Ant Smith
donate to Ant Smith Print

publised Poems

May Day - 2014

Maybe there's a fire raging in the belly of this man
Maybe there's a soul yearning for the days of old Bealtaine
Before the feudal lord and master tied us to his land
No longer hunter gatherer but tithe born, taxed and damned

Maybe our great historians don't always tell the truth
Maybe the workers struggle in the seasons finds it roots
The hunter owes his thanks only to his arrows’ bolts
The consumer owes the banks his essence of the self

May day's no fertility dance
It's more a grim remembrance
That when we swapped our bows for hoes
We settled down in mortgaged homes.


publised Poems