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  ·  22 hours ago
Samantha Mary W
Samantha Mary W
23 hours ago      22 hours ago

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  ·  22 hours ago
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  
Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul
Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul
2 days ago      2 days ago

Dare you become my thrill
Imagination of your free will
Ready to obey my dark mind
Tied and submitting in kind
Yet responding to a hard hand

Making you feel and understand
Imposing your body for my pleasure
Naked and isolated at my leisure
Demanding more than you can give

Copyright Chris Smith 2014
#lust   #acrostic  
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  5 days ago
Deb Harman
Deb Harman
6 days ago      5 days ago

In a box
trapped in a box
of darkened despair
no escape to light
feel deprived
no oxygen to breathe
so tight struggle
in your deepest darkest
hour
its a daunting struggle
of a darkened world
in a box
so cold chill as ice
hearts so cold dull
saddened of the fear
crippling with terror
as you shed that lonely tear
in a box
deepened by those thoughts
fighting to escape
for just that bit of air
body trembles just for that
little light
to seek from this box of
dark despair
in a box
so alone so alone
in that darkest hour
just wanting that little air to breathe
just that little light to shine
in the world deep dark despair

In A Box
by Deb Harman ©

#poetry   #dark  
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  Aug 17
r
r
Aug 16      Aug 17

A book,
just pages
on leaves, whitened-
river washed,
dried then wettened again;
tears of words
torn from a heart-
his then mine, and mine again.

A book
of poems, written verse,
la poema-
the saddest lines of all,
but not all, no,
not all; not always.

Pages of Odes;
oh, the odes
to fruit,
to wine
and song
of the sea and mermaids;
the pages sing his songs.

A book
of heights
and stone,
he took us there-
a shovel in the sand;
of monuments
and ships
of drunken men and love
once loved,
and loved again.

Words
on silken thighs,
breasts
and a red dress-
on a dark night
the stars and moon did shine.

A garden-
he planted a spade
into our hearts;
his dog,
it died
simply
loved too much-
Ai.

A book,
just a book
of pages,
of poems
by my bed-
dog-eared,
much read and loved;
his words ending
the saddest lines of all.

r ~ 8/15/14

\¥/\
|    Neruda
/ \

Sensually surrenders to me
Utter submission set free
Bonded to my will
Made to satisfy my thrill
In dominance I must live
Satisfaction she will give
Slave to my carnal desire
Innocent to my burning fire
Obey the punishment above
Naked for our darkest love

Copyright Chris Smith 2013
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  Aug 10
Angela
Aug 1, 2011

I sometimes speak in riddles
a little tit for tat
A simple exchange of random thoughts
that flow to a rhythm all it's own
Sometimes it comes in metaphors
sometimes it clear as a bell
But, always it is straight from the heart
Always it's cleansing to the soul
I can share my wishes and my ever changing dreams
I can expose my deeps fears and my sneakiest of schemes
I love the world of poetry
It's the only place I call home
For even when I sit here by myself
Somehow I am never alone.................

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment