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Poetry by Simon Mark Smith



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 To Talent


We will meet on Bridges across the Thames at 5 am

In smoky bars you’ll capture my heart and

At dawn let it go again

You inspire my children in laughter

Take my thoughts and turn them in to others

Lay gifts at the root of my journeys

Trickle miracles through my fingers

Bring words of peace to troubles

Read poetry in the darkness

Sing silence within me

Give to receive me

Your love to

Teach me

Let me



November 24th 2002







“Meet Me On The Pier” 18 March 2007 Take two


And action


I open the door, you smile at the camera,


The stars that guide you guide me too


Fast forward


We climb the stairs




Your fingers kiss




A moment there


Slow mo replay


In my arms


You rise


I fall




From crying laughter


Play Animation sequence


Our naked love Is born




My mouth fills with your taste


My heart is full of night,


Fade to white


Your sleepy breathing


Offers me a fall




Then a height




Jenny is the set ready?


Across the sea the boat lights shine


The stars that guide them guide me too


Zoom, then blur


To the touch of your lips on mine


Can’t wait for the rushes


Roll credits


“My darling, for your love I thank you”






For God’s sake love!


Meet me in the water


Come with me upon our bed




Even if the evening wind


Catches our last breath


Lower lights please


I want to sleep beneath your weight


Under the same roof


Is there something you can’t see


Strobe transitions


Are dreams your truth?


End titles commence


“What if what you do


Kills the love of those who love you?”


Close up


I look in to the sorrow of your gaze


Flash fade


In ecstatic fear you close your eyes


Freeze frame






Meet me on the pier,


Or in the water


Where it meets the sky.


Fade to grey


Meet me in the shadows of our love


Silence please we’re almost finished


And greet me in the kisses of goodbye.


And cut






Faith and Allegation


I am on the side of the angels

And the helicopter’s flying high

I’m with you

In the lightness of this dark sky.


“Just look at that isn’t it something”

Just look at me ain’t I somebody?


Well we’re flying with the angels tonight

Making fun of their guiding lights.

I am with you in this deepest blue

I’ve got your left side in my view.


Can you hear them singing

Or the blades just spinning?


I am chasing angels through clear skies tonight

It’s a difficult differentiation of

Faith and Allegation.

And the angels ain’t God willing to sit for interrogation


But you are here.


28.7.1990 Simon Smith






What tree laughs so openly?


Written by Simon Smith on the 12 April 1991


A pinpoint of light moves across the sky

Like a miracle coming into land

On the palm of some friend’s hand


The city smells rise up from the ground

To haunt me with associations for life

And though I love the smell of wood more

I would miss this man made permeation


It is not excitement

But the smell of life

What tree laughs so openly?

Though what man stands so sturdily?


I look at you and hear words

Which I convey to you

Like a touch of mathematical improbability

We laugh


These words will never be so beautiful

As when in semi-darkness

They become unreadable


Tonight I am saturated by a feeling of well being

The day has moved well for me

I will stop writing

And you will come to kiss me

We will lay in bed and talk gently

And this day taken

For now has moved kindly around me




Old Ground


To sit and watch the sun,

Watch the wind

To walk and feel you close inside

To take away the pain and sleep


To live life happily.

To walk over old ground

Mother puts her head around the door

And says goodnight.


1985 Simon Smith




The Revolutionary


The picture pans across the sea,

To the place you held my breath,

In your clenched fist,

The revolutionary.

The tears you cried,

Found their way to me,

Like crocodiles,

Reptiles tied up,

Set free

The revolutionary.


February 1990. Simon Smith




Where the birds flew down,


I stood kicking dust

In the hot long light of evening

Two men emptied their pipes on the veranda

They looked up

Kicking their ashes between cracks

In the wood.


8.8.1990 Simon Smith





The Fear



On the landing

I look down the stairs

Tell the incubi to walk away.

Turn back and go back down.


The storm brings death to the front

Takes me back to fear.

Where I

Talk to the heads on sticks

Walk down roads on sticks

Kiss the baby in the arms of a mother

Kiss the may be in the arms of a lover


A black man I know  walks his dog

Looks up

Watches his life go by

Rolling past in an old wheelbarrow.


