Poetry

    So I shot Myself in The Face I went to the garden and it didn’t go so well,         So I shot Myself...

    The End Look, my father the road is becoming shorter there is no sense that will change what is coming! That's why I'm preparing a nice note...

  These are the latest in a series of poems about a tough, and smart, sometimes acerbic old lady, Mrs. Podolski, all monologues addressed to...

    Countable How many sunsets have you let pass without watching, by yourself, the sun sink? How many rooms have you stood in, hour after hour, facing different...

  Dublin Is HereCold, October Saturdays and endless Grey, what if it, was all, an illusion, To begin with, anyway? Oh Glorious, Dublin’s a way and a DNA! Dublin,...

  Author's Note: These elegies were originally written in Sumerian and are dated circa 1700 BC, making them among the oldest known written texts in the...

  During the fall of 2019 Michael G. Smith was a writing resident at Gullkistan Center for Creativity (http://gullkistan.is/). Gullkistan is located in the Icelandic...

    When Mother Is No MoreOn the road to forever. By the way of stars. Cluster of constellations Gateways to her. Our journeys begin and end on different...

    The Lighthouse, On the Green Thomas Taylor’s, phenomenal gift, to his father, a mock lighthouse, not facing, seas, or oceans, but endless, fertile, green fields, hunts, races, grazing sheep and...

 Cat Convention On the boardwalk outside the cat convention promenaded marmalades and tigers, Manx and Siamese, longhairs, shorthairs, pampered ones and moth-eaten urban survivors. Many cat tails seemed to...