Ant Smith

All poems

The word of god

Got no messiahs
Om my mind,
No prophets predicting
The flow of time,
No father, Son, nor Holy Ghost
Got no sacrificial goat.

Words are made by
The noises we utter
From each to each
And each to the other
And others are made
By the touch of a lover
And lovers are made
In the sibilant whisper
Of words that twist and slip
And slither.

Got no miracles
Down my street
No forbidden apples
Fall at my feet
No Adam & Eve, nor Cain & Able
No parables, hymns, nor fables.

Words are stated visions, given
Life by air we breath
Be they first, or be they last,
they’re
Nothing but our dreams…

You can grab ‘em
You can pack ‘em
You can wrap ‘em
You can have ‘em
You can need ‘em
You can heed ‘em
You can take ‘em
You can leave ‘em

Got no kingdom come
To go to
No subway ticket
To Hell’s inferno,
No paradise to reward the strife
No Virgin-Mary-Bloody-Wife

And dreams do not become
Reality
On the wings of some great
Prayer,
For prayers are nought but
Visions stated in the stale and
Stagnant
Air, that is words.

You can grab ‘em
You can pack ‘em
You can wrap ‘em
You can have ‘em
You can need ‘em
You can heed ‘em
You can take ‘em
You can leave ‘em

You can lose ‘em
You can smooth ‘em
You can move ‘em
You can groove ‘em
You can pick ‘em
You can clip ‘em
You can miss ‘em
You can hiss ‘em

You can hug ‘em
You can love ‘em
You can suck ‘em
You can…

Got no herein-therafter
Got no earthly-holy father
No touch of god, nor sense of sin
Just this space, that I stand in,
And Here I stand, or here I fall,
And That is that for
that is all.