If you ask me?
What makes my day?
You are more likely to hear me simply say.

It's her.
It's you.
Meaning both statements is true.

I write about love.
I sing about love.
I dream about love.
It's a true bond between us.

So if you ever ask me?
What makes my day?
You are most likely to hear me say.

It's you.
That I sing about.
It's you.
That I dream about

Stories, men could tell.
And you best believe they won't be based around fairytales.
But more linked to the comedian sitting in prison.

Based on statements a decade ago.
And some of those complainers are just as guilty.
Many support the time as to what was going on?
Who hadn't heard about the joy within Club 54?

At this moment, in time.
Just like then.
You have women still playing mistresses of their own free will.

No lawsuits.
No accusations
No allegations.

At this moment, you have women in colleges seeking a sugar daddy.
And women in general choosing to freely pay this lust for play or pay game.

At this moment stories, men could tell.
Men don't hide behind MeToo gripes.
And some women crying foul won't admit they were a would adventurous child.

At this moment while you reading this.
A woman is playing with a man of her free will.
And won't come forward to ever reveal.


She has grown and in some cases know it's wrong

Visit them.
Notice them
Truth is in the recognition.

They take your money.
But pay attention and you just might learn.
The truth within the recognition?
And it's not by accident but intentional.

Visit most Japanese businesses in the black community.
And you see less of you.
They take your money but most likely you just a client.

Visit most Indian owned stores, you might see Patel mostly closer to ownership.
But your representation is a vanishing point.
Pay attention to the truth within the recognition.
Your kin just not there.
Although they serving your community.


Visit your local Discount Store and the same thing.
Mostly Egyptian owned and yes, they considered African in heritage.
They might deny this.
But research the continent and there lies your answer.

They serving your kind.
But do you see yourself?
Truth is in the recognition.
They take your money.

Get not upset?
When others states support your community.?
Especially when told to buy black?

And this is where my message sits?

Quit being the forgiving group.?
Put them in check.
We aware they scare and running to the suburbs.

But for some reason, they **** and harass you.
And the forgiving group loves to quote scriptures.
Just quit being the forgiving race.
Put them in check.

The NRA just a group guiding idiots.
Your right to bear arms is signed and legit.
But for some reason telling the scared group they trying to take your rights to own.
Upset them the most.

When the forgiving race has weapons of their own?
And more like can put the bully group in check.
But the forgiving race loves to push loving.
While the bold on doing killing.

As I watch the sunrise it dawns on me
The sun will always shine
New mornings will forever follow
The darkest of the night

Nothing stays the same as
The shadow that the sunlight casts
Behind you keeps on changing
The sorrow never lasts

Neither does the happiness
When leaves fall down in autumn
And holding on to anything
Is like chasing after phantoms

The silent stream I trust my heart to
Takes it along as it goes
So just like that my heart has changed
Confirming that everything flows

His touch haunted her,
Guarded as her heart was, she couldn’t afford
To connect,
To attract,
To enter into any state of delicate but zealous longing
Instinctively she knew
Any feeling would be misleading;
Splendid sensual snow melting into liquid lies,
Her heart disarmed, sinking into that gusty sea
Of spoiled desire
A barbarous distance between craven obedience
And the grandiosely brilliant beam she used to embody
An emotional war as tangible as a robust ruin
Worn down by stormy weather, unable to shelter
Her blue-eyed innocence
Recondite or unexpected it never was,
The effect of his shaggy possessive smile
And giddying twisted promises
Drawing out her hurt and suffering,
Disguised as a youthful fluttering
Of nonchalant excitement
A deceitfully draining destruction lurking
In his fondling fingertips,
His smiling dimples,
His laughing wrinkles
Yet thoughtfully she took the plunge
Into a wilderness she couldn’t afford
To miss out on

She loved her special prince
Her soul belonged to Maelon
But her father would not allow it so
For she had been promised to wed another

She prayed to her God to forget her true love
And an Angel came down to visit her
Granting a sweet potion to erase his memory
So that she could forget him forever

But it also meant that Maelon would be trapped
To be encased within a block of ice
Then her God decided to grant Dwynwen three wishes
And she knew for what she had to do

She wished for Maelon to be thawed and saved
She wished for the hopes and the dreams
Be granted for all of the true lovers
But the third wish, she would never marry

She formed her convent on Llandwyn
This is where she stayed, until Death took her
The remains of her church can still be seen
She will always be our patron saint of lovers




5th Century saint ... copyright Chris Smith 2010

In the rolling of the thunder,
In the clashing of the waves,
In the raging of the storming seas

He whispers.
                              Will you?
He whispers.
                                                       ­     Listen?
He whispers.
                                                       ­                                   And be still?

But shouldn’t there be lightning crashing,
Voices singing, clouds breaking?
Isn’t glory only shown through
Miracles, eclipse?

And I… run,
                              run,
                                             run,
To the rhythm of                               my heartbeat,

Each thud roaring down the whisper
He’s trying to make me hear.

But I… run,
                              run,
                                             run,
To the rhythm of                               my heartbeat,

Which slowly he aligns with...        His.

In between the beats He still
Whispers,
Hardly loud enough to hear;

                             *“Slow down, listen!
                                                         ­         Be still before
                                                          ­                                 Me”

Taking the roughs with
the smooths;
appreciating God oft.

Poetry comes from the soul

Reflects what is inside

It can only ever state

Can not defend what died



Words are what we will give

Who listens to what we say

We will always try to share

New meaning every day



This world is a big place

So many are in the mix

When it is already broken

No one is able to fix



So poets will all unite as one

With so many words to share

All of us will always glow

See our soul in there

Will an eligible bloke happier be if he
Marries a ranking *ele like Miss Universe
With all her glory and graces, and 'cause
Of marriage mirth? Will a sheila pretty
An unbroken regalement have for a dream
Prince Charming--the fairy man of her whim?

Will the soul be jolly for the sophomore
More than for the frosh rapture of success
Had in the Ivy League of cosmic business,
When the heart cut a caper and an encore
Of hilarity requests of narrowed life--
To have constant binge in lieu of strive?

What man is wholly from trouble free, whose
Being be to sadness inured? Within, the
Spokes do sometimes snap at the rotary
Wheels of serenity, and chaos is let loose.
What thus can stay the pillars of pleasure in
A plagued world is above this little noggin.