Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
playing with fire
was like
sharpening the knife
only just
to cut your own

nothing remains
only just the ashes of
your regrets
And she says no.  The cream light
under her back porch’s awning collects
in her tears.  She slides her toes
within the tangle of grass and
weeds beneath us as we sit
in damp folding chairs.  Fogfruit
wanders amongst the webbings
on my feet with soft, upward strokes.  
I echo myself again in hopes
of tapering the night.  
Can I leave?  

And she says no.  Fogfruit
under her damp folding chair slides
in her tangle of grass and weeds.  She echoes
soft, upward strokes
beneath us as we sit
in the cream light.  The night
wanders amongst her back
porch’s awning with myself again.  
I taper the webbings of my feet
in hopes of collecting her tears.  
Can I leave?  

and she says no; fogfruit still
between my toes
I worked with my word-crafting for this particular piece.  Both stanzas use the same words yet are arranged in a different order to explore the possibilities of multiple meanings of the nouns, verbs, and adjectives throughout the work.  I'm especially fond of the use of fogfruit, a small bramble flower/**** that I discovered growing around a fire-pit at a good friend's house back in 2011.  It brings a sense of mysticism not only with it's imagery, but also with the name itself, becoming one of my favorite words to date.

This poem is part of "Three Hallucinations of Love," written at the end of 2015 and set to music by Isaac Lovdahl for Tenor Voice and Piano.  Check out the entire work at
Walking through a dark place
Not a care in the world
Unaware of your secret admirer
Observing from the distance
Checking out your skirt
Eyes gazing upon your thighs
Shins covered by thigh highs
He can’t help himself;
At least that’s what he tells himself
He grows ever closer, now you start to sweat
Stomach tight, head filled with regret
Now right behind you, breathing down your neck
Violently throwing against the wall;
Bruising up your neck
Now bent over, for he is fully *****
Pulling down your *******;
Forcing himself inside
Pain and agony fill your soul
Now wishing you would die
It’s almost over;
The world can’t see you cry
Now left in a puddle of tears and blood
The attacker vanishes from your eyes
Forsaken and broken;
Underneath the cold dark sky
You now wonder why
Was this my fault?
I didn’t mean to be the apple of his eye
I wish that I would die;
Or was already dead
My attacker’s face forever burned in my head
I am victim of ****, but it was my fault
I provoked him, looking like a ****
I am a victim of ****, perhaps it isn’t my fault
I did nothing wrong and my attire doesn’t matter
I am a victim of ****, I know it wasn’t my fault
Maybe someone should have told my ******;
**** is against the law
Now I have a message for those used and abused
You are strong, beautiful, and grand
Don’t let your experiences shaken your hand
You were ***** and it wasn’t your fault
You were ***** and it wasn’t your fault
Now go show the world that true strength;
Lies within your soul
 Jun 2016 Christine G Smith
It’s like trying to find your way out
of an invisible cube,
A forcefield of aloneness.
Inside my head - an island of one.

It wan an illusion all along.
There was never any ‘in’ crowd.
You had your dreams bought and
sold from under you.

Clinging – Grasping – Paving my improved path.

This is where I stand, judge me as I am.

An ode to tomorrow in the closing of today.
 Jun 2016 Christine G Smith
Nightfall at the bay...
humid air cut cool,
body contracting.
Sending suddenness
searching through
ruffled ripples.
The clouds like the
inside of a torn drum.
The size  of sound in latest
version of dissolution
vibrates with approval.
I crushed a flower
      in my hand.
It felt good.
It felt right.
Felt like I was
      in control.
Petals and stem juice
      stained my hand.
I make a wind
Just like a judge
       over a trial,
I am the voice
      of justice.
A bloated bulb
      of tremendous
        begins to roll
         over to me.
Misguided hand,
you must know,
      that what
          will come to pass.
Morphine eyes
see shapes and
that flicker briefly
        floating away.
The hand can
try and hold
itself in power,
        the end
         can only
          move as required.
I am as crushed
      as the flower,
        the palm
         of my demise.
All is fair in love and war
War is fair when love is all
Love is war and all is fair.
It's early in the morning
Rays of sunday light seep through the windows
And the white walls look celestial
When they're being kissed by the sun
He's asleep on your bed and he's facing you
You count the seconds until his blue eyes
Snap open and meet yours
The man who would never stand still
Looks peaceful, resting at your side
You tentatively reach out
Your fingers ghost over his eyelids
Over his cheekbones, over his throat
Never quite touching, but close enough to know
That what you see is not a hallucination
But your new reality
And a couple hours from now
A hot cup of coffee between your tired hands
You'll settle next to him on the couch
You'll feel the warm weight
Of a cat resting on your legs
You'll pretend not to notice when someone's head
Falls on your shoulder
You'll pretend not to care
When he presses a feather like kiss on your hair
Whispers 'good morning' against your neck
And you'll pretend that the shivers
Are from the cold morning breeze
But the pink shade that slowly takes over your skin
Betrays your careless façade, and he smiles
You've always been good at telling lies from truth
And there's nothing false about the way
He touches you when you say it's okay
And you know this is not a dream
Because your dreams have always been haunted
Yet there are no ghosts here
Nothing but a safety you didn't think you'd achieve
A sober kind of happiness you didn't believe
Would ever become your life
And yet
It did get better.
Next page