I once spoke to a broken poetess
Transfixed with her words
She told of hearts long forgotten
Of the loss felt in her soul
Her poetry led me to other places
Her imagination became an open book

I never told her of what I saw
A woman full of compassion and beauty
Her aura was of a warm, sensual glow
In her very eyes I saw her sparkle
Her words entranced me like a spell
Her voice was the sound of an Angel

But alas, I could never fix her
She was fated to be a broken poetess
So fragile, but with words so strong
Her heart forever beats in her poetry
Reaching to touch those chosen few
My broken poetess touched me as one

Copyright Chris Smith 2006

A poet paints with the gift of words,
Expressing the feelings of the soul.
They touch you with visions,
Sharing the beauty written.

But a poet suffers for their art,
Taking the pain deep into their soul.
Crying tears of blood upon the paper,
The ink screams out their remorse.

This poet has known shame.
He has hurt himself and the one he loves.
The time has come to heal,
To tear down the walls.

Shatter the misery deep inside.
To take hold of the hand of love,
To find the acceptance of the heart,
And all of the dreams to come.

copyright Chris Smith 2011

Like a faded photogragh
The memory slips away
Of times that belong
Buried in the past


She picks up the kettle
Pours in the water
Places it on the cooker
But forgets to turn it on

She is used to the smell
The cats are her company
Running around her home
Because no one calls to visit

She rarely comes out the door
Only to gather food for her cats
Eating very little for herself
For she seldom remembers to eat

In every city and in every town
You will find them living there
Past glory days, all but forgotten
Always alone and never visited



copyright Chris Smith 2011

I am a broken Man
Made of glass, shattered
Pieces of myself found
Like smashed rain drops
Adorning this dusty floor

Do you believe a man can cry?
Weeping of the love he lost
That his soul, now forever ******
Could not take that needed step
To take him in the right direction

That man is a dark, fallen fool
I am he, who fell hard from grace
Never able to find that moment
That passing second, all I needed
But my pitied pride kept me back

So the heart aches, no more say I
Leave me suffering with my demons
Let the broken shards lie where they are
That which once contained true love
That I carelessly dropped from my hands


copyright Chris Smith 2011

For all those who feel the pain
Of a tireless job, again and again

I salute you

For all single mothers all alone
Working and aching to the bone

I salute you

For all the soldiers away from family
Risking their life against a common enemy

I salute you

For all the nurses doing the hours godsend
Doing the night shift that never seems to end

I salute you

For the people reading this and relate
Knowing life can sometimes be a desperate state

I salute you

For all of you who find life can be a test
When you are out there and doing your best

I salute you

She is far away from home
Working hard, tries her best
No time to find what she needs
To allow herself to seek love

A thousands miles from family
She passes the hours, everyday
Never finding time to rest
Being lonely hurts her most

She refuses the offers coming her way
Not wanting just one night of passion
Then facing another empty, cold bed
At least she still believes in dreams

She never asked to be this way
Coming here, working a low wage
But there was no money back home
And she thought things would be better

So the hours pass, going home so alone
A home which is not there in her heart
Because her heart stays in another land
In that place she was born years ago

All she needs is someone to hold her
Show her how special she can be
To be there each night she comes back
To make her feel cherished once more


copyright Chris Smith 20th December 2010

Excuse me, Sir

Did you have to order
The most expensive food
That is on the menu

When outside the window
A hungry child looks in
Only dreaming of this

You waste half the plate
So it is thrown away
But never a scrap for us

Excuse me, Sir

You buy for your own sake
Not really needing it
For it is left to be forgotten

Never thinking what you could do
Sparing for the needy with nothing
One percent of your money is too much

You do not believe in charity
Millions wasted for your own good
The rich always rob from the poor