I Think I Typed a Ghazal Up
Whispering whims of the world’s smallest hands turned up...
Yet all of time could not fill their supple cup up.
You have always had a room for me in your head
(even without colorful dec’rations hung up)
But I’m a condemned building with too many errors --
With shoddy frames n’ off-kilter stairs not leading up
Did you call my name as I was running down th’ hall --
Was it running for dead? O’ did I hold my head up?
Yes, I have my quirks in far too many manners
Forgotten on th’ tombstone of your mother, now up
But now the greater the love in waves of the heart
The more I get lost in these rooms, for aye locked up.
I wish I could have a prison for love outdoors
By an architect who sings out of a tune up
And looking to the future can nought be brazen
Call me Quasi-model, but at least sum it up.
Michael T. Smith__
Dangerous Liaisons
My nosegays are for captives still,
Holding your dim eyes in their grasp.
I’ve seen the sunset in my day,
Dwelt upon in lazy refrain.
O, how the leaden suns, they fell.
My nosegays are for captives still.
The thoughts beneath so slight a’ body
Are always more distinctly seen,
Like laces just reveal the thigh
Of sordid thoughts of Apennine:
My nosegays are for captives still.
T’was then the landscape slowly came,
And every fool sings the same note,
A sirocco from out their mouth
To blow a herd of gentians south.
My nosegays are for captives still.
Michael T. Smith__
DIARY X
I kept the sunshine in my back pocket,
which she pruned with her eyelids' trim.
Though all smiles – I could not talk to her.
I kept the sunshine in my back pocket,
Every smile partitioned out like a piano key,
The prince of sundials, has now retired.
I kept the sunshine in my back pocket,
which she pruned with her eyelids' trim.
Michael T. Smith__
© Minerva González-Suvidad: "Saladoide" linocut 15 x 11
© Minerva González-Suvidad: "Saladoide" linocut 15 x 11
