The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

The Web Poetry Corner

Donal Bredin-Smith


Caversham Park Village, England, UK

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback

If you have comments or suggestions for Donal Bredin-Smith, you can contact him or her at: (Donal Bredin-Smith)

Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery

Desertion & House Rape (Part 1)


Donal Bredin-Smith

Goodbye Little One,
I loved you once,
Perhaps it is that I still do,
But not as then,
And then is now a dim, a near forgotten past.

Four days, a twisted vacuum, a gut torn screeching hell,
Four days, impaled in nightmar'd blackn'd cell,
You, Thursday gone, house sign'd for sale then systematic clear,
Bared rooms, bare shell, bereft of all that I held dear.

Dread Friday moved not you into your daughter's veil,
But to another, you left to live with your lover male,
Shock'd pain, I felt not pain, I know not what I felt,
Awesome fearful hurt, deep within, a sickening searing belt.

I knew him, dastard man, and he my patient late
Smooth cad, slick charmer, arrogant, with me no mate,
His ached feet to reassure, referred to you to opinionate,
He came not back but back'd to you to make sleaze copulate.

Dark Saturday, restless hopeless day, it still did hurt no less,
And Sunday, bless'd relief, my son's day long lov'd caress,
Monday Thank God, my work that I did so embrace,
That night, sound counsel that gifted me good grace

At midnight dawned in me the make of our marriage roles
You the queen, I the serf, apart us both by poles,
Our introduction and our bond, each a gross mistake,
In short, your lot, never you to give, you can only take.
Yours to climb to stand aloft, so to stipulate,
Yours then to stoop and crude manipulate,
And I? Seeing now with grace agifted,
Free long last the bended knee, uplifted.

There is no turning back in this, your suicidal rush.
In you, there was another, such secrecy and hush,
Who quickly our decline did haste, outside my scope,
Killed then in me a faint, a lingered hope,
When as before we both did stand upon the edge,
Not forward then, we stayed the ledge.

But long before all this to light became,
We both indulged a common couples game,
Domination yours for years to my blind eye,
Submissive mine, same years, not aware my cry,
Of late, your bark, your ridicule, your power,
So oft, too much my dignity did cower.

July, my stand I made, my self respect to now restore,
No longer took your talk-down bray,
Made oft' so sore, my pride it tore,
Then the daily conflict faced, the constant flared up fray,
Do not talk down to me I say,
And you would try as like you may,
Do not talk down to me I say,
And when at last you could not, then awoke my day.

Thus set you on your blinkered road of vengeance,
Crushed ego, your slander now my hailed life sentence,
Amongst your patient fold, my name to vulgar smear,
So to realise your base ill promise to ruin my career.

Two months prior your quit, my ruin your primary game,
To those you treat, foul lies relay'd, leaving me your aim,
Your boasted fear my drink and beat were cause for you to go,
Truth shown alas, your start swan song, adultery all to know.

September, then stalemate, a form of loose accord,
My ground I held, my pride refound,
Whilst you, your ego crushed, no longer lord,
In house control, you lost all round,
Challenged, scorned, angered red emotion,
Embarked with venom, your blind infatuation.

We calmed, our planned vacation to deplete,
You staying, goaded me I'd not alone depart,
I did and now at last your love plot to complete,
Not so, unexpected, your blueprint torn apart,
His wife who did in April six weeks leave their home,
Know of affair long going but not with whom ongoing,
Returned as begged and realising same affair agrowing,
Stormed out of signed agreement meant for her new housing,

Three days had you to now in panic leave,
Three days had he his marriage to bereave,
Your planned adultery a further full half year
To allow divorce your partners without fear,
Now fully wrecked, snap actions made not clear,
Rash frantic plans to cost you both so dear.

Nowhere now to hide, exposed to all, your secret lover,
Worse worse still, full year long lie his cover,
My own lov'd feelings sickingly betrayed,
Deception, fraud, our real love full bye-layed.

