A flea
A flea came my way
And I crushed it senseless
Later I had a pang of guilt
Cos it was vulnerable and quite defenseless
But in my defence I stopped its plight
For the sake of one meagre bite
I clipped it with my thumb
Until squashed and rendered numb
I kissed its soul goodnight
And with the [flea] angels it took flight
And left it's earthly home
To settle on celestial clouds
Where it could 'Hop, and Skip, and Roam'
yvette m smith feb 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flea
A flea that bit you had bitten me too.
The two bloods mingled for single blood.
The flea’s body is our marriage lobby.
Neither shame nor sin would accrue since than.
Nor would you have grown any weaker too.
By yielding to me and getting my blood
You would shed no grace nor honour either.
You will make me than the flea happier.
Your yielding to me will not do more harm
Than what the flea has done to you, dear.
[the verse of John Donne, The Flea, rewritten]
20.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Numb
That trip to the dentist left me uncomfortably numb
There was blood in my mouth on my gum
A tooth missing
The wind blowing against me
Senseless to trauma
Drowsy limbs stumbled
Across roads
Over fallen branches and streets
With unfamiliar names
Like 'uncomfortably numb'
Married 23 years and two months
The gate flapping open
Like loose skin
And the unchosen choices
Taken
Those familiar blocks that mark
In and out
The name that was nothing to shout about
Easily lost in an archive
Uncomfortably numb
Dreaming of rivers and sunrise
And an afternoon off
Feeling nothing but gas and air
And speechless
Child without a scream
Waiting silent in the corner
As a maternal torturer feeds you
Nut cake and cream
Blood on the sheets
Blood on the spoon
The pain of pleasure
Did it come too soon?
marigold farquart browningsworth
aka yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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The Flea
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two;
And this, alas! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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V.i.a
V.I.A
Means 'Very Important Ant'
I met him by chance
On a humid day
ON the way home from the dance
He was quite tiny
And discreet
And played solitaire with my feet
I felt a tiny trickle of delight
And saw black dot run
Along my leg for fun
Then a tiny nip
And skip
Upon my arm
He knew how to charm
I nearly sqashed him with my thumb
Not even a millimetre long
I took him home
He was so sweet
And gave him a biscuit crumb to eat
And in the morning I was struck dumb
For my little mate had gone!
mavis walls
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fifi The Flea
(ransford)
Fifi the flea fell in love
With a clown from a flea circus fair
She gave him her heart
But he still couldnt see
That for such a long time she had cared
He put himself round all the other girl fleas
Unaware that he hurt her so badly
She cried in the arms of his manager friend
And declared that she loved the clown madly
One day fifi went
And this drove the clown wild
The poor little flea started crying
Never you mind his manager said
I ought not to tell but shes dyin
Dyin for love of you little flea
Youve broken her heart with your lyin
She couldnt stand to see you throw
Her love away without tryin
The day fifi died the little clown vowed
Hed tend her grave every hour
He broke down and cried
When he saw her grave
And on it he placed a small flower
Poor little flea he wasted away
Hed lost his fifi forever
So they opened her grave
Put him inside
Now at last they are together
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Missing Finger
You left us with ten fingers and,
Came back with nine fingers;
What really went wrong?
Fifteen years away from home,
We are yet to know what really went wrong;
Fifteen years away to make some money,
What really went wrong with your missing finger?
You made enough money and thought that,
You were richer than the President;
Today, you've returned home poorer than before!
There is time for everything,
A time to gain and a time to lose;
What really went wrong?
From a flight to your plight,
Who will help you now?
Fifteen years awayto make some money,
But today you can't even eat well at home;
From a flight to your plight,
Today you can't even sleep well at home;
Fifteen years away to make some money,
The very colours of the rainbow with a view;
You left us with ten fingers and,
Came back home with nine fingers;
What really went wrong?
From a flight to your plight,
Fifteen years away to make some money;
From the land of red, gold and green! !
From a flight to a plight,
It's all part of a lesson;
You are now at home at last.
The President was at the stadium but,
Where were you?
It is better to be humble than to boast.
Flight, sight, might, bright, tight, light;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Bite, kite, height, fight, eight, plight;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Quiet, rite, white, night, site, write;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Today, the President is better off than you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A kiss
Kissed by the mist
Sunlight falling through trees
This is the gift of the day
In first dawning
Who can forget that first kiss?
Forever unfolding
The gift of a life
yvette m smith oct 08
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Flea (Fun Poem 120)
You get into bed with your partner
and they toss and turn
as if they have a flea up their arse.
They keep you awake
with their fidgeting,
eventually you get to sleep
and believe it or not
they start to do it again.
By now, you are ready
to give up trying to sleep
or get the bug killer spray
to kill that damn flea.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A flea can trouble a lion more than the lion can harm a flea.
