He smashed that thing.
What was his mood?
He'd spoken to her, to him,
then to that dog, that cat.
What is the cause of a mood,
though often good, but -
oh dear! - so bad at times?
But then he returns. He’s here.
Does he always or merely often
think he's now had
a smashing event -
though only at times?
Or can he be calmed,
touched by us, gently, sympathetically?
Can he be claimed, grabbed,
drawn back into sanity?
We make judgement on that temper.
Is this a climate, an immovable region
of his sense of humour?
Will he entertain another smashing time?
(17 Feb 2024)
My Thoughts On
Smash & Grab
Miracle Man
8-15-2023
Some big cities now enforce a change in their law,
which allows an enclave to freely smash and grab.
What offenders deserve is some “Shock and Awe”,
but lawmakers have chosen meaningless confab.
They allow hoodlums to freely take from another,
they smash and grab things that have cash appeal.
Their chosen way of life is to take from some other,
and what they can’t bum they’re willing to steal.
Must decent people live and work in constant fear?
Because some other can’t or won’t earn their pay.
Daily cries go out but the disinterested don’t hear,
They should do their jobs or get out of the way.
Shootings here, violence there
Smash-and-grab everywhere
So it seems, but look again
It’s a mostly urban scene
How much longer can it be
~ To death our cities bleed
green and red fashion —
jealousy, the unashamed
angry and greedy
12/16/2021
Smash and Grab
Loot and nab.
Did your parents tell you, it is Ok to grab?
Stash and run.
Who taught you stealing is fun?
Job by mob.
Never had a job, for you I sob.
Crash the glass.
What care you, about the owner’s cash?
In and run out.
You sin and with joy, smile and shout.
In jails, you belong.
Lights out early and no late night songs
12/11/2021
SMASH AND GRAB
traffic light red
car stops dead
alert eyes dart
surrounded by dark
panic imposed
she knows
the fear real
and near
that crowbar
window smash
loaded weapon
held to head
attacked she
smells his trashed
ambivalence
dealt her way
hand of fate
grabs the keys
ignoring her
pleas
he doesn’t feel
or give a damn
pavement flung
she lands cold
with terror as
all she hears
are her infants
tears strapped
trapped in the
back
while….
he screeches his hate
with the exhausted
fumes of a child
displaced
(Your average day in South Africa)
© Kim van Breda—21 October 2015
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.