Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Allen Smuckler Jun 2011
…and who knows
better than I
the ways of a night owl
or for that matter
the hour of the cat
maybe a cathouse
or simply a bar
take the Texas for instance
cavorting women (or girls)
who for 500 pesetas
plus 100 for room
and 20 minutes
out of one’s life
release your tensions
or maybe more
who knows the reason why
(and who really cares)
for 20 minutes
of uncertainty
you can pretend you’re
a man
and imagine she’s a lady
all for 500 pesetas
plus 100 for room
and 20 minutes
out of your life…

Friday, March 9, 1973 (Barcelona, Spain)
Allen Smuckler Sep 2012
He came in from the dark of the monsoon of his soul
and pondered how he drifted so far from land
desecration and destruction…torment and anguish
waiting on the other side, hoping I’d find it but praying I don’t
fear, hopelessness and all that appears
statements of contracts entering the room
screaming, “not today, tormenter”
“not today”…

And so he becomes me in thought and despair
waiting for the turn, the moment of truth
until I and me combine with him and he
shuttering, tossing my food, crying inside
traffic jams in my mind due to congestion
wailing to my assailant, “not yet”,
I’m here to stay
“not quite yet”…

Finally, night becomes dawn in the recess of my heart
fluttering amongst the flowers, plants, and trees
those swaying trees of time and wonder
fate hanging on by a thumbnail and a prayer
receiving and sending love from heaven
in the form of a lightning bolt, a rainbow
believing at the end, “I’m free to be”
knowing “I’m free at last”…
written: June 23, 2012
photo: Heaven (February 13, 2011)
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
Fleecy, golden, shiny crown,
glimmering from the sun’s reflection.
Standing silent with the sea,
shivering from the wind’s conviction.

Talking, laughing from the heart,
shuddering from the word destruction.
Walking slowly on the beach,
smiling with a warm affection.

Wincing, squinting from the glare,
entering into love’s confusion.
Hoping, praying to the Lord,
wandering in beauty’s direction.

Kissing, loving in a dream,
shimmering haze of contemplation.
Gazing, staring in her eyes,
I’m now in love without rejection.
January 21, 1969 (Age 19)- From Poetry In Motion
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
All I Got...

I got teeth that roam in the morning...
I got teeth that roam all the time...
I got teeth that smile and grin...
I got teeth that haven’t been brushed....

I got eyes that roam in the evening.
I got eyes that roam everywhere.
I got eyes that stare at the moonlight
I got eyes that haven’t been touched...

I got arms that reach for you daily..
I got arms that reach into space...
I got arms that need to be ‘round you...
I got arms with no one to hold...

I got lips that  seek what they yearn for
I got lips that never been kissed.
I got lips that drip from the passion
I got lips that kiss everyday...

I got dreams I dream in the nighttime
I got dreams that weigh on my soul
I got dreams that stay with me always..
I got dreams I hope will come true...

I got love from here to forever
I got love to give to you dear..
I got love to have for the asking...
I got love and wouldn’t you know....
June 15, 2009- From Poetry In Motion
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
The pain of fear is an
everlasting torment...
To shun the vast unknown,
or waste your time alone...
Confused with life,
and scared of death’s
eternal presence…
Fear remains embedded
among those people,
who do nothing but
live within their sins...
February 2, 1968...One of my original poems when I was 19 years old...a lifetime ago.  Funny how 42 years later.....not much has changed.  Hmmm.
Allen Smuckler Sep 2010
And I hope
and I pray
to tell you someday
what’s on my mind.
Though I know
I can’t show
the way I feel
within my head,
upon my heart,
beneath my soul.
And I hope
and I pray
to be able someday
to say what’s on my mind.
So I rest
on my couch
floating back into time,
past alleyways
of  memories
which are weak
and perplexed,
but certain in direction.
And I hope;
Lord I pray
to let you know
you’re always on my mind...
copyright;  October 30, 2009- From Poetry In Motion
Allen Smuckler Sep 2010
The day becomes electric,
as billowing storm clouds grow
and race relentlessly
toward shore.

