Best Tim Poems
Hot date
Can’t wait
We're at
My flat
Cute eyes
Nice thighs
Admit
She’s fit
So sweet
Must eat
We dine
Sublime
First Kiss
Sheer bliss
Soft peck
On neck
Tongue's twirl
Toes curl
First base
Hearts race
Undressed
Bare breast
Blimey
She’s ‘HE’
No joy
Ladyboy
Fussy
Pussy
Night ends
As friends
Written by Jan Allison & Tim Smith
28th August 2014
I sit here and ponder the days that have past
The many loves that I had, that just didn’t last.
One really sticks out, wish I had another chance
Treating her so differently, I’d show her romance.
I loved once a man, who just wanted to play
At being romantic .life was just foreplay.
Thought a kiss would be enough for his turtle dove
Not thinking about feelings, whether I wanted love.
We would start a family, having a baby or two
We’d live on the hillside, with a beautiful view,
We’d grow old together in the home that we build
Giving my life meaning, I’d be so fulfilled.
He now thinks that he wants me, I am the one
to fill up his heart to make me his own.
Promising me a home on a hillside with a view
Yet he hasn’t vowed that he would be true.
I’d hold her and cherish her til the day we depart
I’d profess to her my love and give her my heart
Romantic nights on that hill gazing up at the moon
Our days filled with laughter, frolicking in the lagoon
Sure he now promises me love for ever after
A life of joy, happiness and full of laughter
On that hillside we’d sit, watching the world go by,
A family, two dogs at our feet, kissing loneliness goodbye.
Penned by Tim Smith and Seren
You have all heard I am sure of the three musketeers
The group with the swords not the ones with the funny ears
Reminds me of a joke that right here would apply
There are three kinds of people I tell you no lie
Those who are really quite good at math
And those who are not and that's that
They were the three musketeers but they were four
Their math was bad not three, four and no more
I hope you're all still with me, I'm not trying to be a pest
I need you to follow me because at the end there's a test
There is Casarah
Yeah and hurrah
She is a good ma
Then there is Tim
You should know him
He's tall and trim
And finally there is the kind hearted Jan
From England she's the one with no tan
Coy and demure behind her fancy fan
If you kept count that makes three
Who can argue. You'd have to agree.
Now we have arrived at what I am trying to say
I've just joined them and I quite enjoy sword play
Do you see? I am number four.
I'll just walk through their door.
That makes me the best, the fillet mignon
It turns out that I am frikin' D'Artagnan.
Why oh Why
A Collaboration between Seren Roberts, Tim Smith and Arthur Vaso
Poem inspired by Seren Roberts
Each poem written from a different view
The Murderer
The Murdered
The Mannequins who witnesses the crime
Why of Why
Lovers Die
Mannequins Cry
Sat, with his head in his hands
Remembering how love had once been,
Now, because of his stupidity
He was on his own, solitary again
Remembering, how love had been,
Behind the bars he now calls home
He was on his own as before and again,
Realizing, he was such a petty bitter fool
Behind the bars he now calls home
His mind, aflame with tears of regret
Realizing he was an utter fool,
To have stabbed her to death in a bloody pool
His mind aflame, with deep regret
Why... did he buy a knife that day...why?
To have stabbed her to death
Cause she had given love another try.
