a.r. 1

and the hours trickled by
like a leaky faucet
never fixed
dripping
putting us to sleep
and we slept
through the days -
in endless wandering
with blank
staring eyes
and the similarities
that put us there together
were so very different
and we clung
to each other
to stay sane -
while insanities haunted
our beings
and taunted our minds

they checked for scars
and tattoos
in case something
happened...
before they put names
with faces
and everyone had scars
and everyone was tattooed
with the memories
of ward 33
even though the doctor
claimed it wasn't a stressful environment
but did he live
in our sanitary world
of schedules
and medications
crosswords
blank
like our thoughts
stayed unfinished
much like our meals
of bland
mush
salted and peppered
to offer some kind of
taste
and visitors
had no clue
no real understanding
of a seeming endless boredom
of existence
and as we struggled
with only glimpses
of outside
through privileges
gained with good behavior -
shoe laces
like a gift
given back
a couple of cigarettes
worth millions
of dollars
chained smoked
before returning
to the tranquilizing
whiteness? blackness?
of a world of nothing

then kelly, the girl with purple hair was brought in
wearing a pair of pink, beaded socks
she gave me those socks
and inside of those pink socks, memories are contained -
the only color in that particular world of madness

9.
©1991

a.r. 2

an angels wing.

A feather in your hair which fell from an angels wing floated upon a restless wave in the ocean. Deceived by it's anxiety you couldn't rest on the shore. So you walked upon the white sand which piled about your feet. The water colour bird of emerald sang it's last song within the bare trees of winter. It's bread crumb trail and yours hidden by the snow. If you only knew, the snow was made of icing you both could have tasted it's sweetness. And sew, you continued to look for a place of rest but found only frayed edges of a life you thought wasn't. You learned to mend it's hem and patch the holes of wear, the thinning thread holds the world.

And still you can hear the ocean though it is a thousand miles away but your footprints have been covered by raining thoughts of wonder. Where do you go from here for no trails are ahead. You stand alone in your uniqueness of one and only one.

You open your hand and let the clouds rest upon your palm. As you listen to the whisper of the wind.

You have looked across plastic columns at melting snow dripping through cracks as you float upon waves of icebergs. Feathers of angels wings rain upon your face leaving tears beneath your feet. Black sand piles upon the shore making it easy to sea the shells - discarded and out grown homes. You sing within your cage, emerald bird, hungry because the bread crumb trail was hidden by the whiteness if only you had tasted the snow - it was made of icing.

9.
©1994

a.r. 3

Fly Fisherman.

Alone he stands
where no other human has discovered.
Rustling leaves whisper
hello again-friend.
Water cuts through trees
for his path,
while brilliant sun awakens from sleep.
Blanket pulls away,
clouds-it seems but a few,
while white bubbles gather
where the river meets his boots.
Line pulls taught
deep into black water.
Concentration squints into distance,
thoughts but only his own.
Respectively all is quiet
birds chirp-none is heard.
Only whirling reel and splashes
of gathering his trophy.
Holds it up-for best friend to see.
Nature-nods in satisfaction.
Release of captured treasure,
sparkling glimpse of red and silver
flash quickly out of sight.
Appreciation-both.
He stands and smiles,
the symphony begins again
the river sings-
his name.

9.
©1994

a.r. 4

mountains.

Can't see your face but I can hear your voice. I can't make out if you are a man or a woman - breath is sweet but arms so strong. I was flying above the hurt- lilies fragrant in the air mixing in a swirl of cigarette smoke. Rising, rising, twisting like a winding road, I follow it on wings of desire crashing through pillows of clouds- leaving my skin drenched with moisture. I see lightening but hear no thunder, only my heart beating restless - anticipation. I see little fires down below too high to put them out. I smell the smoke, I feel their heat. I fly by higher and higher. Fire flies in neon flashes whispering wings, small lives, short lives. I see the mountains in the distance, it took so long to get here. I hear the music , songs of the dead, souls of the living standing on top I don't look down, now the rainbow leads to the sky painted wall - I climb the stairs to the exit door.