We scatter hither and yon
awaiting the rain to fall
and a baby continues to cry
once more.

the sun blasts through in anger.
slashing rays penetrating
and Lenny Kravitz playing
on 104.

We watch in dense anticipation
while seagulls maneuver overhead
and no one quite knows
what’s in store.
Written April 17, 2000
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
Two old gents with cameras in hands,
attached to tripods, made five feet.
they stopped along the shore so fine,
and watched pelicans dive on Marco Isle.

Those same old gents with cameras *****,
gazed and snapped a stately white heron.
Posed and strutted where water met sand,
on Marco Island, mid-winter twenty-ten.

Two old men on their destined paths,
no matter where it led, no matter how far.
Adrift in their thoughts and their friendship,
cameras in hand, attached to their tripods.

Two old gents disappeared behind dunes,
never to be seen or heard from again.
But two old ladies arrived, cameras in hand
ready to take their place in the sand.
written January 29, 2010
(Age: 60)- From Poetry In Motion
Allen Smuckler Jan 2011
floundering souls
searching for the essence
in the sea of humanity,
for what is important
has meaning, and matters.
It is we who care for us
and help those who
can't help themselves...

or something like that...Asea

That's how my poetry
comes to be...
September 7, 2010
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
Two love sick birds high above
unconscious of the cold,
male cooing his words of love
female like a marigold.

Perched on a branch which overhung
the stillness of a river,
they played for me a sad song
which brought to mind a lover.

They nestled there, side by side
as loving birds are peaceful.
I watched with awesome pride
those birds with love so full.

Then startled by a noise they rose
and flew off through the forest.
I sit here now and just suppose
that they, like all the rest,  find something to protest.

This peace which was injected
through my troubled heart today,
rested in its fervent bed
while waiting for a display.

Our leaders though so unkind,
usher in twelve months of hate.
And ev-er-y-one seems so purblind
except that male and his mate.

Now the silence of their absence
and love lessons we can learn,
unaware of our own presence,
and lust desires which we yearn.

Those two white birds were so alone
in their union and their bond,
they wanted  people all to see
the rising of the sun, the coming of the dawn...
written: March 3, 1969
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
We sit awaiting in the cool
thoughts of anything but school
counting, grading each new wave
boogie boarding is the rave.

Ben and Mike stroll toward the action
Me, I sit here like in traction.
Throwing pebbles toward the sea,
Me, I write these words of glee.

Strangers stop and tell the boys
‘bout  jellyfish they will enjoy.
Just walk a piece to yonder shore
to open up adventure’s door.
April 18, 2000
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
Ben: Age 13
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
Happy Birthday to me!!
Can’t believe I’m sixty!!
neither can the bumblebee
or that nine foot oak tree.
Too bad if they can’t see
or wish that they could be,
able to escape and flee
from thyme inside the pantry.
Happy Birthday to me...
inside my soul is glee.
Figure out the fantasy
of you, and me as we...
May play nine with Marty,
kayak in the fake sea,
have some cake and party
as long as it is free.
I prayed my sister Sandy
could be here and be happy..
and celebrate our history
of her, and me, and we.
Happy birthday to me.
I need a cup of coffee,
a little bit serenity
and lots of you and me.
September 30, 2009 (My sixtieth birthday)
I know......I don't look that old.......or feel it.
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
Buttercups running aloof
in mi cluttered mind
of discomfort

Leaflets flapping
as the world turns
on its side

Turnstiles of my life
flipping through
the pages of time

and all i can see is

Flowers cresting
in the space they’re
hoping for the light
the rain...
the time-

Memories wafting
by the impulse of wind
billowing, bellowing
the new season

yet all i can see is the
scenery of despair

Tormented tides
slapping upside mi head
drowning mi tears
as if i were dead

Wandering dreams
of days future past
i’m trying mi damndest
to make mi life

But all i can see
is languishing fear

******* and moaning
not seeing the light
From "Diary Dreams"
I don't know why I went on this tirade...I suppose just to get it off my chest.  ***** and Moan, ***** and moan.
April 4, 2000
Allen Smuckler Apr 2011
Born and reared in the city of Bridgeport,
where the trash arose from Long Island Sound.
The seagulls appeared, then vanished from sight,
wafting and diving through radiant sky.
Some inlets and harbours, lapping the shore,
while sounds of young voices screamed with delight.