The shock, Oh God, the hurt, the hate,
The dreadful state. But wait!
Another man in all these years, one more amongst the rest,
Wake up, wake up, to how we made our nest,
To bed with me, you, from your first, did stroll,
To bed with him, he, after me, you made whole,
Three beds at least your score,
I too then, just one more?

The harsh deceit, the foul deceit,
The contemptuous rapture of your daily homecome greet,
The lies, the faltered care, the listless love, all feeling lost,
The chasm yawned, took you one step, a void of frost,
I, my stance, my dignity and pride intact,
You, your power game spent, with me made less impact.

The lie with me you lived and lived in gloated comfort,
Our separate rooms a pleasing ease you and your consort,
Whilst I, in ignorance, strove to think a way,
To somehow bind again what was our own byway,
No hope, what use, what waste, inert,
You, unknown to me, bed him for your sleaze dessert.

Why did you run?
Why did you flee the home?
That in your comfort safe was fun?
Conceived, contrived, produced, your own.

What made your run?
Usurped perhaps, now where the fun?
No longer lord, What had I done?
Good God my stance? Was that the gun?
Your power base gone,
Your dominance done.

Where be the other?
His turn now to be the fodder!

Miscalculation vile of both your grieving partners .
Underestimated, fine fine street fighters,
She of thirty coupled years,
He less twenty sheds no tears.

Felt you two, our make-up mere pushovers,
Wrong, we are frightening skilful probers,
Your past exposed your future no repose,
His arrogance a front, his vile secrets to disclose

Peace no peace,
How you both do suffer,
By another,
In time, short time,
How you both will suffer,
By each other.

For now, you and I live hate each other,
Whilst also I live hate your fodder,
In time, short time,
I'll hate your neither,
In time, short time,
You'll fight to hate each other.

Back will I never go nor glance,
Freed from the millstone now, long last my chance,
Loosed from the fearsome dominant heel,
Free life soon I am about to seal.

She is gone, no return, let her be,
Let her be,
And he,
Well, nothing 'cept
He took her,
And gifted her from me.

Goodbye Little One,
There is nothing left,
There was nothing left,
A long long time ago.

Both now alone,
Best left alone,
To their own,
Sad, so very very sad.

And I am free,
Thank God, I'm free,

From Within This Cage


Donald Bredin-Smith

Deep within this cage
that is a locked chest,
full of ancient
gold framed picture of
thoughts of hugs,
no hugs, just thoughts,
and beside each,
another picture,
unfromed, of
hugs, not experienced.

In another world
a cold occasional Artic peal
rings out the
ice cubed disfigured
unforgotten hurts,
still real,
from a past,long gone,
somehow still alive,
throbbing screaming scar
that will not heal.

Damb the past
without that past
I am not here

My Pan


Donald Bredin-Smith

My pan, frying
seasoned onions
on Monday,

I understood
I really did.

On Sunday night
it had performed
so terribly well,
with pancakes,
bundles of them,
flipping hell
it was.

Just reflex
action on
that's all

Goddam it,
all over the place.

I Saw No Point


Donald Bredin-Smith

I saw no point in staying,
I had waited long enough,
days of cold sheeting wind
and rain, and I had no cover.

Five days I kept coming
back to this godforsaken
crossroads in this outback
of nowhere.

Not a tree in sight,
nor wall nor big stone.
Friday now and you
promised me dawn on

You warned me not
to stay here after dark
so I cycled to the
village inn and spent
each night there.

Tomorrow or never. . .

This morning
an envelope in the middle
of the crossroads pinned
down by a circle of small

The note inside said
"Could not make it.
Same time next year
please, please,
I won't let you down,
I promise"

Christ Almighty
another bloody year!



Donal Bredin-Smith

You were ahead of me
At the superstore check-out,
Just one customer between us,
You stood too far to the right
Allowing me full view of
Your slim, sharely body,
Your classy suit of black,
And skirt that came
Considerably above the knee.

I leaned forward,
I could not help myself,
And touched you lightly
on the shoulder,
You turned and I came
Closer to you.