Have I kissed you lately?

“Have I kissed you lately!”

Fear is

The gift of thieves

Was it a kiss I stole ?


The door opens and the man walks in,

Takes his hat off and sits down,

Looking down he positions his hat

Between his knees.


Then handcuffs me.




The Instinct Hint Of Love?


Can we collude or will we collide

Will we unite will we harmonise?

With one accord and hand in glove

A consenting accompaniments

Votes of no confidence

For my government of love.


The consensus of opinion

The adequacy of a well written word

Scratched on the back of a gloveless hand

Blood comes to the surface

But doesn’t erupt.


It’s the tendency of the tender hearted

The vulnerability of the

Submissive martyrs

The potentiality of the

Deathless departed.


Death is in our inability to communicate

The depths of our learning.

Meaning turns to dust with the mourning light

The irony of dawning

The curfew of our learning.


I am left alone listening

To the oblivious logic of


(The adequacy of an inner notion )

The instinct hint.


The paradox riddle of  lucid foresight

The false reading of mystification

The confusion of the simple truths

The sophistry of the ignor(ant)ing.


I visit the institute of intuition.

Am illuminated by past life souls

Guided by the shadows of mourning light.



30.7.1990 Simon Smith




Poem about disability


After a hundred films on the doings of the disabled

I am bored.

Their purpose of education swamped

By their entertainment value.

Not another film on being bloody marvellous

Either that or a grubby black and white advert.

Cerebal palsy thoughts closing the door after the collection

And a thousand emotions holding apart

Pressures from outside from inside

And the door held fast in place.

Sympathy preceding

Lunch time jokes in the pub

Amazement preceding

Prejudice at the job Interview.

We meet.

Me in the way of your easy day

You look across to me

Your obvious shock

Still startles me

We talk and I know my words

Fall into the background

As every move I make disturbs you

But time encompasses me

Into your version of normality.

And then maybe friendship.

But I am one in a range of a thousand

Physical abnormalities~

How awkward life can be.

You come to me for an easy answer to

How should I be with them~

But their is none

Even the word ‘disabled’

With its Innuendo of worthlessness

And its categorisation of millions of very different people

Causes me pain.

And all these bloody marvellous films

What change did they make?

You’d still treat me the same

If I came for your daughters love

How would you feel?

I am here to let you see this discomfort

Between us

Revealing the hidden war

My first battle is to make you want

to understand

I show you the pain,

As you degrade me knowingly

Or in ignorance

You tell me I’ve a chip on my shoulder

But my humanity leads me to anger

So I can’t stop wanting to disturb you

From a complacency you’re so ready

To excuse

I have realised the impasse I face

You close the door and choose an easy life

You ease the pain with humour

And simplicity.


circa 1989




Go No Further


Written by Simon Smith on the 27 July 1991


This is some sacred book written in the half light

All out

Of town

All out

War was written

In the early months of my pregnancy


I never felt safe stepping out of bed

And in bed I looked at some one

out of sight


I stepped out of mind


She said “look between my legs,

what do you see”

I saw red

Like a red hole that smelt strange

“I don’t like that” and I got back into my bed

“Go on touch me again” she said.


Later I learned to spit

I spat and she liked it.

“Come here and touch me again”

Spit with a smile and I’ll hide the blame.


How anger leaves you standing naked

Normally in crowds of non attentive strangers


What joy in cruelty

And pain in love

“If I could kill the sadist”

Said the masochist

“If I could just kill the anger”


“You can

So go no further”




1986 Simon Smith






Beauty and Death


Come here and place your hand across my mouth

Silence my whispers


When I said you were beautiful it was true

I didn’t mean it

I just had to tell you.


You took an old cat and drowned it

How anybody could I really don’t know

You said you meant not to

But death is the friend of your frenzy


What meaning comes from meaningless words

More than words you meant to say.



Maybe I won’t marry you in Heaven


Written by Simon Smith early (April?) 1991


Maybe I won’t marry you in Heaven

But I’ll hold you through the night

Maybe not everything’s forgiven

But I’ll wait for you

In  this springtime evening light


I ask questions long before their time

And in gardens of my heart

Swing from answers drawn in kisses

To momentary lips apart


Cigarette smoke gently touches me

Two men sit outside

In muffled Creole, soap and beer laughter

Catches me tenderly


Sadness and humour mix this grey sky

To some lithium orange cast veil

For fear of dying the stars are lost

Behind altitudes of reality that bare

No resemblance to you – especially.


