The Thing in the Corner

The Thing in the Corner

will not let me share

in its mystery

It keeps fanatically to itself,

gazing wistfully at the moon

Its skin ripples in the dawn-winds,

and it gives

a little whimper of a yawn,

stretching til it’s pencil thin

Sometimes it peers curiously at me

as if I were the Thing in the Corner

but I’m not

I’m the Other Thing in the Opposite Corner

of the Same Room

I try to be friendly though, I really do, so it’s not as if it’s

entirely my fault or anything.

Perhaps one day, when we’re both sad, we’ll meet in the

center

of the room and

cry

sympathetically

Til then, it keeps its secrets, and I keep mine.

And now here comes the morning mist

to enshroud the Thing in the Corner once more in

mystery,

and I remain

out in the open, a

vague and random

clue.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

The Words

The Words

shift

like sliding, overcast

shades of gray,

dark and forbidding

and then the break.

The apple of Apollo’s eye

turns golden

and The Words shift like

rippling waves

of green

in the

windblown grass.

They feel better,

freer,

like bare feet

wriggling toes in the soil.

The Words grow

taller, stronger,

happier

They spill out energetically

like

tossed dice,

for all to see and hear

loaded

with life.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr

A Handful of Stars

If you could

hold a handful

of

stars

what would you do with them?

puff them away

like

dandelions fluff

and make

random wishes?

toss & scatter them

like

silver coins

into the

sea?

make clusters of them

spin

like

pinwheels?

or let them

slowly slip

through your

fingers

spilling them

back into

the sky?

If you could

hold a handful

of

stars

what would you do with them?

© Alfred W. Smith Jr

Lights in the Windows of the Soul

Candles

wink playfully

flirting

with my retina

hiding

what I would

see

The Sun

is a saucier creature

who will

blind you

if you

stare her down

Give me the

steady

patient

starlight.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr

2015

In the Simple Things

It’s in the simple things:

intimate, small gestures that say you care

a palpable connection felt when eyes meet

knowing the thoughts, finishing the sentences

a connection of hands, the intertwine of fingers

the ebb and flow of bodies

giving and receiving

a binding of hearts and souls

a freeing of spirits

and we understand

the ancient lore of oneness

singing in rounds of alternate harmonies

walking together

down the pleasant path

to

Home.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

The Sweet, Wise Cosmic Dream (80’s poetry)

If honey ran in mountain streams

the sugar sparkling in moonbeams

and I could hear the screech-owl’s screams

would I then have the sweetest dreams…

Of flying into starlight

with very keen eyesight

having a smooth flight

upon the winds of night?

Would I return with morning sun

the majic of my wings undone

or shattered by the hunter’s gun

(perhaps a god was having fun)?

To then become a man again

staring at the horizon

sheltered in an empty den

the earth’s poor earth-bound citizen?

Would I keep flying into space

to some far, timeless secret place

not to rejoin the human race

as cosmic winds caress my face?

I would prefer the last

and not think upon the past

That time when I was one of you

Unless you wish to travel too….

I thought you would.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

June 25th, 1983

The Sweet, Wise Cosmic Dream / Assorted Absurdities (a poetry collection)

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