Marvelous moments to form our delight.
Skipping through the busy streets of Bridgeport.
Heading south down Park, to visit the shore.
Where all you could hear was the visual sound,
of airplanes and balloons, gracing the sky,
alive in my mind but quite out of sight.

The crystalline sparkle came into sight,
to everyone’s pure and simple delight.
We watched as the clouds emerged from blue sky,
over the stunted skyline of Bridgeport.
Suddenly the clamour, the noise, the sound
came crashingly close to the rocky shore.

With silence removed from that muffled sound,
bemoaning the graphite and speckled sky.
Searching and groping for inner delight.
pasteurized thoughts over the sandy shore.
Memorized pictures brought into our sight,
a lost time; in the bowels of Bridgeport.

Sail boats and tankers came upon the shore,
out of the distance, and into my sight.
All I could hear was breath of the sound,
with glee, laughter, and a certain delight.
The slums became the city of Bridgeport,
reaching endlessly toward the dancing sky.

Adrift; at peace, and awashed by the sound,
flippantly airy as ground touched the sky.
I strolled and smiled with love lost delight,
scampered along on our copious shore.
Aware that my flight was love at first sight,
on the coast, in the city of  Bridgeport.

Amped delight amid the light of our sound
misconstrued Bridgeport scraped close to the sky,
up to the shore and again out of sight.
copyright, April 10, 2011
    A sestina consists of 6 sestets and 1 triplet (envoi)...usually unrhymed and repeat the end words of each line using these patterns:  a) 123456 b) 615243 c) 364125 d) 532614 e) 451362 f) 246531 triplet) (6 2) (1 4) (5 3)...middle and end words of lines in tercet...
As always.....I'm looking for feedback and critique
Allen Smuckler Feb 2011
Enlighten those who seek to know.
Enrich those who are poorer.
Discover life is just a bow,
and you, the timeless archer.
1.4.73 (European)
(April 1, 1973)
Train to Brussels
Allen Smuckler Feb 2011
Enlighten those who seek to know.
Enrich those who are poorer.
Discover life is just a bow,
and you, the timeless archer.
1.4.73 (European)
April 1, 1973
Train to Brussels
Allen Smuckler Jan 2011
Check for updates and
look beyond what is real.
Discover those alone
in thought and
the unimaginable.
Check for updates while
above the heights
of tomorrow and
the unbelievable,
the impossible.
Check for updates but
process the
unexplainable and
outside the limits.
and become
what was never
We must always be
the keepers of the keys,
and remember to
check for updates…
January 14, 2011
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
It isn’t funny I have no money,
but it gives me a chance to make romance,
since I am here and you are there,
I must let it be through my poetry...

                   One good thing about a poem
                   we surely must admit,
                   is I can change the format
                   whenever I see fit...

This little card has come to bring
a very merry Christmas cheer,
and all the peace and joyful things
throughout the coming year...

Whenever life seems such a mess
and you feel only strife,
look on the love and happiness
you’ve met throughout your life...

I so much wish to see you
before the first arrives,
if only not for other plans
I’m sure this would come true...

Remember this, my final thought.
Your happiness stands well above.
No one else can give to you
my undivided love......
written December 23, 1971
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
Soft and tender lips
providing lasting comfort;
complex as it is.
June 29, 2009
Allen Smuckler Jan 2011
Constipation, *******,
excitation, evaluation
Hold on a minute
HIS Creation

The mind went blank
the body convulsed
no-one knows why
but theories abound

Expectation, demolition,
misinterpretation, damnation,
Wait a second
MY Creation

I did so much
in my chaotic youth
probably nothing to blame
only me and my likes

Infuriation, retaliation,
malediction, apprehension,
THEIR Creation

It seems unfair
but why despair
put it in perspective
certainly things could be worse


Ball of confusion
A VIOLENT Creation
February 10, 1999
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
   listen to the silence of night
and the sounds of the crickets;
away from the city
the strikes and the pickets-

night has fallen
on the big meadow
children running to and fro;
crickets churning
gas lights burning,
tranquil nighttime
here at last.
Papst Blue Ribbon
near the end;
sandman time
around the bend.