There’s an old man who I want to see

Turning down my invitations

Maybe he thinks he can delay death

Because he knows it will be

Our last ever conversation


If I could be just one person

Then I would be the one who loves you

If I could freeze these ocean  waves

I would time the moment to break

An overwhelming emotion over you


A gypsy woman’s walking

My friend’s grandmother to the car

After thirty years of waving at the door

There’s a reassurance in this goodbye.




Georgia On My Mind




As I walk down the stairs away from my fathers flat


I imagine you leaning against the wall

Back arched, looking in to my eyes

I walk past you


Not to ignore you

But I know this is wishful thinking

Well really I know nothing

I am trying to walk away from the not knowing.


I would try to think about what words I could say that would make you want me

But I know love can’t be persuaded, petitioned or bought.


A flashback memory,

We are close up,


Maybe a foot away your face in darkness except a band of orange


Streetlight falls across your eyes.


We are outside your house at night in my car.



I am reeling,

Trying to reel you in,

Un-realing the situation,

Reeling in feelings that I have preferred to watch get away lately.


You tell me you are worried about your bad breath,


I smell nothing and if I did would not mind


I want your breath inside me, good or otherwise.

You tell me later that you’re bum is too big,


But something in you and I


Has clicked me into a feeling of love towards you.

I take you as you are.


I would take your worries as a positive sign, if it weren’t that you’re a bit eager to go.

There is no feeling of “I must go” said 10 times over a 2-hour period.


It is “I must go” and then you are gone.


Your last words are


“A Woman may like bastards but after a series of bastards she realises the one she wants was the sweet one she left at first.”


To this I’m thinking


“do I figure somewhere in this scenario?


Which character am I?


Should I wait 20 years and see how you feel then?


Maybe I don’t figure there at all, and this was just a good bit of advice


Passed down through your maternal descendants and ignored similarly.”


When we kissed earlier you’d said my kisses were so gentle, you had tried to kiss me hard,


I’m not so young any more to kiss in a way I don’t want.


But I’m not so wise that I bothered to ask what you really wanted.


I watch you walk off as I drive away

It looks like you’re holding a cat to your shoulder

Maybe you’re talking on a mobile phone

You fade off symbolically into the darkness


I think back in to the evening


Memory 1


You are dancing with a friend, slow motion dancing, you ask me to dance with you.

I tell you I am an English male and would rather die! If we were alone I would curl around your limbs.


Memory 2


Your eyes looking into mine squinting slightly,

at this point I get that melting sensation that I need to be there if I’m to love a lover.


Memory 3


I say how much I like the design of the bar’s silver matchbox and you look at me quizzically.


Memory 4


Wisps of your hair brushing up to my face in the wind as we walk back up to the riverbank from a jetty.


Memory 5


The feeling of your body next to mine when you jokingly make love to me for 2 seconds


Memory 6


You trying to throw a lifesaver ring in to the river and me stopping you,


This one is like a dream warning me of the dangers of playing with you.


You are half Irish / Scottish and half Jewish,


Your physical look stuns me,


It actually hurts me because you are so beautiful –


It’s the pain of knowing this isn’t going to happen


So the sweetness reminds me of being a child when I drank ink


And was told I would die.



A few days have passed.


I know if I keep away from you


I will lose you in the river bank sands of my mind.


So I accept (without any dialogue with you) that there’s not going to be an “us”.


After all I had said that I didn’t want to stop kissing you because I knew it wouldn’t happen again and you had responded in an indignant manner saying “suit yourself”.


I now fantasise that I am asking you to be straight with me and tell me what you feel,


That if you’re not interested to spit it out because

I haven’t got time to waste chasing after people who don’t want me.

This is not borne out by the last 20 years of relationships, but maybe I’m changing- I doubt it.


Instead I write this which I may never show you until it’s safely too late.


29.7.2001/2018 Simon Smith