9.
©1999

a.r. 5

My innocence was taken in the complex world of youth, drowned in the sheets of lost virginity. Dignity was ripped from hatreds shame and guilt spewed on my chest like a drunken teen. The stench of it made me ill with confusion and desire. My conflict was of the strongest kind, weak with vulnerable thinking learned from adult doubts. Children having children leaving my life to the elements, cold and bitter. Mercy doesn't show its' face unless you show yours. As I look into the mirror of self denial and un- acceptance I defy my right to be free. I am bound by the chains in which I have sculpted from bits of my past, invincible, my best work yet. I don't know if I can peel back the layers that have made my being with all the glue of hurt that bonds me together. I have only seen the whole clothed in memories. I have not seen nor felt the nakedness of truth upon my eyes. They have never witnessed the warmth of contentment from within, just cold, damp tears that have become floods of self pity. Yet I am proud with which the determination of this unhappiness. I have done a good job.

9.
©1999

a.r. 6

your head hurts.

your head hurts.
it is filled with raging thoughts.
it is filled with worry.
it is filled with loneliness.
it is filled with wonder and knowledge that it can not contain itself.
you had too much to dream last night.

you analyze.
you crave.
you start.
you stop.
you stop.
you start.
you dreamt too long last night.

your head hurts.
it is filled with what you thought was real.
it is filled with fantasy.
it is filled with wanting.
it is filled with procrastination.
and you can't remember your dreams.

one, single.
two, couple.
three's a crowd.
count.
count.
you wish you could sleep.

count.
count.
the sheep in order to dream.
the sheep in the field as you drive by.
the wolf in sheeps clothing that keeps you so far away.
you had too much to dream last night.

your head hurts.
it is filled with pride.
it is filled with laughter.
it is filled with beauty.
it is filled with the hunger of the wind.
you want your dreams to come true.

you give.
you take.
you wish.
you live.
you like.
you love.
you dream of peace.

your head hurts.
it is filled with flickering pictures.
let's watch true life.
let's watch "true lies."
honesty does not always hurt
and truth doesn't come in candy wrappers.
you had too much to dream last night.

9.
©2000

a.r. 7

Strange Pillows

Your head rests upon strange pillows,
so strange you dare not open your eyes
and tainted lips kiss them in your sleep.
Does lipstick smear red,
or do memories color pillowcases blue?

The one that almost was...
the one...
shadows your thoughts often.
What are you looking for?
In the sincerity of your longing,
do you find?
In waiting does it come to be?
Questions you find no answers to.

Indulge me,
in your dreams.
Allow me to slip out again,
just as quietly as I came in.

Your head rests upon strange pillows,
but they only remain strange
till you sleep again.
Do thoughts remain easy,
or do doubts struggle with your shadow?

I will not lie
among timid arms.
Embrace no uneasy confusion.

I will not lie
in truths troubled soul.
Kiss no doubtful longing.

I will not lie
within times loneliness.
Live no pities sake.

And the questions come again.
And the wondering always does.
And time passes quickly.

In the eyes of ones being do we yield,
or do we believe in him and allow him to lead the dance?

Your head rests upon strange pillows,
so strange that it is a challenge
to try and understand.
Can you give again to take,
or do clouded reasonings win again?

9.
©2000

a.r. 8

You have stained my every thought with hopes
but I have grown weary to trust them.
A simple life I do not lead although it may appear so to be.
I take photos of your face with an invisible camera never allowing them to yellow with age.
I wear shoes of color without prejudice
yet I myself have been judged.
It stirs a reaction but it is not spoken.
It may never be.
I want to start/stop smoking again,
and the pattern of my life begins without a single introduction.
My passion has been stifled and intensifies with no routine of reason.
It becomes hard to adjust to the misgivings of life.
Although love finds no fault, perfect is not human.
It is not of this world yet we seek to obtain.
Ignorance takes its' place among the table which circles with no beginning and no end.
It continues to rotate and is making me sick.
Confusion steps in for a moment and grabs hold of the bar
that is used to hold me in.
It unlocks the safety latch and allows me to fall.
I fall not to my death.
But I can not fly.
What is the reason?
In finding it I hope to become free from these heavy wings.
I can not forget you and the impact you have created
upon my existence.
I find you intoxicating when I think straight
but the heaviness is still there.
What evil has feathers this heavy?
I do not wish to know it anymore.

