George G Smith Jr. | The words and works of George G Smith Jr
1815
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The Work and Words
of George G Smith Jr

Unspoken Letter

I don’t speak your language
I’m easily confused
I still love rock and roll
I’m just a little less amused
With your velvet underground kisses
And your cheap trick eyes
Why do I sing such melancholy songs?
When I was the one that said goodbye

I don’t speak your language
You still sit there mocking me at night
With rock and roll curse word singing
Coupled with an afternoon delight
You say you won’t talk to me
But this silence is just so riveting
I say that I still love you sometimes
But I think I may be kidding me

And you don’t laugh like you used to
With your silent she says smile
And I still love rock and roll
But maybe I’m in denial
‘Cause your velvet underground kisses
Drown me like a whiskey town silhouette
I don’t speak your language
I don’t believe in regret

I don’t speak in languages
That you seem to understand
I am not an unspoken letter
I am at your command
‘Cause I still love rock and roll
Why can’t you just see?
That your velvet underground kisses
Didn’t mean anything to me?

I am not an unspoken letter
I’m just unspoken abuse
I still love rock and roll
I’m just a little less amused
I am not an unspoken letter
I’m just unspoken abuse
Each minor chord that’s fretted
Takes me hurdling back to you

I said I still love rock and roll
Why can’t you see?
That your velvet underground kisses
Didn’t mean anything to me

And I still love rock and roll
Why can’t you see?
That your velvet underground kisses
Didn’t mean anything to me

Tourniquet

A Garbage can ballet sung with
a symphony of time
All whiskey made poets
touting chaos sublime

All the walking and waiting
for spaghetti strapped daughters
that take the time torn kings
and turn them to paupers

A screen door soliloquy
greets tourniquet torn lovers
reminding ourselves of the
empty story worn steps to our mothers

Blank bible babies
sharing stories enraptured in thought
banking on the celebrated notion
that tomorrow’s salvation has been bought

Corporate commandos commandeering
lucent liberties told with lies
as the blind radiate TV News shows
that allow all lost innocence to die

To Forget

I try to forget the things that you said
the things that you told me
the things that I’ve read
I try to hold on to the things in my past
that no one ever wanted
that no one thought would last

Fairly a Fairy Tale by George Smith

I’m fairly a fairy tale
I’m hardly a verse
I’m panic stricken caffeine chaos
That’s never rehearsed

I’m a writer without words
A poem without a tongue
I’m lovely lyrical layering
I am one

I am drugged audience clinging
To sullen scotch breathed men
And while all artists need loneliness
I’m merely writing words with a pen

I’m the refuge of the streets
With steam filled orgy eyes
I am lust filled and lividly
I am art, marginalized

I am incoherent laughter
I am unspoken abuse
There is just an unwritten letter
That act’s as my muse

I am talent wasted daily
Motionless and dry
I am dark and disconcerting
Ocean waves in July

(c) George G Smith Jr

Outside my Window

As I write, the dark rainy skies have transformed into nighttime. Outside my window, I can hear the sound of cars rushing to a fro. Living in this apartment, I have learned to judge whether a driver is new to the area or not by their reaction to the upside down traffic light that sits at the corner outside my window. The sound of uneven acceleration or the flashing of brake lights in confusion indicates the driver’s unfamiliarity with the area.