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Darrel Smith Poem
The morning sun had not yet cut the forest
into shadow and light, and the gray mist of the coming
day fell from the autumn sky.
The creeping fog added its damp prospective
to the Trees. Their visually poetic patterns
were etched in red and yellowed leaves
on muted branches of greys and browns.
Ever Greens dotted the hillside as if
Punctuating the view with quotation marks,
periods, and commas, allowing nature to
write her commentaries in a breath taking language of color.
My mind captured by the fallen leaves, cascaded down the mosaic
of a hillside to the forest floor. It was released by
a small flock of birds that landed in the trees near the lake.
Their fluttering black wings slapped and echoed.
Chaotic chirping bounced with them in a morning mêlée
of song and dance. The occasional red tipped wing
flickered through the hopscotched patterns
of sight and sounds.
Welcomed by the stark morning, and in spite
of the contrast the frolicking cacophony
brought to the once quiet serene surroundings,
My sleeping bag half unzipped I stopped…
the since of oneness made me sigh in completeness.
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
Scorn is my aim,
It is my hope for salvation.
This was never real! Never!
it was nauseatingly surreal
“Relationship” you called it,
“Abomination!” I say,
Twisting and teasing my yearning.
Inspiring my passion, my affection,
all to be foil for your mockery!
Expertly you made me suffer,
Tormenting me! Torturing me!
Turmoil !!
OH God! To my soul and further!
to the soul of my soul,
to my inner soul… turmoil!
Tramp, Harlot, vampire of
the innocent bloom of desire.
Igniter of inextinguishable flames,
Purveyor Of lust and the Profane,
I curse you!
still, this said…
in my mouth, I still taste you
in my nostrils, I still smell you
my fingertips, remember you.
My heart, Oh God! my Heart, it
wants free of my chest!
It bangs at my chest this betrayer!
My whole body betrays me!
I want it torn away
tare it Away from me!
Tare my body away!
It is more hers then mine anyway.
Leave my naked soul to drown in the eithers
Of bodiless breathless slumber
un-encumbered, un-infested, un-tainted.
Anything, Anything, I say
Anything that will pull her out of me,
I will do
You liar, you bamboozler,
You never, ever loved me!...
You were my cherished, my forever
my bitter, my sweet, my tender
passions temptress.
But, In vain…In Vain,
all my attempts In vain… and sadly
if I were Breathless, and bodiless,
I would love you still.
written For Delilah Ventura dictionary fun contest 11/13/2012
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
The poison has been applied again,
the blade has cut deep,
Each branch is gnarled;
my leaves are few,
my thorns grow large,
my flowers small,
So what if I am the weed?
The uncultured peasant,
the bastard flower.
Do you blame me for
Cursing at the rose, or
Whining about the Iris,
Shadowing above the pansy?
Should I not push my roots deep?
Show my face to the sun ?
Am I not of god too?
Yet the gardeners hand holds
no compassion, his eyes give no love,
His speeches of plucking
And cultivating is not
for inspiring the culled.
So piss on the gardener!
I‘ll Shove my roots deeper,
and pray for more thorns.
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
The burst is at horizons gate;
Awakened is the desire to touch.
Sky lips push sea breath, moist, then wet,
now dripping, across the balmy gulf.
It is a passionate kiss…
A whisper of white nothing,
a stringing of mist above slapping roar
and foaming wave,
the kiss is returned…
The sky shimmers with delight,
Desire clasps and strikes its chord
unleashing in the night
a shivering electric pulse…
With wind bellowed song, and
tree whipping dance, salty wet lovers
entwine and contort until spent,
passions touch is sated…
The breathless, caressers, inhale,
the tide exhausted, recedes exhaling gifts
of pearled Shells, and seaweed
on a bed of contented sand.
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
is that you love
in the dark by the bed
I smell your pillow
I reach for you
crying knowing you died
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
morning coffee cooked
brewed on open flame
hot into a tin cup
belongs in the woods
on an autumn morning
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
I know this river.
It flows up from there down to here,
and slips around to the other side.
I have skipped stones at its banks,
and pulled branches from its currents,
drew pictures in its muddy shore.
I know this river, and it Knows me.
It calls to me from distant places, it
remembers my name, and sings to
me in my dreams.
This river speaks to me from oceans and
lakes. I hear its voice in my sink,
it song in my tub, it whispers to me
in my morning shower.
This river knows me, and I know this river.
It called to me as a boy and
it calls to me as a man.
This river and I flow together,
seperate and meet again.
I know this river, and it knows me.
This river is my soul.
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
When an apple was still just a fruit
I had good teeth, gums that didn’t bleed
And a heart that didn’t ache
I loved like a fool then, without caring
of consequence or safety, and chewed
up anything put in front of me whether
It was apples, or beautiful women.
Now apples have ‘down loads’ and ‘apps’,
and I have bad teeth, and a wife
who wants to tell me she doesn’t
love me anymore.
Everything has changed forever;
apples, my teeth, my women.
But, when apples were still just a fruit
You should have seen me,
...man I was something
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
The catheters drip does not make a sound at all.
While the heart monitor beeps are most incessant,
I lay quiet and listen to whisperers down the hall.
Though I desire to lay here and be convalescent,
do the opiates desire for me dreams they weave?
While the heart monitor beeps are most incessant.
Is it my body’s betrayal my mind can’t perceive?
Is not the heart attacked, the heart that breaks?
do the opiates desire for me dreams they weave?
Deeds of earthly toil done not for heaven’s sakes
Lay here with me, quiet now, in desolate hour
Is not the heart attacked, the heart that breaks.
Where has it gone, all of my earthly power
those visions of grandeur and of vanity’s pride?
Lay here with me, quiet now, in desolate hour
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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Darrel Smith Poem
On hobo corner
I coughed the powdered air,
the radio news said “its a purple day”.
I could taste the sky.
inhale deep, exhale deeper
Spitting out the van window
the light green wad smacked
the hot black asphalt with a sizzle.
I know I’m sick.
The homeless man on the corner
spits to, its larger, greener, nastier.
He shoves a smelly hand at my face,
says nothing, just expects.
He looks too much like me not
to give him money. The crumpled
paper greener then both our spit
goes from hand to hand.
I hate him as he turns away
with his new money,
a face that looks like mine,
and hands that smell of dumpsters.
Finally a green light,
everyone so wanting here,
like an accusation, or a family waiting,
inhale deep exhale deeper
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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