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

Steve Smith


Austin, TX, US

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback

If you have comments or suggestions for Steve Smith, you can contact this author at: (Steve 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



Steve Smith

The day wears on, the pressure's high
As everyone makes their demand.
No sooner have you conquered one
Than another crises is at hand.

You give yourself up to the job.
To do the best you can, you try
To juggle everyone's concerns but
No one can you satisfy.

At last you have to let it go;
To keep from drowning in despair
You let your mind go wandering
To take you far away from there.

To mountains soft with feathered snow
And air so crisp it draws your tears
Where soughing wind and brittle boughs
And silence are the sounds you hear.

Or sunny beaches white with sand
Awash with rhythms of the wave
The cool green waters gently wash
A wonderland, with coral paved.

Or primal forests dark and cool
With needle carpets deep and soft
Where creatures scurry silently
And songbirds twitter from aloft.

And then this mental trip you take
Fade to where it all began.
And all the problems lurking there
Demand attention once again.

But now your view has changed somewhat
It's easier to face this crowd
When your body's planted at your desk
But your mind is wandering the clouds.

All In The Name of God


Steve Smith

They deign to see the end results,
of rhetoric and veiled insults.
They're blindly following the cults,
of armed conflict and war.

The wield the sword of obscene power.
They sit within their ivory tower,
while numb before their armies cower,
the innocent and the child.

The euphemistically describe
the many ways to kill and die.
And surgically from planes on high
the sow the fields with blood.

And when they've finished with the gore,
they leave behind a deadly spoor,
that maims and kills for decades more,
All in the name of God.

Gone Fishin'


Steve Smith

The day unfolded dry and warm,
As lazy as the flies
That buzzed around the cattle barn
Beneath the azure skies.

It was the perfect kind of day
To wet a fishing line.
If only I could find a way
To find some fishing time.

I hurried to complete my chores.
I fed and cleaned the stalls,
Then headed to the river shore
Just downstream from the falls.

Beneath the shady cypress trees
The still green waters flowed.
I rolled my trousers to my knees
And sat to cool my toes.

I cut a pole of fishing cane
I found up near the brook,
Then sucked my finger from the pain
When I pricked it with the hook.

I nabbed a hopper with my hat
And slapped it on my line.
I dropped it in the stream kerplatt'
And set back to bide my time.

Right about the time I dozed,
Soft breezes in my ears;
Just before my eyes were closed
My bobber disappeared!

Back and forth and up and down
The lively line did zip.
I watched my bobber with a frown
As my pole began to tip.

As I considered that I might
Try to reach my pole,
I watched it as it sank from sight
Into the fishing hole.

Now you might think it ruined my stay
Because my pole was missing,
But why mess up a fishing day
By really going fishing?

SMOKE GETS IN YOUR EYES (That's a song title aint it?)


Steve Smith

It thaws your cold stiff fingers
And it fries your breakfast eggs;
It heats your morning coffee and
It warms your toes and legs.
It gives a cheery crackle and
Helps keep away the flies.
But doggone it, don't you hate it
When the smoke gets in your eyes?

There's nothin' like the odor of
A blazin' hardwood fire,
And the dancin', flickering firelight
At night when you retire.
Sometimes it's all so beautiful
It wants to make you cry,
But probably it's just because
The smoke gets in your eyes.

Ode to Coffee or Ruminations around a campfire


Steve Smith

Wake up campers, day is a-breakin'
My joints are all stiff and my back is a-achin'.

Stir up the fire and throw on some wood
Set the pot on it and heat it up good.

Brew it up blacker'n the bottom of the well
And make sure it's hotter'n the preacher man's hell.

If you can speak to your cup and it answers you back
Then it might be close to the right shade of black.

So brew up some coffee you can cut with a knife
Then pour me a cup of the elixir of life.



Steve Smith

I am lonely,
I am lonely,
I am lonely,
I need to do something
But I cannot
I cannot, because I cannot.
But I keep trying
And now I am lonely again.