I untie the strings that bind them to me
and you lift them over my head.
For this I am grateful.

9.
©2000

a.r. 9

listen to me with open heart
when I do not speak
with saddened eyes
you will understand only then
my disease

I stand on the edge
alone, my friend
while it puddles
around my heart
spreading like cancer

it is heavy
and it is thick
like the blood flowing inside of me
making me feel
yet it suffocates

drowning
my deepest fear
in the confusion
of wanting
of impatience

and my very own trust
has been shaken
in my thoughts
and in my decisions
in the hour of needing deep breath

it is in this need
that this suffocation
this disease
of self infliction
confuses

9.
©2000

a.r. 10

If you dare to know,
if you care to look,
I will show you my life.
Through the threshold of my past.

Take you to my alma mater
of virginity gone.

Take you to the curved
road of suicides pride.

Take you to the birth
of lost babies cries.

To the creek of my first loves kiss-
Where the breezes were much warmer
and voices much clearer
and innocence was definitive.

I am a product.
I am packaged, labeled and shelved to be sold.
Encased within glass walls
that won't shatter.
Mended seams.
Flaws retouched and touched again
with artists hand.
This is me.
This is my life.

9.
©2000

a.r. 11

analyze me.

I choke on words afraid to mutter, afraid of you and your choices and none.
I regret not knowing you.
You regret knowing me.

The grass is always greener
over there,
and there,
and there...

I hear a bell.

I hear a whistle.

I hear a silent hum of confusion ringing in my ears.

Am I unfit?
Is this ugliness that surrounds my being something that i can not rid myself of?

Sanitize me, sterilize me, purify me, with words you have chewed on and spit out so easily that it makes me uneasy.

Analyze me, criticize me, mortify me in the complexity of your minds emotions.

Your heart casts no vote.

Have you seen me?
I have lost myself somewhere between now and then.

You speak softly, a lie to yourself
and you believe it.

Your self fulfilling prophecy is beginning its' beginning.

Who could love you?
Who would love you?

Me.

I could...
I would...
but...

As I sit in the still blackness of my mind
you sit in the still blackness of your room
and we never connect past moments of examination
which deem obsessive.

A bitter pill masquerades as sweet candy and you will never love me.

Explore no more sessions of uncertainties,
which burn in my chest
and below my waist.

Though I wish...

No, never mind.

9.
©2000

a.r. 12

neurotic thoughts for the day do not exist

as I eat the food of calmness
my mind is full-up
when once it hungered
for a placid niche
and I liken it to your voice
as you speak
without worry
you have become my peace
and now I rest
when once naught
you've given me something from nothing
without even knowing

9.
©2001


a.r. 13

...this four letter word floated through the center of my vision, I saw the letters quite vividly making me flush...it amused itself, flirting with my thoughts but mostly with my illusions...It grasped a dream, put it in a sack and left while whispering in my ear not to return...I laughed even though I was slightly saddened by the theft...a missing dream could be replaced by one or more of equal splendor but I would not replace the word. And I said good riddance...to fear.

9.
©2001

a.r. 14

dog.

look out the window,
is it raining where you are?
it snows in my mind.
there's a dog barking
can you hear it?
the children have all gone home.
he's my true love, dancing in the moonlight, silent yet screaming...
help me!
the trees in the distance bark in the night,
they bleed sap upon tired eyes.

don't forget to lock the back door.


9.
©2001

a.r. 15

chocolate milk.

I have no sense of direction,
I always go the wrong way
and I thought it was happening again.
My head was leaking
the impurities of my imagination
and my heart was drowning in them.
I get turned around,
I spin and get dizzy,
nothing sits still
and everything quickly passes.
My eyes dart back and forth
and forth and back.
A tremendous fear
rushes through,
steals my hopes
and I can barely stand it.
I miss out, I mess up.
I make my own poison,
in milk, flavored with chocolate
trying to hold onto youth,
and I drink small amounts everyday.
I will eventually break apart
and dissolve in my cowardliness
refusing to move.
Please dilute my baneful anxiety
with sincerities breath.
Direct me,
stop my spinning,
hold me still while you look into my eyes.
I think then,
they will be able to tell you something.

These are my naked confessions,
I have allowed you to see,
undressed in front of you.
Sometimes they feel
like bare details of little importance
but as I shiver chilled in truth,
you cover me
with your favorite blanket
of desires and dreams.
I whisper beneath my breath,
unable to speak audibly
while they surround me,
yet you know what I say.

9.
©2001

a.r. 16

there are no accidents.

intrepid joy
a passionate youth
hold on to abstract thoughts
of no images
just textured truths
where there are no accidents

I shall never sleep again
I am too excited

I would have died long ago
if I didn't have someone to say good night to

so selfish in my feverish tears
of titillating outbursts within
so silent
beckoning
am I an actor?
what binds this expressive being?

there are no accidents
if there were I would have died long ago

and a crisp breeze
playfully taps me on the shoulder
exuberance is waiting to dance
she says she is tired of being a wall flower...

there are no accidents
and I do not wish for it to be any other way
not then and not now

9.
©2001

a.r. 17

and I was thinking.

and I was thinking
and that’s always unfinished business

when I stand
and I look
I forget who I am

and I was thinking
and I am always thinking

that my eyes were closed
when I read
the dance steps

and I was thinking
when I wasn’t falling

how crazy silly
this faith meanders around me
when I talk to God

and I was thinking
absurd as it sounds

that this little town
with pitch black driving
sometimes isn’t so bad

I try not to think about it
not to think anymore

that fits and tantrums
disfigure my face
when I whine
and you hold my hand
and you tell me its ok
but I already knew
so I sang you a song
and played my deliberate painting
and left it unfinished
left it for later
to eat with the ice cream
that was melting
on the counter

.9
©2001

a.r. 18

Guilt put simply.

Forgive me...
I am a stereotypical, eccentric, troubled, artist-like freak calmed by an audience.
YOU
happen to be my audience.

One does not clap in this arena; we ignore the production, pay a tip and leave.

If you would like to be removed from further poetic perversion, reply to this email and put “I pity you .” in the subject.

.9
©2002

a.r. 19

Intentional Ramblings of the Narcissistic Mother, a New Breed of Thinking...

Not knowing what I am feeling does not give me the right to feel it.

Doesn't give me the right to forgive my feelings to you.

Doesn't give me the right to pull you into them, surround you in them as they encompass me.
They are mine.
Although they are pulling me down into deep waters,
they belong to me.
My sole,
property.

So if you take them,
be aware that you will not understand them.

Its been so long since I have swam.

Feel the gritty sandpaper water.
As unsmooth as my hardened skin.

Words are falling on deaf eyes.
Words are falling on deaf ears.
A deaf heart.

No one can understand the Intentional Ramblings of the Narcissistic Mother, I now deem myself to be. I am the mother of a faithless suicide. a New Breed of Thinking... So inventive and creative in its birth. I am so proud!

Substantiate! Now! My being! Every minute of every day! I am a wonder!

PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE us PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE you PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE them PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE God and the Devil.
Yet I am the only one that understands my drunken explanations of life. My selfish anxiety. My faithless existance.

I can only scream.
I can only cry.
In a time to count my blessings.
Blessed with too much knowledge.
Blessed with too much impatience, procrastination, envy, jealousy, anger, hurt...
Blessed with too many doubts, fears and criticisms...

And we wonder what love is.
And we wonder if its simply pity.
Guilt put simply,
will be my ending.

.9
©2002


artistic rants intentional ramblings intimates the new intentions art recipes

writings contained herein property and copyright © n j smith do not copy without permission from the artist. Email Pink Here.