When did these lies become so sincere?

Some people have blogs (ok, so I do have one, two, three of them now...) and others keep diaries.

I write poetry.

These poems are me. The good me. The bad me. The saintly me. The depraved me.

These are my thoughts, my fears, my secrets, my sins and my confessions.

These poems are me.

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2006

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unknown - but found in an old junk drawer december 2006

did michael come?

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2006

september india

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confession is so easy

decree

i wanted to love you

l love you more than me

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sometime 2005

beautiful but your eyes

is this part of it all

these sins
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july/august 2005
cuba

son she moves

so afraid

how can i praise you?

revolucion del corozon

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may 2005

we write of love and nothing more

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january 2005

i thought you would prove me wrong

thorn

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prior to 2005

i am the son of sorrow's song
the heir to hesitation
i am the son of sorrow's love
affair with destination

tasted

bridle

but not today

is God in the machine?

i am the poet laureate
(original)

i am the poet laureate
(an English sonnet)

fallen
(an Italian sonnet)

still hidden in her

these things

and that is why i can never return to astrocity

sinners in the hands of an angry dog

old school

These were written shortly after the death of my son.

why is this so hard to say and think of words that rhyme and play of other words to make you understand
why is this so hard to write and to understand the other night and make it fit inside my hands
why is this so hard to know and keep it real and keep control and make it fit inside my plans

it is i who darkens counsel

when my mistress calls i remember all

looking for heaven

resignation

so today i start my thirty third year

so in the end it all comes down to this

superstition

supposed to

explain to me

notes from another meeting

for you

gift

king of the world

reply to count it all joy

These are not new, they are just new here. I found them in a moldy folder.

how can i stand to walk away and watch the tears fun down your face and watch your eyes fill up like springs and make your makeup run
how can i stand to walk away and not reach out to touch your face and dry your eyes with all my lips and make your makeup run

i just kissed icarus

it must be true love

haunted by you

fallen angel's kiss

digital messiah

The rest of these were written before the death of my son.

when did these lies become so sincere?

when i look at you

you've infected me

i use to know how the end would be

how can i say

hesitation

geisha girl

peep-shows and creep-shows

and all around the night is singing

the rain falls down like passion

you might mess up your hair

i said no to everyone

directly

waterfall

white

ericka

love on the rocks

untitled

the way of an american romance

the legend of the red rose

i never thought

dusk

starla

succumb (although not new, it is newly added)

These were written while under the influence of things that one should not be under the influence of.

passion is fashion yet fashionably late
love is the lesson so give all you take

tigerlily

i wish i had the words

another world

a thought on bubbles

a thought on roses

current events

a thought

what do you want with me

another thought

i found myself - unfinished

incomplete

bitter, sweet bitter

yet another poem on stars

common thief

These were written a very long time ago, so be nice. They obviously show my learning curve.

you've got a hold of me like no one before
you've got me flat on my back and flat on the floor

love and roses

some people say

untitled

a hardened heart

recent past

how can i stand to be apart

imperial

first dance

little girl lost

These were also written a long time ago - all three were written in high school. These are three of my four "free verse."

brilliant banners

the stranger

another stranger

	Jude, Come Forth

	Three years ago I found myself in the same situation as the royal official in John 4. Like this officer my son Jude was at the point of death. Also like the royal officer I pleaded with Jesus to heal my son. My situation, however, did not end like it did for the royal official. Instead of my son being healed, my story ended like it did for Mary, Lazarus’ sister. Instead of being healed, my son died. Mary and her family mourned the loss of a son, of a brother and of a friend. My family mourned the loss of a son, of a brother and of a friend. Jesus wept for Lazarus. I wept for Jude. Although I understand the fear of the royal guard and the imminent death of his son, I do not share his joy in seeing my son healed. I do, however, share the pain, the sorrow and the agony that Lazarus’ family felt in watching him die. I also share in their hope. Jesus said to Martha, Lazarus’ sister, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me shall live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you not believe?” Soon after Jesus cried out with a loud voice to Lazarus (who was dead), “Lazarus, come forth.” Lazarus came forth. Jesus is still the resurrection and the life, and that is my hope. Someday the Resurrection and the Hope will return and cry out with a loud voice to Jude, “Jude, come forth.” Jude will come forth. My hope is that hope. As Job said, “As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last He will take His stand on the earth. Even after my skin is destroyed, yet from my flesh I shall see God; Whom I myself shall behold, and whom my eyes will see and not another. My heart faints within me!” (Job 19:25-27) Because Jesus is the resurrection and the life, Lazarus could live again. Because Jesus lives, Jude lives also.
	Simon L Smith