Yolanda Smith: Favorites

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

cuts

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Genna Peterson

cuts

I did a very horrible thing today
let's just say that all progress is lost
fell down the hole in my ears
and didn't find the other side
squeezed through my bellybutton
spread through my bloodstream
to turn my blood a dark purple
but hope is not lost, you see
all that progress may be lost inside me
but hope thrives in places other than my blood
or my ear canal
hope thrives everywhere

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

For More than a Thousand Years

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Gabriel Rosenstock

For More than a Thousand Years

I love You!
Every second
When wind rustles the grass –
Now and tomorrow –
I leap to You in me
In your dark embrace I shine
I am Amergin – who else –
I have praised Your name over all.

Le Breis is Míle Bliain

Mo ghrá Thú!
Gach soicind.
Nuair a chorraíonn an ghaoth an féar
Lingim Chugat ionam
Id bharróg dhorcha soilsím
Is mé Aimhirghin – cé eile? –
Mholas T’ainm thar chách

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

She's Poetry

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

NAR

She's Poetry

She's Poetry,
in more ways than she herself knows.
Just a glance in my direction with those radiant eyes,
or even the mere sound of her voice escaping those lips of silk,
is enough to awaken the butterflies that have been at rest in my soul for what feels like an eternity,
with the intensity of a cyclone.

She's Poetry,
Moving like the smoke releasing from the lit end of my cigarette,
drifting softly wherever the wind may take her.
Her luminous smile alone
is enough of a spark to set my mind ablaze,
giving me the inspiration to write for days and days and days.

She's Poetry.
With just the slightest touch, all my pain instantaneously evaporates,
and my heart begins to melt away.
Sweet as the summer rain, she swims through the rivers of my brain,
and I'm still wondering if she feels the same.

Shes Poetry,
in more ways than she herself knows.

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

with abandon

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

K Mae

with abandon

abandon me slowly
go to the place where you are holy
within the realm you call your own

abandon me swiftly
that I may fall
firm in my place
where I shall find me

abandon me
to the path of myself
where I shall dance
my way*
*with abandon

Credit first three lines to soul-friend Myron in presence with Mado

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

French Words

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Sabrina DLT

French Words

Words are ****.
I love words.
If you were a word I'd marry you.
I'd write you over and over and have *** with you.
Ill use my tongue a lot because that's what **** words like.
They like to roll against my tounge like a french kiss.
French words don't roll off my tongue.
The English words have run a muck.

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

First Meaningful (rational) Love Poem

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Lendon Partain

First Meaningful (rational) Love Poem

I just look at your figure,
and I die.
I live in the 1930's when its 1999
Best Beauty of the “Miss YOU *** A”
Laying coupled head to toe with the other train-sets.
Beautiful brown/blonde.
The most beautiful next to the light blue eyes of the tiger on my pc screen.
As I listen to my father figure.
I know you are mine.
Never once pacing nights after today on tile that will not know us.
Never to feel uncomfortable again.
I'll be with you.
5 inches higher than any girl I've ever called the most beautiful.
You win by more than five inches my dear.
I watch you as you sleep and you amaze me.
Utter confusion be-founds my simpleton mind.
I cannot tell if I’m just stupid.
Or if you’re just more intelligent.

Ill Hold Both Your Hands.

First time I didn't want death,

was when I held life by the throat.

Oh Mah untruthful NOT REAL GOD.... i just wrote a poem after a month hahha.

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

The Coda

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Olga Valerevna

The Coda

I know I'll never be the same
A vicious wind offends my frame
And as I push against its will
I fight alone, I'm standing still
I hear my bones, they rattle on
A tune is made, becomes a song
And it is all that I can do
To sing along and think of you
Until I fall upon a note
And get it stuck inside my throat
My face is blue, my voice is lost
And I continue being tossed
For every change direction takes
My vocal cords reverberate
The echo fades and so do I
In silence rest - my last goodbye

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Lovers

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

ice

Lovers

Upon the viewers of the sun, of glittering of gold,
Silently, the independence of thoughts, my heart you stole.
Looking into the innocence of your countenance, there’s none to compare.
Deep in my heart, you will always share.
As the trees guarded the soul of the forest fields,
Close to your silhouette, in moonlight room, we’ll yield.
For the lovers of the air, will always be found in a pair,
Wrapped around my arms, I’ll take you in my care.
And like the streams of the enchanted river water flows,
Bringing to mind, your purest of soul, as white as snow.

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Why do poets write?

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Richard Jones

Why do poets write?

My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

but in the deep part of night
when her beeper sounds
she bolts awake to return the page
of a patient afraid he'll **** himself.

She sits in her robe in the kitchen,
listening to the anguished voice
on the phone. She becomes
the vessel that contains his fear,

someone he can trust to tell
things I would tell to a poem.

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Wonder What It Feels Like to be Married

Jun 2013 Yolanda Smith

Atalanta Undigested

Wonder What It Feels Like to be Married

It feels like your hand at the small of my back
Warm and smooth
Feels like hurry
Feels like warmth curling rolling up my the skin of my belly
Like the thousand little worrys are gone
And I'm with you.

Feels like I don't care even what you think
Mountains of want and nothing else

Feels like my fingertips on your eyelids
Closed and wet
Your eyebrows, sable and warm
Slick oily skin, under your cheek bones
Your mouth, your lips my fingertips inside
Reach
Toes hard, pechos curled
Spoonerisms

Memories of time spent with you
in our imaginations mix with life.

You wanted to teach me
what the word prosaic means.

No dictionary in the world comes close.

Your hands on my neck.
Your flush of anger, as I tense
and relax at your touch.
Slower you go,
feeling my desire for you
spike as fear flees
and I suffuse with Trust.

You're amused and distracted by it
I am challenged to keep your attention
where it belongs.
My hands on your shoulders
Rushing to forget who did what.
The world around us roaring whirlygig
at our own callous amusement.

Asked and answered.