Hemel Hempstead    1969 -   
Poet and short story writer. My short stories are mainly horror.
I was attacked in 1997 and my left leg badly burnt which led me to begin writing poetry as a means of theraputic healing.
I am the last person who admits if I am any good, I just write and to me it is the readers who enjoy what I do that make it worth while.
Thank you for all those who come to read my efforts and with so many excellent poets here it makes it all worth while.

Chris

I have also been experimenting with YouTube from 2014. I have a handful of poems on there. Most Popular seems to be Goldfish Dreams (Chris Smith is the name on there but search for Goldfish Dreams and I'm easier to find).

www.facebook.com/welshpoetcs2.

I am also on Twitter as welshpoetcs and on Tumblr as Darkpoetsoul.

I have been using Hello Poetry since 2009.
I also use www.apolloblessed.ning.com.
Poet and short story writer. My short stories are mainly horror.
I was attacked in 1997 and my left leg badly burnt which led me to begin writing poetry as a means of theraputic healing.
I am the last person who admits if I am any good, I just write and to me it is the readers who enjoy what I do that make it worth while.
Thank you for all those who come to read my efforts and with so many excellent poets here it makes it all worth while.

Chris

I have also been experimenting with YouTube from 2014. I have a handful of poems on there. Most Popular seems to be Goldfish Dreams (Chris Smith is the name on there but search for Goldfish Dreams and I'm easier to find).

www.facebook.com/welshpoetcs2.

I am also on Twitter as welshpoetcs and on Tumblr as Darkpoetsoul.

I have been using Hello Poetry since 2009.
I also use www.apolloblessed.ning.com.
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  1 day ago
Angel
Angel
Aug 31

An angel
studying humans
from her
vantage point

Never fully
understanding
the addictions that
afflict so many
Addictions of all
shapes and sizes
rolled
powdered
liquid

So many lost

One day
six feet of
sex and intrigue
walked across
her path.
Off limits.

Unable to resist
a deadly sin
with laughing
green eyes.
She ventured away
from her perch
to see him
up close and
personal

She was lost.

Waking only
during the times
his mouth was
not on hers
Gone.
Absent hands of
magic
unable to
sustain the fix.

Withdrawals,
a special hell.
Reserved for those
silly enough
to fall
Lost
Without his words,
falling from lips
that rivaled heaven.
Lost
Elsewhere,
his touch
bringing another
joy.
Lost
His scent
no longer
lingering

Left.

Waiting
for another fix
of her
drug of choice
Him.

Heaven
lost.

Given up
for long legs,
a  bowlegged
walk,
and hair
like silk.
A man
with
electricity
in his fingertips
and a
charming silver
tongue

Words,
reminders of
a perfection
she can't touch.
To taunt her
during the
in between
times of rebirth
and change.
A burning hell
that
transformers
her equally
as much
as the time
with him.

No longer divine
yet not quite
human
she patiently
awaits.
For her demon
to slip in
the back door
in the midnight hour

She waits

For a fix

A walking
addiction
with poetic words
and
blissful hands
that have branded
his name
on her newly found
soul.

Angels have
Demons too

~AKC
[08/26/2014]

#love   #poem   #poetry   #addiction   #lust   #sex   #muse  
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  5 days ago
Connor Sean McMurrick Crow
Connor Sean McMurrick Crow
5 days ago      5 days ago

You burned across the eastern sky, luminescence lost in a tail of a comet.
My eyes, gently lit by  dawns fingers, faltered with such beauty.
Dead ferns, alight with dew, took a breath in frigid morn.
Fen doused in moonlight -  haunted with ghost trails.

I awoke Iapetus.

Can you feel this fear
Orchestrated by a tear
Made by a scared thought
Pushed by what the mind taught
Listen now to this trembling story
Illustrated by a apologetic sorry
Compacted by a mirror broken
Agony of those words never spoken
Time came when terror made a mark
Erupted to ignite this morbid spark
Darkness becomes a tad complicated

Copyright Chris Smith 2014
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  Sep 1
Margaret

The puzzle is never solved.
They are looked at and pointed at
by children who don't know
that we're supposed to pity them.

Oh Son, Oh Daughter
they have Autism!
Oh, I feel so bad!


The straight jackets and shocks
have turned to stares and mocks.

They didn't to choose to be born this way
a piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit.

We look at them and thank God that its
not us.
Its not me.
But the indifference doesn't work.
We thank God that its not us.

But do we ever feel any empathy?
If you could imagine having a retardation
never really fully understanding anything

A chromosomal abnormality that would
affect your whole life forever.

Having to be watched
always having someone taking care of you
you would never have any independence.

Autism seemed to be their name
"he's Autistic"
It wasn't their name.
There is much more to them.

These people used to be tortured
people thought that they had a demon inside of them
that we had to get out.

What we never realized was that
the real demon was us.

The puzzle metaphor is a symbol for the "Autism Speaks" Foundation.
#autism  
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  Sep 1
Deb Harman

do you care to walk the darkness of alley
under the pitched moon of soul cries
haunting is wake upon the darkness alley
fearing a tremble to the spine

cold is the winter dark by misty smoke
lingering in the air surrounding dark  
dormant in the still by the lamp post
flickering is the light above the dark alley

by the ghost of poet soul is
circle in the alley by midnight doom
by the gate by dark

Dark Alley
BY Deb Harman ©

#poetry   #dark   #soul   #spirit   #horror   #thriller  
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  Aug 31
Samantha Mary W
Samantha Mary W
Aug 31      Aug 31

August always leaves
a humid message as it
skips itself off the calendar.
It tries in its beginning to
be as sweetly pure as July,
entering upon us with
innocently blank blue skies,
but one can spot if looking
the orneriness in its eye.
Two-a-day football practices
and marching bands
gathering to create new steps,
the drumbeats can be heard
by townsfolk as harbinger of
September's impatient knocking,
August stopping that with
its ratchet acts of humidity
attacks and thunderstorms,
the kind that lack cold rain,
warm water rising fog
condensation on the windows
inside insufferably hot cars.
Yes, August, speaks for itself
through the cascading sands
of its 31 days, preferring to ignore
September's insistent cuffing
for as long as it can.

  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  Aug 31
Chalsey Wilder

You don't know how lucky you are
You're innocent from the terrible things I've been through
You're the fucking cheerleader
And I'm the fucking freak
You fell in love with a creature incapable of loving back fully
And I fell in love with a fragile fairy so trusting
Here we go again
Into a story told a thousand times
Into a poem told with a thousand rhymes
Here I go again breaking another heart
Here I go again tearing my soul apart
For something I think I deserve I make myself incapable of loving myself or another

Hm. My imagination ran wild a bit.
#love   #heart   #fairy   #apart   #creature   #incapable  
 
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