The Rolling Stones
Exile on Main Street
Sweet Virginia
side one-cut one
           right on.....
August 28, 1972
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
Westerly flows on
a northbound
Trembling wasteland
in the dreams of
her dress...

Southerly tides
in East Michigan’s
cascading skies
under a buried

Destiny’s heartland
in the middle of
condoms and fish gear
on a diet of
Lite Beer...
December 3, 2000
Allen Smuckler Sep 2010
My love for life
behind the doors of
Life’s prancing candle
before His sacred
November 25, 1968
(this is NOT a typo)
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
The blank stare
and cavernous gaze
leaves me stark
and disenchanted.
What lies beneath
those orbs of haze?
Questions left unanswered.
I wonder aloud...
Does she hear?
Does she care?

Lost in the abyss
of endless days
to deal with the dark.
I talk to my sister
who cannot respond;
cell phones ring
and radios sing
and still
nothing makes sense.

We sit and wait
and ponder reasons.
Perplexed by answers
left untold.
It’s all behind
that endless gaze…
all I could ask was,
Does she hear?
Does she care?
Is she there?
August 4, 2009
Allen Smuckler Sep 2010
Scorching day of ninety-two,
nothing left for me to do.
Sitting like a rock so hard,
feeling like a tub of lard.

Young girls walking on the trails.
Sweet blown hair form lofty sails.
Thunder in the mountains echo.
time for everything to grow.

Minds and trees and wishful thoughts,
all at such a priceless cost.
Very hard to set it down,
with nothing left inside my crown...
copyright: August 25, 1972
Allen Smuckler Feb 2011
Concrete minds, abstract lives,
master of your fate.
The tired man at last arrives,
while you just sit and wait.
1.4.73 (European)
(April 1, 1973)
Allen Smuckler May 2011
Tonight is the night we all dread and fear,
     because of the tensions arisen by them.
Who will be next and who will see me in the
the mirror of the dungeon...
Who breaks it down and rebuilds
       when it ends with the sound of a clatter?
We speak of the danger and peril of fate to
decide on life.  Who wants to know the
meaning  of sounds, the
meaning of love, the
meaning of hate.
Who can pretend to know;
when pretending ends with a clatter...
     Send the village a card addressed to Bill.
He knows the feeling I speak of.
The peace in my mind,
the love in my heart
the spirituality that,
         ends with a clatter...
No one can tell a person in distress;
one who feels with emotion and
Confusion of what?
I wish and oppose to know.
I want and I fear the knowledge.
I receive and I squander the thought of love.
But as always fate shows the upper hand;
and by the fury of all mankind,
ends with a clatter....
Copyright, February 24, 1968
This was my gloom and doom period where poem after poem contained the same theme(s) of death, destruction, and finality.  Also, the Bible played a big part in my poetry though I wasn't a religious person.
Allen Smuckler May 2011
I’m not quite sure
what loneliness is,
loneliness is this.
I can’t describe
the feel I feel
but certainly
it’s real.
I throb inside
most everyday
and everyday I sigh.
Get up and do
what’s right
at least.
Spread wings
and soar so high.
Be brave and
show your strength
Show courage,
stand up tall.
Ignite that fire
in your gut.
Get up and
show ‘em all
April 18, 2011
Allen Smuckler Oct 2010
November 10, 1969                 (Revised) June 15, 2009

Time should fill your            Time should fill your life;
life up to the ultimate             upon the ultimate peak
Peak of love                              find love and beauty.
and beauty.
November 10, 1969 (age 20)
June 15, 2009 (revision) - age 59
same poem....different time
Allen Smuckler Oct 2010
November 10, 1969                             (Revised) June 15, 2009

Catch the sun in your hands                Catch the rays of sun
throw it upwards                                 in your hands, throw it upward;
and love for eternity.                             and love for eternity!
same sun...different year
same eternity...different love
Allen Smuckler Sep 2010
Birthdays, seem to come and go
Love is always here to stay
Birthdays, like seas, ebb and flow
Love, we know, decides the way...

