Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Ian C. Smith

Photo by Abdullah Ghatasheh on

Leave’s End

Her, crushed to his brass buttons, khaki,
a tableau I longed to see again.
I stared at him, a stranger to me.
Her crushed to his brass buttons, khaki,
at our opened door where I could see
through a waft of petrol, drizzling rain.
Her crushed her to his brass buttons, khaki,
a tableau I longed to see again.


Dawn. A reader lurks behind his front gate,
dressing-gown, pyjamas, cock standing tall,
greets me, perky, as if I am his mate,
pride in its raw girth instance of lust’s gall.
Finishing my route, editing detail,
his lewd suggestions, verbal compliance,
I tell Mum who calls the cops without fail.
Close school pals gather in rapt alliance
blowing ironic smoke streams, weigh the deed.
Our verdict: tar and feathers for flash sin.
In court, my perv, decent in tie and tweed,
stuns me, disgrace overturned for a win.
A character witness, teacher, R.I.,
blamed asthma’s attack for that gaping fly.


Summer camp, Garden of Eden, bright in green
for sheltered sufferers with damaged brains.
New York state, as far from home as I’ve been,
a journey to unlock daily grind’s chains.
I sleep in a cabin, eat in the mess,
drilled in camp rules like an army conscript.
Although I’m teacher-trained they know what’s best.
Letters to exploited carers are stripped
of complaint; residue, rose-scented news.
Brain-damaged led by the brainwashed are we.
Should disaffected visitors air views?
Visa bust, I sought the land of the free,
rank heretic in a kangaroo court,
driven off, good battle lost, justly fought.

Ian C Smith’s work has been published in Antipodes, BBC Radio 4 Sounds,The Dalhousie Review, Griffith Review, San Pedro River Review , Southword, The Stony Thursday Book, & Two Thirds North.  His seventh book is wonder sadness madness joy, Ginninderra (Port Adelaide).  He writes in the Gippsland Lakes area of Victoria, and on Flinders Island.

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