Is a hug a gift from God? a squeeze can brighten the most darkest of day, for a warm embrace, who doesn’t wish to stay? Is a hug a gift from God? cuddles the heart does treasure, in receiving, oh what a pleasure. Is a hug a gift from God? it’s an act never toContinue reading “Is a hug a gift from God?”
Author Archives: Smith Shine Poetry
Little kicks inside her
As we watch the birch logs burn, little kicks inside her, excitement strikes! Imagine I hadn’t have been there, no looks from the bandstand, smiles in the park. Fire light and little kicks, emblems of hope in the dark. Aspirations rise with the smoke, the heir to my words until his eminence bespoke.
Let thee rhyme (through ADHD)
Indulge in the mystery grasp the suspense, set sail in the search hail the pretense. Jump hop and spring, like a harmonic choir let thee sing. Where is the time that waits for no one, lying quiescent, if so, what from? Plié, twist and dance, like a tunnel of love let thee romance. We willContinue reading “Let thee rhyme (through ADHD)”
Shadows
The music stops, and I feel the cold. Love hacked and extracted. Can the soul save itself? As they fight for my last breath? Pulling me back to the shadow world, where dead hearts can’t bleed. Moons don’t reflect from seas, and on the vulnerable, the shadows feed.
Upon your art
Lift me high with those loving hands, that chiselled my passionate heart. Lift me high above all creation, and let me gaze, upon your art.
A shout of creation
Pen, paper, rocking chair and a match, It’s time to create inspiration to catch. Like a river it’s flowing what’s deep within bursts out, Like a thief for his life, from the gallows, I shout.
Your lips
I labour, hands in dirt, hot sun on my back. All I have to offer is my heart, in this month of your zodiac. It’s the first day of the week, the sun is beginning to set. I search for words and metaphors, yet your lips, the goal i’ve set.
Cretian air
Her hair waved in the wind with the red ensign. The waves elated like a soul with rhyme. It was warm, dusk closer to night. Poets time, when angels visit to help bards write. Aside of me and her, and the warm Cretian air.
we touch the unseen
In these peculiar times I realise every action counts, as this wave in me mounts and mounts. It’s unclear to see what’s rising with the sun from over the horizon, nor what to me you even mean. But I do know together ‘we touch the unseen’.
Thoughts in her Covid
She bowed to the crown of this viral pneumonia, she thought on chinese doctors in chinese labs, on Wuhan city on 5g masts. The medical scales of the pangolin embroil, the bat in the pot not quite at the boil, she is dead the thesis not, more to this truth we know not.
Smith Shine Poetry 