Birthdays try to tell no lies
Love, we say, belongs to us
Birthdays steadfast on the rise
Love, and joy, without the fuss....

Birthdays proudly show the gray
Love, like elk, is colorblind
Birthdays teach me what to say
Love, abounds, and so sublime ...

Birthday wishes on my lips
Love reminds me to forgive
Birthdays from your body drips
Love is all I have to give ...
Copywrite :)  August 30, 2009
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
I sense the words askew,
in the recess of my soul.
It tends to lend some credence
if the ending is sublime...

Deeds recognized beyond you.
Does nothing leave its hole?
Develop something more than dance,
dessert my endless climb...

Ask only if you dare to view
a monster black as coal.
Address the thrill of holding hands,
and help me reach my prime...

Lust doesn’t mean a simple brew,
laid neatly in a bowl.
Life’s hugs are often happenstance,
left loving all the time...

In harmony we come as two;
I’m breathless from the toll.
It’s just another kissless trance
involved in a crime...

Scurrying thoughts without a clue;
succumbing from our stroll.
Shadowy dreams that will enhance;
some days are more sublime...
May 1, 2001
One of my most difficult poems...and most satisfying
Allen Smuckler Sep 2011
The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene
sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity
the pounding and the tears through all these years
languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge
unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling
while listening to her tongue lashing and
harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words
cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot”
Not once but twice while searching through black clouds
of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.

All due to confusing north from south and east from west
reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder
Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven,
Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic
lapping and licking at the shores while throwing
her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode
the question, “how can she possibly know the children”
Even though downgraded and ebbing
the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question
and all my determination fades in the wind.

Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore
power lines and internet down, hampering communication
flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached
yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own
dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring
her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain
while brightness and candor follow her path
with her feline temperament scratched and clawed
the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath.
Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.

I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart
and begin to reattach my churning stomach
with the threads of her words of disbelief
bringing the force she was most capable of exerting
as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey
hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy
as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter
and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut
impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees
perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.
Hurricane Irene
August 28, 2011
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
It matters little
where we spend our time,
as long as we
spend it together...
it matters little
whether we’re apart,
as long as our spirits
are with each other..
it matters little
that we’re in love,
if it is not
with one another...
January 29, 1972
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
I wept today, I have to admit I did
and felt my tears moisten my lips,
as they flowed and ebbed;
and I couldn’t turn them off.
I wept today and for days gone by.

I wept this week, like I’ve never done before.
for the memories and thoughts,
and cascading streams from
mountainous reserves.
I wept today at the reality of time.

I wept today at the pictures of  youth,
and thought of  life..and death.
I wondered and wandered my soul,
as my tears turned to rain.
I wept for you and me as well.

I wept this month, and continue to weep
for the emptiness and void
your passing has left.
I grasp for a reason I know won’t appear
I wept today, again and again.

I wept for you and those you loved.
I wept like I’ve never wept before...
I wept and I wept ‘til my tears ran dry.
I wept today and I know for sure
I will weep tomorrow
and ever more.........
To Sandy, my beloved sister
August 13, 2009
Allen Smuckler Nov 2010
and June of ‘03
and December  of ‘08
a gap in time
that leaves me
Do you remember?
January 24, 2010
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
Love can always be
the beautiful
renderings within the
passages of life...

Love can sometimes be
the glorious
delights from those
special moments in time...

Love can possibly be
the flirtatious
diversions of these
unexpected encounters...

Love can never be
the perilous
defeats for the
lost soul, the broken heart...