I said quietly,
I hope you do not mind me
Saying so,
But I feel strongly that
I should,
Your legs are absolutely

You smiled modestly,
Lowered your head
As if in shyness,
And said in a whisper:

Look here Granddad
If you were thirty years
The younger,
I would melt at such a
Kind remark,
But honestly,
I can do nothing more
Than thank you
For making my day.

You turned,
Paid in cash
And floated away.



Donal Bredin-Smith

I do not ask for more than
Just to be adjacent to this
Leading light that portrays
Aloud lost mankind's dream,
This blessed festival of embracing
Hearts that ascend
With peace the steepest
Snowy slopes of Ararat,
And survive long, long nights
Of bitter stormy seas.

This Then Was Home


Donal Bredin-Smith

Poor kid,
His lone descent into
A family-made pit,
Pitch black, solitary hole
Too long it lasts,
Cast aside, held outside,
Brought in only to face the music,
To dance to the tune of a walking stick
Black with a silver tip
And the two by four wooden sticks
Of the holy man
Applied with fearful force.

Mind torn confused brat,
Screaming for respite,
Beseeches, begs, implores,
No, no, please,
Oh God
No more please
Please, please no more,
Because he steals
And cannot stop
And knows not why.

In vein he pleads,
To enraged, contorted
Twisted faces,
And in particular
The alcoholic.

The clout across the mouth
The cold taste of warm blood
The terror build-up of
'Get in that room until I'm ready'
The sickening wait until the call,
Comes the call, come the screams.

The inner hurt
As he, the brat, in later life
Unable to avoid
The looking back, is made to
Live again and again
The wretched mental torture of
The unloved child,
Maturity crushed,
Abjectively thrashed
And terrorised,
A child abused
By his mother,
His father,
Vile evil sister
And brothers two.

Raw red the weld of wealds,
Dense black the criss-cross
Blows one upon the other,
Unceasing and merciless.

Red raw the raging mescreant
Minds of ailing adults,
Hell bent, in crass stupidity
To 'cure' a child's unknowing
Natural need for love.

And how the rest bear witness
Brothers, sisters,
Cringe, cry, hold each other,
And never does one intervene
But in later life will deny
This truth.

Poor sod,
Poor bloody sod.

Bloody sods,
Pitiful fucking sods.

Oh to be held,
Just held
Oh to be loved,
Just held.

All snug then when
He escapes,
Glad to see him,
Still bedwetting
at sixteen
The damage done,
Scars never then
To heal
Nor be allowed to

Then then, Nuala,
Not one lie stated,
For him
Was home



Donal Bredin-Smith

The last time I saw Ted
Was at his Limerick home
on Stephen's Day '97,
There, and not for the
First time, with a simple
Smile and mischievous
Eye, he showed me
How to see myself.

His warmth was a radiant glow,
In spite of the power lines down
And fallen trees that wrecked a Modern Christmas Day.

No TV, nor radio, nor bulb
To see, nor power to cook,
Just candle flame, home made
Games, cards, BBQing
And a family singing in the rain.

All the result of the Westerly
Gales that had, over that
Christmas period, lashed
The hurling fields of his
County Clare, at last
A winning team.

Fleetingly we both returned to
The Ruan lakes of our boyhood days
And after, re-lived for ourselves our
Market house, stolen from us,
Being torn asunder.

There, a long long time ago
We jostled with our hurling sticks,
He, the stronger youth,
I, the bigger,
An old battered tin can
Between us, a focal point,
At that time he was my
Only friend,
Alone, he knew that.

We paused awhile in troubled
Thought and in his eyes were
Fears, misty tears, of
Little gems of love that were
His best pal and her brood
Of six loving urchins
That came as cared handfuls.

His eventual passing,
We both knew,
In advance,
Was in the coming,
Not far away.

He would leave
And he would go with a
Heart he wore on a
Beard behind which
He laughingly loved to hide.

And still he joked about
The world he sometimes
Knew by heart.

After his departure
I felt, oh how I felt,
Still feel.
Nothing though to the
Suffering of his Mary,
And the sufferings of
Their brood.

When it came, his soul's release
Was sudden, merciful.

Loving memories then become
His lasting presence.

Fare thee well my brother,
Fare thee truly well.