I asked you about the weather,
You asked if I was sleeping.
Neither of us touched the truth
Pressed hard against the glass.
Time was called, our red eyes met
But our skin was not permitted.
I hope you know I miss you — and all your ways.
Roots
Their little hands pulling me towards responsibility,
not with force,
but with trust.
A tug at the sleeve,
a voice in the night,
small shoes waiting by the door.
And suddenly a man understands
that love is not a feeling that visits —
it is weight carried willingly.
The world still calls him elsewhere:
towards freedom without anchors,
towards silence, towards self.
But those small hands
keep leading him back
to what matters.
Not chains.Roots.
And without roots you die.
I look towards the heavens
And with grattitude I cry.
A Love Declared.
A love declared for days to come,
is as good as none.
It's fog upon the mountain top.
Soft warm skin you can not touch.
'tomorrow' 'tomorrow' -
like time an endless field.
like hearts don't tire.
like the grass will not be cut.
But love is here -
it breathes in the moment its given,
or dilutes like a tear into the sea.
Like promises undelivered - worse than
nothing at all.
Friday Evening Wine
The week parks the van,
loosens its laces and sighs.
Nothing left half-finished,
noise fading from tired eyes.
The evening leans in gently,
like a friend who knows the way.
Gleam glass catching candlelight,
asking nothing of the day.
And in that quiet unspoken pause,
the aches feel far away.
Friday evening glass of wine,
We start the month of May.
Icon she gave me
She placed before me, still and small,
The icon in silence, head did fall.
Yet in my sorrow eyes were bright,
A love that turns the dark to light.
The Holy Mother stands in grief,
Yet holds the faith beyond belief.
Her gaze fixed where the suffering lies,
Mercy from the crucified.
In this icon, still and true,
I see what love can bring us through.
For she who gave it, soft and kind,
Gave more than heart—she gave her mind.
To God, to me, to all things whole,
A window opened in my soul.
a broken sky
She walked in with a fractured heart,
and eyes that held the day.
But left beneath a broken sky,
with all her colours grey.
The world grew hard, the air turned cold,
the stars forgot to shine.
Yet far beneath the shattered ground,
there stirred a root of vine.
They crossed a door that should have stayed,
Through hands that failed our trust.
Warnings ignored, duty sleeps
The price was paid in dust.
For though the night had marked her soul,
and bent what once stood free,
the dawn still whispered through the dark:
We are more than a memory.
Haven’t Cried
I used to tell them I hated you.
Then you died.
Im sorry — I forgive you.
Still I haven't cried.
The words came late – but true not offcast.
Quiet - as a door closing on the past.
Just the weight finally taken from my golden crown.
And the silence where it used to live.
Written down!
The Wolf
The violence did not leave me.
Is a wolf without teeth good - or just harmless?
I've proven I can destroy - tearing down to the
ground is easy.
The question - could I stop?
I still have my blade - but now also a sheath.
And still I stand when chaos screams.
now with a discipline - forged not found.
A wolf guards the pack - it doesn't only devour
every act is a decision - every act it carries weight
A wolf still a monster - just in control of when it kills.
Easter Saturday
The eve of Lenten's weary old mile
of prayerful days and the fasting trial
A candle waits in flickering flame
In our victory we call His name.
My sons laugh - sweet eggs in sight
We break and share - just one tonight
My wife prepares - the lamb is tender
I tell the boys of deaths surrender
The table full - the eggs are laid
Grateful hearts for the love we've made
Love is gathered - our laughter blends
a feast of glory for the ends
Jesus stands - death's undone!
I smile - Easter morning in our hearts begun
Two Tier
Corruption, riots, ambulances in flames.
More terrorist plots - no media blames.
Patriots protest - far right rage.
Thuggery - before feet hit the cobbled stage.
Before a word, before a sign.
The verdict drawn the fault assigned.
Muslims with swords nothing to see
mosques filled with knifes - nobody cries.
An Englishman with banner - jailed and dies.
Two sides shout - false stories told
one painted just - one painted cold.
Bricks still fly - Left lips still lie
We cant coexist! - neath our English sky.
Two tier injustice - the coward police embrace.
In one hand a baton - to the dark there's grace.
Another sentence suspended - another fuckin sex crime
Four years in prison - for a social media line.
Still to come - more tears, more blood, and more loss.
But still we will hoist - our St George Cross!
Smith Shine Poetry 