Love is,
always will be
never ending...
June 11, 2009
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
when love, like a rocket
         explodes in the empty space
of eternal’s final abyss
or in the early mist of
morning’s arrival
i think only one thought
& feel the throbbing of

and when peace echoes
in the bottomless pit of my soul
in the twilight of my years
i picture only one face
& I seem to reason

then memories of my fleeting
yet full filled past
remind me of loves, long lost   and yet
i only seek one hand
to place upon it
a precious band

when fear engulfs my body
or anger leads to wrath
i only, without pause
call for sandi
to speak the words
i need.
written March 13, 1970
(not in the form I wrote it....but same message)... a flaw with Hello Poetry
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
Magical moments
on soft spun sandy beaches;
alone and in love
copyright; June 28, 2009
Allen Smuckler Jan 2011
Make that putt
he yelled
from the
jalousie window
Make that putt .
I may have
given it
to you
but your
know you well.
You missed
a foot
what makes
you think
you’ll make it
coming back.
Make that putt.
Don’t pick it up.
I haven’t
given it
to you.
Make that putt.
Earn the right
to pick
the ball up
on a gimme.
Does the rest
of your game
****, too?
Make that
putt, will ya!!
January 25, 2011
(Deerfield Beach, Fla.)
Allen Smuckler Feb 2011
Make that putt
he yelled
from the
jalousie window
Make that putt .
I may have
given it
to you
but your
know you well.
You missed
a foot
what makes
you think
you’ll make it
coming back.
Make that putt.
Don’t pick it up.
I haven’t
given it
to you.
Make that putt.
Earn the right
to pick
the ball up
on a gimme.
Does the rest
of your game
****, too?
Make that
putt, will ya!!
January 25, 2011
Deerfield Beach, Fla.
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
A Coughing man with a baseball cap, and
a girl in green scratching and caressing
her tanless velvety legs.
Water cascading from the
unnaturally made stoic fountain...

And the man with the phone
in his ear, scrapes by my sunlit chair.
Couples lying and teasing each other
soaking long lost rays together
with eyes smiling for one another...

Palms playing and swaying in the cool breeze    
protecting and shadowing those
who chose the shade over sun.
And a man with a phone attached to his ear
glides pass the unsuspecting couple.

The owl and the eagle peering and
observing from their precarious perches
lifeless in their tachadermal state
expecting more of the very same
yet only a busy signal leaves its mark.

shiftless, shirtless man on the shelf above
gingerly stepping into the steamless pool
again the man with the phone in his ear
ambling and gambling with his call
and only he knows what we don’t.
January 20, 2010
Bonita Springs, Florida
Allen Smuckler Oct 2010
Too **** cold
at the Pawley Resort.
No reason to distort,
gotta be bold
(I said to myself).

I needed to be
south of here.
Cracked open a beer,
decided to flee.
(I thought to myself).

Left at 12 noon
instead of ten.
Did not know when,
only knew soon
(I assured myself).

Deerfield Beach
on the left side coast.
10 p.m. at the most
not otta reach
(I prayed to myself).

Roasting and toasting
I lie by the pool.
Mom raised no fool,
wistful and coasting
(I grinned to myself).
January 29, 2009
Allen Smuckler Nov 2010
what a way to end a year
nothing in the way but cheer
but then a few... words of doubt
just to check my feelings out...

how could things become so wrong
left me loving here so long
those words of doubt were only me
learning how to be a we...

and now you’re gone, left for good
in my head... I thought you should
though my heart would disagree
and wish your eyes could really see...

the pain I suffer everyday
wishing you would come my way
holding hands and making love
God is watching from above...

walking on the rooted path
lying in our steamy bath
kissing lips that feel so fresh
In the room our bodies mesh...

