"smit" poems
1481
The way Hope builds his House
It is not with a sill—
Nor Rafter—has that Edifice
But only Pinnacle—
Abode in as supreme
This superficies
As if it were of Ledges smit
Or mortised with the Laws—
9.6k
We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim primrose shore,
We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and enchanted coasts before,
Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost Atlantis lies,
And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in the amber skies.
The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon-fair,
And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her night-black hair;
We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking and luring face,
And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, wind-winnowed space.
But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph's sorceries,
It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold of Hesperides,
Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps time to our pulses' swing,
And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral crimsoning.
And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we shall reach the fairy isle
Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the to-morrows smile;
With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail on our ancient quest,
And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the thing he loves the best.
2.7k
Hier onder die afdak staan ons nou
Sjuijt! Bly stil! Gouwsie gaan ons in hou.
Vir ‘n **** praat Mnr. Smit nou,
So ‘n langtam, papbek manier van woorde kou
Lees ‘n versie,
Gluur vir Stoute Daan,
Begin toe bid,
Maar wat gaan nou aan?
My hartjie pyn, nie fisies seer..
Dis verlange wat my hart so skeur.
Met oë toe en ore oop
Klink Smitie net sos Oupa Hendrik,
Terug van die dood.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bond of free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloddy close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.
1.7k
As the child knows not if his mother’s face
Be fair; nor of his elders yet can deem
What each most is; but as of hill or stream
At dawn, all glimmering life surrounds his place:
Who yet, tow’rd noon of his half-weary race,
Pausing awhile beneath the high sun-beam
And gazing steadily back,—as through a dream,
In things long past new features now can trace:—
Even so the thought that is at length fullgrown
Turns back to note the sun-smit paths, all grey
And marvellous once, where first it walked alone;
And haply doubts, amid the unblenching day,
Which most or least impelled its onward way,—
Those unknown things or these things overknown.
1.2k
We are march to the blacksmiths
Blacks in thick black and deep black clothes
We come to mourn against lawless smit
For aged dark days and noisy nights.,
beneath gray sky
Their envelope in our mailbox spews blackmail
That they plan to transfer power by bed
We refuse to swallow such corruption ***
Now we will fight for generations to come
Should we say the uniform saved us
No! But yes! That blacks spoke in uniform
can’t you see the strong bass in your black
Ignite your coal that light be born.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
FEB 3, 2016
I got sentimental
Through ya words and the sight
You gotta say that you’re there
Beside me
But i know that that’s not fair
You go through my pain
And lend me your glee
Hey ya, why you’re like this?
Betrayed by myself, loved by your words
I gotta tell you my dear
‘cause you’re my lose friend
See the snow is melted into tears
Feeling you get away
And fears that mend themselves alive
© Smit Fairytale
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
I may've been a part of everything I've ever done
But out of all the messes I regret but only one
I searched myself on purpose just to question what I knew
And found that in forgiveness I am truly made anew
I've let You seal the corners of the letters I have writ
Without a doubt I give You my uncertainty to smit
I care not for the burden I have cast upon my head
For I believe I'll carry only what You deem undead
Position me to stumble and I'll fall the way I should
Be overwhelmed with gladness at the mercy of the good
I can't remember being anybody else's clay
You've molded me completely into who I am today
So here's to every future I could ever hope to have
While walking in this body til another comes to pass
I hope that You'll prepare it for the second, third and fourth
However long it's meant to tread the soil of the earth
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
mind blocked
heart thumping
fingers fidgeting
legs shaking
here we are
waiting for an update
anything
even just a note
hoping for good news
we rebuke any bad scenario
and just hope for the best
and in a blink of an eye
we hear the news
we are torn and grateful
two feelings at once
we don't know what to feel
and we start reminiscing
our hearts torn that you are gone
but grateful that you are no longer suffering
we were hoping to be with you
but we know you're better Up There
you are finally Home
and we know you're happy
probably jumping in joy
and watching over us
you will be missed
but never forgotten
you'll be in our hearts forever,
dear Mr. Smit.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC
The under-world
creepy no eyed men looking for women
watch your back and maybe he'll give you a tic-tac
tip tap toe so i hear if he wants a coin say"NO"
1-2-3 dont get angry at me
or i shall take you to a place where you wont want to be
to the under-world please come with me
he say's have some fruit take a look
eat a pit it'll only take bit
you're mine you litlle smit
you're mother can't help you my dear
if she tries I may have to **** her
come with me to a place you would'nt want to be
the "UNDER-WORLD"!!!...
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
I guess today
I am just feeling old
I can not get'in the mood to play
and all the words I write, while in this place
smit me.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
The Death Of Lincoln
OH, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation’s trust!
In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bond of free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloddy close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC