Thursday, 5 February 2015

3 Poems by Sam Smith

Survival manual finishes [p]age 70

If nakedness is not truth,
if barefaces do not tell all,
if learning is a hindrance
and ignorance bliss, then

the quantum paradox required
for gaseous refrigeration and
the single substance of reality
will most assuredly be missed.

Sense Data

Under a winter's sky
shot with pink
a roof of clean new timber
and a field corner flock of sheep,
forefeet tucked under,
resting, if not asleep.

Intricate Wrongs, Unvaried Histories

Blood is the medium of exchange,
famous fathers to famous sons.

In unfinished temples the remainder
of us continue to seek dainties and

the paradise lurking, or so
we've been told, within our small

sad selves. Result is we spend
the whole of this life eating thistles,

grinding axes and shutting our ears
to the famous sons of famous fathers.


Sam Smith is editor of The Journal (once 'of Contemporary Anglo-Scandinavian Poetry'), publisher of Original Plus books, and is the current poetry editor of BeWrite Books.  At the moment living in Maryport, Cumbria, UK, he has several poetry collections and novels to his name. (see website

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