My every thought... is of you
oneness turning into two
I cried this day about our fate
and pray dear lord it’s not too late...
May 7, 2010
Allen Smuckler Sep 2010
The awakening of
the soul,
the head,
and finally the body
has passed old Nella by
She lies purblindly
on her forlorn,
forgotten bed of time…

Memories slicing thru her past,
stinging like a hornet.
Thinking of the nights before
which never came to be.
Poor old Nella
burnt again
and taken for a ride…
She doesn’t like to blame
She blames it on her pride…

Nella isn’t really hurt
(or so that’s what she says)
she’s been thru all those
½ *** games
a thousand times before.

made up myths,
foolish dis (illusions).
That’s all there is,
and there ain’t no more,
so Nella says to me.
It’s time to close
my eyes, and
sleep once more,
to wake up when it’s better.
copyright May 28, 1972
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
“Nella’s back” the town folk scream.
No one’s sure if it’s real or dream.
Even old Nella has her doubts.
She sees what reality is all about.
Nella’s back, it’s good to see.
She’s on the road to recovery.
Her bottled heart is almost free.
Pouring out as it grows,
watching as the water flows.

Rhyme and reason, wasted season,
nature goes to court for treason.
Flooded cities, crowded mind,
countless dying, life’s a grind.

She won’t know and I don’t care,
let the people stop and stare.
This I’ll always grin and bare.
Nella’s back, and here to stay,
at least to see another day.
copyright June 23, 1972
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
New Haiku

Magical moments
on soft spun sandy beaches;
alone and in love

June 28, 2009

Soft and tender lips
providing lasting comfort;
complex as it is.

June 29, 2009

Tomorrow’s sunshine
just for fun and just because;
I missed it today.

July, 25, 2009
Allen Smuckler Aug 2010
I looked deep within my sister’s eyes today
and reached inside her soul...
I pulled and tugged at nature’s way
and said, not far away...
I know within my being,
my sister’s eyes though glazed...
can sense the world around her
she’s not that far away...
She’s standing at the entrance
the precipice, the door...
she’s searching for the key of life
to step outside once more...
It shows upon her face today
she’s aching to be free
It’s time my sister, you can see
you’re not that far away...
And now to speak the words we need
to say you’re back again...
relate the journey you’ve been on
with purpose and belief...
you’re not away,
but here to stay
as we rejoice the day...
July 22, 2009
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
Cascading crests
on the Outer Banks,
North Carolina, and
sun drenched bodies
sing hallelujah.
Rejoice the day and
twitter our songs.
We take our place
on the drifting dunes
and at last;
at peace.

Opened eyes
with bated breath
and swells of clouds
on the Outer Banks,
North Carolina
Chanting, rejoice the day
and peace at last.

The thoughts remain
and stay the same,
as wind blown skirts
corral the day
and stroll along
deserted beaches
in North Carolina,
Outer Banks.

Gulls waft and soar
on currents of air,
while women read
and pages turn,
exploring the text.
Men strum guitars
and pound the beach
on the Outer Banks,
North Carolina.

Seconds pass while
the ocean resounds
and couples stroll
hand in hand.
Loving the moment,
feeling the love,
awaiting the next
timeless minute
here alone on the
Great Outer Banks,
North Carolina.
September 23, 2010
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
Capitalizing on my looks, I thought
captivating personality.
I asked to take me home, my girl,
take me home tonight with you;
To the land of far off myths, my girl,
of make believe and fantasy.

Take me home my new found friend.
Take me home with you tonight
to the locks and docks downtown,
to the foothills of the Port.

Once I said hello, I knew.
Once your hand was deep in mine,
I couldn’t help but wonder, girl
were we headed for some bliss,
or a land of distant past.
Take me home I begged, take me home.

Take me home my lovely friend.
Take me home with you at last.
To the locks and docks downtown
To the foothills of the Port.

Spacious skies appeared once more
in my thoughtful, thoughtless mind.
The billowy clouds shadowing
all that was left for me.
Away I know, but I don’t know where,
take me home my Miss, take me home.

“It is not your need to know such things
I’m not going home with you.
To the locks or docks downtown,
nor the foothills of the Port.”

Forget the docks, the locks, the Port
I didn’t like you anyway.
I’m simply a postman in distress
who knew your mailing address.
Take me home my girl, take me home,
to the outer reaches of my town .
I only wanted to find my way
but forgot my GPS.
March 3, 2009
Next page