death, poetry

The Emptiness of Self

Flashes behind the eyes
—at the back of the mind—
images of her sallow face,
or the haunting c r a c k
of four aspirin against glass… Continue reading “The Emptiness of Self”

death, poetry

Decay in Motion

I watch her decay
in motion—free falling
                                          away from me— Continue reading “Decay in Motion”

English Renaissance Poetry, poetry

Dead Poets

I poison myself on the words
of dead poets for pleasure:
sickened on their spurned
advances, second chances
and lost loves. With limerence
in a look Continue reading “Dead Poets”


                      Tiny Envelope

Pressed in a tiny
envelope, a lone petal
bears the weight
of all my love:
lost in the post,
carried from coast
to coast in search
of you, address:

©2022 H. M. Smith, all rights reserved.


The Double

“You’re the double of ya Da’
ya know?!” As she’s commonly
been told; protests always
get stuck in her throat,
at war with being polite.
“Aye, ya must be proud!” They
urge, and he agrees. Continue reading “The Double”

poetry, poets

Forgive My Poetic Heart

Forgive my poetic heart
for all its fails and starts,
for the blots of ink
that stain the page,
for the discarded love
notes crumpled in rage: Continue reading “Forgive My Poetic Heart”

creative writing, poetry

Eat Me, Drink Me Down

Eat me, drink me down:
a love like hers was only
to be found in the world below,
so eat me, drink me
down the rabbit hole
he stole away once more Continue reading “Eat Me, Drink Me Down”

mythology, poetry

The Whisper of My Heart: Another Dido.

The whisper of my heart sang
prophecies of his departure:
like Dido, Queen of Carthage,
betrayed by that winged lover
with his thorny barbs; words
slung and wounded a part of me
I offered him so freely— Continue reading “The Whisper of My Heart: Another Dido.”

short story

Torching Daisies [II/II]

    Upstairs, he found her standing like some angelic apparition in her white summer dress; sunlight streaming in through the broken windows illuminating her figure in a half-light. 

“Come here,” she said softly, in longing. 

  With touches he found her to be very much flesh and bone. Between kisses, she whispered a truth to him she had long kept to herself: “The absence of you has been devastating to me—like nothing I ever wish to experience again.”

  At this, his soft, gentle kisses became rough and impatient, until they found themselves on the floor, entangled.  Continue reading “Torching Daisies [II/II]”