Hemel Hempstead    1964 -    
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 therapeutic healing.
I also have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
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.

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 help Eliot with a monthly donation.
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 therapeutic healing.
I also have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
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.

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 help Eliot with a monthly donation.

A bride of the darkness
The thirst is forever
Hunger always unquenched

But she needs to feel
Something more than cold
The warmth of human touch

Alas it can never be so
For she will take his life
Slowly with a kiss of night

Copyright © Chris Smith 2013

I'll have you know that my Chihuahua never drinks from the toilet. He swims in the toilet but he never drinks from it.

The flowers are withered
For the rain never came
No message delivered
But the words are the same
These eyes cry hollow tears
If only the mind could cope
The future gave up the years
All happened losing hope

The sky has gone dark
Birds all flown away
No children in the park
There's nowhere to play
Now paradise is no more
Suspended on a rope
Nothing left to explore
All happened losing hope

Copyright © Chris Smith 2014
Winn
Winn
Jul 11

WolfSpirit is gone


You couldn't earn it, so you stole it..
It took too much time to whittle away at the faithful...
It took too much time to try to elicit the anger...

So you gathered as a nice flock of sheeple and were herded in en masse...

You may have won (something?) in your eyes,
But so many have lost...
And you have lost too...

Respect

Self-  and others'...

And the thing some of you don't realize is -
Now that this is accomplished,
There will be a new target...
Quite likely one of you..
It has already happened.

You will never be enough...
You will never do enough...
You will never have an option to say "no"...
And you will never be allowed
To rise to the top...


You will be played against each other.

You will never know who you can trust.

The suspicion will eat away at your flock like a cancer.
And one by one
You will be sacrificed.

When it's your turn,
You will think back on this day.
Every lie you told in order to bring this to fruition
Will wail like a claxon in your head.

You are complacent,
Complient,
Complicit,
Controlled...


It's too late to second guess-
It's too late for remorse-
It's too late to undo it...



Blessed be, fellow poets...

The 2 poets with the most followers have now been banned. One had posted nothing in the last 4 months.

These actions are nothing more than "number envy"...

You see yourselves as "heroes"...
others see you as the ones responsible for having had their supportive friend removed from their lives...

You promised me false hope
Then smashed out my teeth
Now I find it too hard to cope
Dragged along the razors edge

Once I was the perfect gentleman
I would open the door for you
Until you hatched a delicate plan
Now I slam it shut in your face

Listen to me shouting, "fuck you"
Middle fingers saying, "fuck you"
All this anger raging, "fuck you"
But I still badly need to fuck you

Kicking me so bloody far down
That it's too much to get back up
Left me in miseries lake to drown
Here alone with a bottle as my friend

Who ever said love was all a game
Well, that bastard got it all wrong
Because I only have myself to blame
Wallowing here in my own self pity

Listen to me shouting, "fuck you"
Middle fingers saying, "fuck you"
All this anger raging, "fuck you"
But I still badly need to fuck you

Copyright © Chris Smith 2014

She writes from deep within her
Opening up her soul to all,
finding the words like a river
Allowing them to come, to flow


Power transformed to her fingers,
igniting the flames of her soul
Fire given form to the written page
Releasing all she has deep inside
Just like she would submit to a lover


All-consuming fire is in my essence
An eternal flame burning wildly,
never to diminish, throughout time
As it seeps through these fingers,
in unearthly passion, writ in blood


A creative mind is set into motion
Capture now this notion, if you will
As I spew forth, in depths unknown
Yet known, in the core of existence
The pulse of an unrelenting desire


I press pen unto page within love
Nevermore to please the masses
Evermore to appease the essence
I care naught for fame, nor fortune
Wishing merely to pierce the silence


In a sole purpose, right to be heard
Amongst the chaos of every day
Creating a cleverly laid design,
to ensnare those who take notice
Touching the soul of yet another




Copyright © 1/2013 Chris Smith/Lucy Martins


All poetry by Chris Smith/Lucy Martins are copyright protected by International Copyright Law, the use without written permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ©

Scream, for love traps you
In the embrace of barbed wire
Slicing your heart wide open
With blunt, rusted razor blades

So bleed the scarlet icicles
As your soul begins to die
Dark longing surrounds you
Loneliness comes crawling

Does your heart now shatter?
Where no one dares to look
To see blistered tears Etched
On a face masked with fear

But if only you remove your mask
Mayhap the Sun may kiss it
So roses without thorns may grow
Then love could have no pain

Copyright © Chris Smith 2014
#gothic  
 
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