Category Archives: Poetry

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

Lost In Lille 2011

Lost In Lille 2011 After the Chunnel Night Luxembourg bound Porsche Boxer 180 KPH The Ambassador behind the wheel Moi Un passenger The embassy’s unofficial writer-in-residence Through the Hauts-de-France. Flat Same as Belgium Jacques Brel’s Le plat pays qui est a mienne. Eyes shut The flatness screened On my eyelids. Safe on the Autoroute The […]

La Ruche Petite Dejeuner 1985

A rainy morning Impasse de Danzig La Ruche The gray morning light lays as an allure On your bare skin My hand glides up your divine spine To rest beneath an angel wing shoulder. Heartbeat steady My fingers memorize the eternity of your youth. This touch will last forever. I think___ The door opens Your […]

White Condo Fog

An April overcast overwhelms A white luxury condo O’er Jay Street Brooklyn Obscuring the upper floors Earth warm Sky cold My fingers chilled Not by Winter But by the damp of Spring. The new season One month in My joints ache in the damp Old Some of me My mind 15 1967 Ruby Tuesday The […]

The Speed of Nothing

An ant on my hand Life or death My choice I choose to do nothing. To often we feel obliged to act When the best course of action is inaction Of course I have upgraded Sloth from the Seven Deadly Sins to a virtue in revenge for astronomers downgrading Pluto from palnet status. I rejoice […]