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.

Journey of a poetic mind
Of challenges to find
Etching the greatest skill

Crafted by the poets will
Onward, words without end
Listened by a good friend
Each of us will thank you

  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  4 days ago
PrttyBrd
PrttyBrd
Mar 15

My hand glides across the page
Oblivious to what it's scrawling
Ink drags in streaks and curves
Without connection, without heart
Empty pages full of words
Words devoid of meaning
Hollow, cored, happily emotion-free
Unraveling
Undone
Scribbles to pictures
Doodles to dreams
The book is full of filled up pages
Vapid thoughts in black and white
There is the whole of who I've become
The nonsensical ramblings
of an underworked mind

31514
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  4 days ago
Timothy
Timothy
Sep 21

Black bombazine clouds of depression roll,
O'er my poor soul like billows of the sea;
When shall this storm cease to take its firm toll
Upon my feeble mind and let me be?
Black be my path and dark may be my way,
Vaults of deep darkness may be all I see;
Eventually dawns a brighter day,
And so 'til then I grope in front of me.
But then that lighter day comes 'round again,
All of those gloomy doubts are pushed aside;
That happiness returns to me within,
Thank God for this! I praised His name and cried.
When through the bleakest valley I have flown,
Thank Thee, Almighty God, I'm not alone!



~Timothy~

(Found inside my notebook.
Written 21 November, 2013.)
© Timothy 20 September, 2014 8:14pm EDT

~~~

Attention:
V thinks I am Beryl Dov and blocked me.
V also did the same thing to my Wife, Hilda.
My Daughter, Marian, told me about this,
but I saw the email which was not blocked.
( Email was Dated 21 September, 2014 3:58am )
So absurd. . .
http://hellopoetry.com/v/
Notes added 9:20 am 21 September, 2014.
  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  5 days ago
Chrissy
Chrissy
Aug 25

She looked at me with hope in her eyes,
and she saw my pain, the black of the skies.
the beginning of the end, the end of a night,
I close my eyes but I can still see light.

As it comes to an end, the pain fizzles away,
the end of an era, the start of a day.
this day ain't the same, its more like night,
the black of the skies, the absence of light.

The distortion of time, the eyes of the clock,
with each and every second my brain starts to rot.

The perfect thought in an in-perfect world.

An old one I did in my younger days

So who is this man?
He stands here alone
At the corner of the room
Looking out the window
Wishing for yesterday

Is he someone I know?
Because I knew happiness
Of days of forgotten love
Arm in arm in green meadows
Kissing amongst the buttercups
Dreaming of tomorrow

Now I don't know me
I am not who I once was
Is there anyone who can tell me?
How this predicament came to be?
For I cry inside alone
Fearing about today


Copyright Chris Smith 2014

  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  5 days ago
Next Stop-Lily
Next Stop-Lily
5 days ago

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost

  Reposted by Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul  ·  6 days ago
Ben Ditmars
Ben Ditmars
Jun 11      Jun 13

rain falls like
streams of our
subconscious
in a dream.

she was no
small dream
but she has faded
like a song.

paint your
dream town
red.

everything is
just a dream.

fall inside your
rabbit hole and
dream of cabbages
and kings.

scream my name -
make love like it’s
your dream because
it’s my dream too.

sweat and breathe
emotions as our
dreams connect

we will connect
and move like tides
of some forgotten shore
where dreams exist
in layers like the sand
and we can live forever.

©Ben Ditmars 2014

#love   #dreams   #rain   #subconscious  
 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment