended in the sky
Held in equilibrium 
And pulled between the two 
This dark continent illuminated
Her wonders and woes exposed, juxtaposed
And in the balance
Dangles her destiny

Rhythmic people sing their songs prolifically
In unmatched harmonies 
Ladies curtsey in respect
Where culture holds the sway

Noisy kids at play
The epitome of community
They learn to serve and share and care
Well muscled men with pride defend
Their dark identity

Your people with poise and patience
Meekness and strength
Move along unhurriedly
You’re blessed abundantly
Game runs free
Stunning lakes and rivers, forests and plains
And summer rains

Busy markets bustling with traders
And splashed with colour
All enhance your wonder

Africa the cradle of humanity
If true begs a question or two
Why have you not advanced?
And why are you so poor?

Hungry children with hollow eyes
Roam around in rags
Corrupt dictators with degrees
Have learned to take a bribe
Your breadbasket has become a begging bowl

Migrants in their thousands leave your shores
Because of wars
In search of greener fields
With arrogance you name and blame
It’s not your fault
So you become the victim
The one entitled to

You’re held in chains and still not free
Although you brag of
Madiba’s legacy

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Apartheid

It was written down in Black and White
Beautiful people segregated
Their dignity denied
A nation diminished and divided
Deprived and depraved
Hatred in the heart spewed out
Across the pages
Erupted on the streets
In peaceful protests
The sound of struggle songs
To ease the wrongs
Batons, beatings and bombings
Courtrooms, judges and jail cells
The sickening crack of gunfire
So many cried
Too many died
The pain runs deep
It wasn’t meant to be
And it’s left a shameful legacy
Which in the end
Only Love will mend

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Growing Old

Threescore and ten
The good book says
So he’s well over-spent
A younger man with years in hand
Would frown upon his mortal end
Yet he in deficit
Is more ready than me
Overtaken by a changing world
He’s left behind leaning on a stick
His friends have gone one by one
And he is left in pain
With trembling hands he drinks his tea
And talks repeatedly
Of memories from yesteryear
In resignation
A courageous smile graces a wrinkled face
Etched in wisdom of years gone by
And says 
It’s time

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Freedom the Fraud

Freedom is a captivating illusion
Just a dream you know
She seduces the naïve 
And keeps the simple believing
Those who live that dream
Become victims of seduction
Fewer decide differently
And then forever 
Fight the fetters 
Which trap them in the truth
Dodged by default
With innocent arrogance
By the unbelieving

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Hobo

He’s usually there – at the intersection
Disheveled and dirty
With blistered lips
Beaten mercilessly by the blazing sun
Day after day
I can’t look him in the eye
But nonetheless he approaches
I raise my hand to deny him a rand
Unmoved it seems – rich bastard
Do you know how it feels?
Without a word he speaks!
His presence is stark and powerful
And he begs of me
A multitude of questions
Which only he
Can answer

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Forever Young

The Legend with his lyrics
Expressed a hope, a wish, a whim
An unattainable dream to stay forever young
Today in the morning light
I saw myself looking back at me
Suddenly surprised at how desensitized
I’d become
To the irreversible sands of time
A weathered look astonishingly like Dad
Who without dispute is old
What good are nips and tucks or Botox?
Fabricating pretenders with fake facades
Surely weather-beaten portraits whisper 
To those who care to listen
The truth etched and creased
In frowns and wrinkles and blemishes
In thinner hair gone grey
A noble story worth telling
About accepting the challenge of life
In tears and disappointments and regret
I turn away and leave behind the portrait
That startled me 
And can’t help but wonder whether I have laughed enough

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Success

To only achieve one’s aim is surely
A deficient definition
Success is a simple word 
With unplumbed depths
It raises unanswered questions
Of what and why and how
Is this a noble quest at all?
Why fret about success?
I’m left wandering in the wilderness
Wondering about motive
Maybe if I allow love to lead
And tread this preferred path
Then questions about success
Will best be answered
By the those
Who need not ask

Details | Roy Smith Poem

Innocence

A gun slinging toddler donning scarf and cowboy hat 
A peach princess with her dimples, smiles and curls
What will this child become?
Can we not stall this silly question about potential?
Doctor, musician, teacher, sports star; 
Master, servant, writer, poet;
Does it matter now?
I wonder
Will hatred fill his heart or will he learn to laugh and love?
This child will be and become of course
But will pay the price for breathing
He has to live and learn 
And grow and go
Knowledge is power … so they say
But is it?
As we move in time we swallow change
To satisfy life’s yearning
And how tragic
Along the way 
Forever lose the magic