Freedom
We are all searching
for that someone
that quickens our breath
and lets us exhale,
that consumes us
expands our minds
and will remove these shackles
and free us
from ourselves.
Freedom
We are all searching
for that someone
that quickens our breath
and lets us exhale,
that consumes us
expands our minds
and will remove these shackles
and free us
from ourselves.
From veteran Poet and debut Author Terry Smith comes BATHROOM GRAFFITI, a thought provoking collection of satire poems laced with a raw observational edginess that literally drips with emotional and heartfelt meaning from the walls and stalls surrounding that dreaded thing we come to loathe and cherish – the public toilet. But regardless of the words scrawled in the dirtiest of ink, each do have a genuine story that definitely surpasses that old cliché: “Now here I sit all broken hearted. . .”.
bound by umbilical thread
screams of shattered silence
reach vaulted peaks
to drown
circumference of flame
closes to corset
devouring sins
purified soul released
as hind-sighted children
play roundabout
& echo gregorian chants
of the free
Respect where you came from
As a man
I say
STOP
all this
madness
defiling women
like it is our right
to desecrate the sanctity
of her womb
not even wipe your feet
before entering a room
do you kiss your mother with that mouth
in the united states alone
a woman is reported raped
once every 2 minutes
EVERY TWO MINUTES
and that’s just
the
ones
REPORTED
in the time it takes for me
to read you this poem
2 women have been raped
STOP
why do you defile
the place from which you came
those who gave you your name
you kiss your grandmother with that mouth
one third of the population
of the fairer sex
of a nation
has been raped
that means if you are a woman and have a woman sitting
on either side of you
one of you
has
be
raped
STOP
have you no shame
women have struggled
and died to give birth
every day
and you soil the
sanctity of that
’cause
of a
flame
in your
pants
YOU ARE NOT A MAN
you kiss your daughter with
that mouth
that mouth
the one your mother
held to her breast
to give you nourishment
and
LIFE
that mouth
that kisses your wife
& children before they go to bed
and the men of power let you out of jail
’cause there ain’t enough room
to house all the people that smoke
WEED
or do some other drug
probably to escape from the reality
of what you did to them
change lives
in the blink of an eye
without remorse
that could be
your daughter
your wife
your mother
and that is
THREE
so take your pick
it was probably
one
of
them
now bow your heads
and pray
for the two
that had to suffer
while you listened
to me
pray for their souls to be free
Contemptible You
your ink
a mixture
of nightshade & cyanide
seeped from your lips
& into my pores
in [toxic] ating me…..
nicotine scented swirls
& ethanol procured smiles
lead to ecstasy induced spasms
little deaths
of my soul
all messed up in blue
in the corner a pile
of unused phone numbers
from men she never
meant to meet
and as the days fade
to darkness
she walks the tracks of no train
to the station
and waits
$ 150 an hour & all I got is this song
& I would write songs for them
on the five strings left on my guitar
saving them for an album
tentatively called “gutter trash…the story of my life ”
in white rabbit vomit
& gin soaked cum stains
i would watch the nights
depraved transgressions
& go home alone
’cause even the drugged out whores
didn’t want my broke ass
[ soul ] ingenue