Oh how he wishes, its he that had died
Lovers Die
I linger with the scent of flowers
cascading over what was once spring showers
Your red hands drip passion
long since cooled
darkness surrounding you has lifted
and only I can see the light
Why couldn't you leave
a girl clamoring to be free
dressed in a burnt orange skirt
driven to the stake with your hurt
Words were written on the wall
but all you did was erase it all
Twisted as the knife turns
in a cell your hell burns
Mannequins Cry
We have no faces
We have no voices
You think we have no feelings
You see us as objects in commercial spaces
We saw the hidden knife unfold
We saw the young ones stabbed so bold
Pain is the emotion that frightens us all
Mannequins crying, tears running as we see her crawl
When the blood flowed
When the redness of hate showed
We with no faces
Shed tears at the human disgraces
Such young love so brutally robbed
By the jealous and lonely one, made us all sob
He regrets I am sure the hate that overflowed
Life's so torn it can't be sown
Written by Tim Smith and Seren Roberts
Across the room I slowly walk
Hips swaying, smile in place
Sensually I use my body to talk
Holding out my hands to touch his face
Here she comes, walking my way
Beauty and grace, with a smile in place
Look at her swing, look at her sway
Oh how I want to kiss that sweet face
Gently I bring his face close to mine
Looked into his eyes, desire written there
Hungrily kiss his lips, they feel divine
I stroke his neck, ruffling his hair
She pulls me in, much to my surprise
Aromatic perfume, she's heaven sent
Glow to her face, twinkle in her eyes
Her touches so sweet, I must be a gent
Crooking my finger he follows at last
I wait til his body is close to mine
Slowly I turn, my heart beating fast
Look on his face is saying all is fine.
Following close when she calls to me
Feelings so strong, feelings so right
My heart beating fast, she sets me free
Our heat steaming up, on this brisk night
Just goes to prove with a smile and a sway
A gal can entice a guy in a seductive way
In silence, your friendship is a sun to me,
Your warmth a shower to erase pain.
In you pain exists, something I cannot solve,
But in my warmth you can stay a while.
Just know that I am here for you,
For friendship is no one way street.
***
Copyright © Darren White
March 31, 2017
I wrote a poem of despair
My hearts been tossed up into the air
She wrote a limerick that was taboo
She made me laugh when I was so blue
Entering stage left was Tim
Writing of past lovers sins in a hymn
It seems that we laugh or we cry
We live, we love, or we die
The three of us, holding poetic swords up high
Throughout the ages we all do fly
No subject goes unspoken
For the freedom of words we've awoken
No battle to long or too fierce
Our duels are true and unrehearsed.
Through blood, sweat and tears
A bond so strong that sweetens the years
All for one and one for all
Let us carry on and have a ball!
Tim's poem, Hello Sorrow, was the incentive for my continuance of the sorrowful emotion in Hello Grief.
Hello Sorrow
There you are old friend—
I knew that you were here
wrapped alone beside desolation
hidden deep amongst despair
Hello my sorrow there you lie—
in the wallow of disdain
shun me forth in misery
regret infused past pain
~ ~ ~
Hello Grief
Here you are once again
I knew you would return
as a shadow of my sorrow
when for her arms I yearn
Hello grief, my haunting friend
ghostly memory of my heartache
how long will you remain
for a love I must forsake
Where would I be without Casarah and Tim?
Would I remain here or just leave on a whim
Usually first to make a comment on my latest write
Both commenting on people’s poems even late at night
They lift my spirits so much during a dark dark day
Join in the banter when my world's in disarray
Continue with the humour and post poems in reply
Make me laugh so much a tear forms in my eye
Incredible poets in their own right
Reading their poems is a sheer delight
Tim’s an incredible dad
Casarah an adoring mum
Little Abby one day a poet will become
Just want to say thank you to such loyal friends
Let us be here for each other so our friendship never ends
Love and Hugs to you both
Jan ***
6th August 2014
THE DITCH BECAME ABYSS:
Collaboration with Tim Smith
When I was here
All the music sang lalala
I only saw your eyes
When you were here
All the words read you you you
and all made sense
When we were here
In a different life, the river flowed
rippling love around us
Now without a we
No longer captured in a breeze
The ditch became abyss
Now without you here
All my days are blue blue blue
and my senses darken too
Now without me here
my head is spinning round round round
no longer seeing out clouded eyes
***
January 4, 2016
Tim Smith
Darren White
With just my thoughts beneath a starry night
I find each thought becomes a thought of you
For in the darkness there is always light
And tomorrow the sky will turn to blue
And you have moved so far beyond, my friend
This place where only mortals dare to tread
This long and winding road there at the end
You paved with every joy and sorrow shed
Together with your wife and son again
I knew the pain you carried in your heart
On every page there burning like a flame
With poetry you made it through the dark
Still here on earth I see you where you are
Tim Ryerson, by far the brightest star
In loving memory
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Coach Dad
It is a magic time when a child ventures
Into the world, spreading wings,
Beginning the oft painful process
of moving from the nest to the sky.