Flea and Anthony are into funk, like old school Meters and stuff like that.
quote by Chad Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Light
It dazzles in a clear night
Made clearer still
By artificial rays
Making a path to guide us home
It is a beacon
A bright halo of hope
A candle of warmth and sentiment
It makes love sound heavenly
Makes our journey safe and full
As if it were a divine hand resting on our shoulders
Without it
The stars would dim and fade out
The sky fill with darkness
The lamp would retreat
Into formlessness
The sky would be lost to the darkness
There would be no sun
No moon
The soul would close up and die
Even noise or speech or sound
Would be senseless
detached and barren
All things living sleeping
Light
In the beginning there was light
All living things followed
And these were only the signs leading homewards
yvette smith april 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The man who lost his soul
The man who lost his soul had a hole for a heart,
And so, wherever he went, there was a draught
Until one day he met his 'better half'
And feeling complete
He could thaw his sad frozen feet, at last
At the fire of love
And all loss was a thing of the past!
yvette m smith jan 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To the Trees
Nothing can tell me that the Trees don't love
In the first light of Autumn
Under golden mist
Of sun kissed days
Those leaves that turn and crunch
So crisp
These frosted memories
That slowly thaws beneath your feet
In oracles of golden russet crowns
That weave their fingers into clouds
Leave traces of a green
That lace and bud the heart with song
Of summers gone
And loves flame burning brighter
In the candle of a year now gone
And burning fires
Frozen brooks
And smoky rings
Each breath as still
As time suspended
Into space
yvette m smith oct 08
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Now I Have My Eyes On Dinner
When I say I am seeking something substantial in my life?
Why does that make you laugh to see me at a flea market?
I am seeking something that doesn't need to be high maintenanced...
Looking for wrinkles to moisturized.
To get nipped and tucked when bags begin to sag.
'And...
You are going to find that at a flea market? '
OH yes.
Some people don't know quality to throw it away.
Just like that.
Maybe recently divorced?
Or separated?
'You are talking about being at flea market,
Right! '
Ab-so-yes indeed-lutely!
And today must be my lucky day.
Because I am looking at a bargain.
A steal that's too genuine to leave.
And...
What do you think I've discovered?
'A day you found something priceless? '
Is there such a thing...
Of hoping to spend every moment,
With something so priceless...
To wish it is available?
'What can I say?
Your discovery is as good as mine? '
Are you sure you don't want to look around?
'What makes you think I haven't been doing just that?
I was hoping to see those candleholders you purchased,
Last week...
Again.'
So you had your eyes on 'them' too?
'Very much so.
Now I have my eyes on dinner! '
With breakfast?
'And lunch? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My War With The Fleas
Came August
the Flea Commander
slapped his walking stick
upon the table bare
surveying his battle plan
testing his jumping legs
assembled before him were
flea battalions on the ground
restless for the attack
mosquitoes and flies to buzz the air,
giant bedbug tanks from New York
gnats, moths, and crawlies eager for blood to suck
bat sentries, owl look-outs
coyotes to howl signals out
all was ready.
“Now, ” he began slowly
The family in there does not yet suspect
and we must not relinquish to them
our element of surprise.
We don't want them to get a chance to mobilize
until after we attack
and gain our cache of blood
surprise before they discover where our larvae lay
before they deploy their canisters of Raid
or insect repellents
before they open their bomb sprays
before their wash the beddings
before they deploy their expense flea sprays
and lethal flea droplets
we want to hide in their beds, dug in
we want to hide in their animals fur
in their clothing
everywhere
and before morning we will have established
our impenetrable beachhead.
So he said ready your selves for the strike this night
as they lay asleep.
With that he stood
his flea legs elevating him
above the others, shouting
Are you will me?
A roar went up
and I watching from my hiding place
crept away
saying to myself;
not this year you suckers
you’ll get your own surprise
glee in my voice.
To be continued.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A painting a hieroglyphic an epitaph
I painted the trees as birds in flight
Wings pressed against the hour glass
The bird clock stirring
Under the television light
And the ' green bush' was a green bush
And the bush was a bright ray of light burning
I held my passion
Claimed a name for naming
Untrod, unfelt, half seen territory
Making walls my strangers
Making mountains
Captains of my heart
Heroic summits
Left clouds dreamers
And streamers trailing dove tail
Old engravings
Unknown Heiroglyphics from another life
There admist the whirling pools and crackling laughs
The sun and ease of day break
Were the broken, unspoken stones lye amidst the,
Epitaphs!
yvette m smith poet of uk
july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The serious thing about poetry
The serious thing about poetry
Is the 'serious thing about poetry'
It is not in the writing but the reading
We define it!
We who did not write it
Or know the serious thing about poetry
Is in the 'business of writing'
In the silent inflections and reflections
In the silence
Just the silence
And the space
And the writer
Writing
First feeling
First breathing
First yet not first
Then recalling
In diary
On dictaphone
While alone
In a crowd
In a park
Round the back of the track of
The old garden, where you used to play
Taking your time
Walking the long way home
With your head full of books
Your book, full of thoughts
And the serious business
Yes the serious business of 'Art'
In the making...
Making or a name?
The serious thing remains
Afterward untouched
Always the same
After the awards
They all went home
And some hung their OSCARS in the loo
And some feeling foolish hung their heads in shame
For the sake of the art
For arts sake
Finding still trying to find whose to blame?
yvette m smith 7.2.09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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X
She remembers sounds cracked from words shells
Echoes across abandoned parks
Seashores
Somehow frozen in time
She talks out of tempo
A Stuttering shuffling game
But she is not playing
She watches
stopped still
Outside the life
That keeps turning
She remembers nothing
Not even her name.
X marks the spot
Later her bracelet is found in the mud
It carries her DNA
And the blood of a man she once loved
She will not return again
She remembers nothing
yvette m smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chocolate
Iam in love with chocolate
This rich dark intruder
This demon tantaliser of the tastebud
Its aroma consumes my senses
Its aura dissolves all reason
Its soft delights flirts upon my tongue
Devours me with one bite
And I submit and sink
Within this sepia 'whirpool'
Of epicurean delights!
I am in love with chocolate
I am consumed by my chivalrous 'Dark Knight'
Yvette m smith feb 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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