Monday 22 February 2021

Five Poems by Meg Smith


City of Blue Ghosts


Tasks I've completed here --

walking over cobblestones at night,

casting funerary flowers

from the lip of the marina.

talking of love on a stage emptied

except for wristlets of ivy.

And such things dance, or sigh,

simply carry themselves along a breeze

between storefronts.

I will rise to my summons here,

and dance among them, and the river

will carry our laughter, and sighs.


Remembered Language


Like pigeon tracks in the snow,

on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop --

our cuneiform, our secret words --

whispers, jokes, witnessing.

I will gather them for you.

I will keep them even in your silent space.


Out of Dreams


Dark river of sleep,

I wind two strands,

between waking, and night.

Such poor bones.

Such poor breathing,

nothing makes way

for the coming light.



A Fallen Birch Tree


In the oasis of shadow,

like a broken bough of lightning,

its white skin peels, discards,

decays, into froth.

Something is reaching --

a fever of populace --

lacking sighs, or rebuttal

to mark its blooms.

Bright caps govern

a second sun.


When We Were Floating


We laughed

among strings of coloured lights,

like trees, dancing on the river walk.

We never could judge true

among gondolas in the balmy air,

or music from violins, and a giddy song,

and no cold dawn could find us.

No temper, no morning's drowse.

Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass., USA. 

Her poetry has recently appeared in The Cafe Review, Poetry Bay, Trouvaille Review, Beliveau Review, Star*Line: Official Journal of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association, and many more. 

She is author of five poetry books and a short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor. 

She welcomes visits at, Twitter @MegSmith_Writer, and


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