And it is a fragile time, where first experiences
Weigh heavily on shaping the direction
In which young life begins to move
And often whether it moves at all
It is a trying time, of fear and nervousness
One little step out on their own
The start of something bold and beautiful
The molding of a young child's eye
Much is made of parents and peers,
Oft unaddressed is the role of others
Teachers and coaches, a collective entity
Not dissimilar from fathers and mothers
The torch of responsibility being passed
If only for a brief moment
No more clinging to the safety and comfort
of what is already a norm and known
Encouragement or unkind words
So often a matter of chance and moods
Have mighty impacts on growing hearts
Precious opportunities to help a growing life
Young minds and hearts right on the surface
We remember our coaches, good and bad
Caring or not, patience or none,
The struggles, thin times and thick
A team of seven year olds
Is not unlike a litter of unruly puppies
How will they ever pay attention?
Give them a ball, a glove, and a game!
Pride, courage, athleticism, self-confidence
All showcased for the world to see
Taking turns and building bonds
Grasping much more than a newfound skill
If you can stand to be measured,
and fail by that measure, even repeatedly
But come back from it, you'll forever have
One more vital skill in life’s toolbox
One youngster will not win the game alone
But the team can, and its joy
Is multiplied many times over.
All these things and more can be taught.
Whether it be on the field or off
Teamwork, respect and camaraderie
Will forever be entrenched in the mind
Of a well instructed boy or girl
5/4/16
© Tom Quigley and Tim Smith
I have a friend by the name of Tim,
He keeps in shape when frequents the gym.
His Kelly green Mustang he drove
And smack'd it into a cove.
The witches got him and ate one of his limbs!
Dorian Petersen
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
October,5,2014
Terrific charmer,blessed and gifted
Invincible love fulfills his heart
Modesty is a reflection of his beliefs
Super dad and souper spice
Master of words and muses
Incredibly kind to all others
Trustworthy and truthful friend
Heartwarming!His sweet gentility
reaches our soul.
Dedicated to Tim Smith
Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen : )
on the 3rd of December 2014!
We gave Johnny a gun and a uniform
Trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Sent him deep into Vietnam jungles warm
With little regard to how we did him harm
So certain we knew what we joined to fight for
We were shipped off to fight an unwinnable war
A war of "containment," unlike those before
Mothers screamed, fathers wept, siblings ached to the core
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiance did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
Those of us who survived thought we'd just done our jobs
We returned and were shamed by violent gobs
Of silver-spoon white kids in hate-spewing mobs
Spat-on and welcomed as baby-killer slobs
No heroes welcome would await these young men
No ticker-tape parades were staged for them
Just jeers from crowds, uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran
Too classy and noble to demand our fair share
We lay in that shabby old hospital there
In a closet-sized room with no visitors' chair
Understaffed, underfunded, with short-handed care
The "benefits" they found would astound all now
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Would be filled with unnamed graves of men once proud
Before the rows of white crosses we should bow
Our Wailing-Wall stands now in Washington, D.C.
So shiny but black, a telling-tale of the fee
We have paid for our nation, our land of the free
Will you come pay respects? Will you not at last see?
Some veterans still suffer disgraceful neglect
So please explain who more deserves our respect
Let us pause with angelic choirs and genuflect
To show gratitude as on this Wall we reflect
Friends, Dane Ann is among those who served in the army during the Vietnam war and is
now recovering from long-overdue hip surgery performed at an old VA hospital in
Gainesville, Florida. Thank you for your prayers on her behalf. Many thanks
to Tim Ryerson, another Vietnam veteran, for joining me in this write.