Tag Archives: poetry


WINTER’S TOLL The rails run straight to Montauk. The pine forest is wizened by the salt off the ocean Deer dash across the tracks. Day and night. The train runs once an hour. 3600 seconds. Still some deer don’t make it. Crows pick clean the bodies. The bones gleam in the afternoon light. April and […]

RED TATE – BAD POETRY by Peter Nolan Smith

Red Tate lies on the pavement Helpless flat on his back If his mother saw this sight Tears would fill her eyes Red Tate drinks Ripple. Sometimes Thunderbird Red wine dulls his nerves. A bum A tramp. His mother’s second son. 1978

SQUARES by Peter Nolan Smith

Who here has shot at someone? Who here has been in jail? Who here has been beaten by the police? Who here has cried after a mother’s death? A father’s death? A friend’s death? The birth of a child? Who here listens? Who here sees? Who here speaks? Who here feels? None of all this […]

May 2, 1978

Am I a poet? People think so, but they consider poets wastrels without money. Throughout time poets have suffered scorn, hatred, ridicule, apathy, love, and poverty. Hart Crane wrote THE BRIDGE. Sailors threw him off a ship in the middle of the Caribbean. Poe died from drugs, Byron succumbed to disease in Greece, and Joyce […]

Poetry Police

My hillbilly girlfriend in the 70s was funny. Ann was even funnier drunk. Her limit was two drinks after which she was transformed from an ingenue actress into a white trash beauty. I wasn’t sure which I liked better. One night at CBGBs she launched into a tirade about the poetry police coming to arrest […]