From Scribbles to Poetry

By Richard C. Smith

From Scribbles to Poetry, is all about descriptive poetry. The Author likes to write pictures as this is what this type of writing is called. At open mic readings people come to him and tell him that while he was reading they were seeing pictures of the poem in their minds. This is what he really likes to do with this type of poetry. When he was reading on television, they had call ins and people were asking to talk to him about his poetry and the type of format he was writing. This is something he developed himself. He never had any formal training in writing and has made up his own ways of doing it as he went along so to speak. He has been writing poetry since 1985.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514489949

Richard C. Smith

After many years as a New York advertising executive, Richard C. Smith turned to writing fiction––the real desire in his life. Following retirement, he has authored a wide variety of novels and short stories which have touched him personally–– from his family history, to the New York business scene. Originally from Colorado, he loves to write about the state in which he grew up. He and his wife, Susan, are now living in central Pennsylvania, where they can be near or travel to visit their extended family, including five grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2016 by Richard C. Smith.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5144-8995-6

                eBook           978-1-5144-8994-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/04/2016

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Contents

A Lamp

A Mission in Space

A Tree Sings Of Death

An Airplane Waits

Anonymous Glistening

Birds In Flight

Canada Geese

Catapult Launch

Cliffs & Clouds

Climb In Silence

Country Biking

Crickets on the patio

Dark Beginning

Dark Symphony

Darkness Stains the earth

December Chill

Early Train

Elderly One

Fast Paced Train

Flea Market Find

Glum Eyes

Hint of Topaz

His Voice Smiled

Hollow Tree Shell

Homeless Lives

Hot White Sand

100 hours

House Animated

Images

In Darkness Of War

In The Garden

Kinds Of Things

Leaving Poetry

Lookin

Lost Marbles

Man From India

Memory Of A Hat

Mind Messages

Moonbeams On The Ice

Moon -- Stars, And Space

Mosquito

My Airplane

My Best Writing

My Self

Night In Pale Darkness

Night World

Night

North Korea 1951

Of Neon Moons

Of Old Age

Of Real Life

Oil Lamps & Trolley tracks

Old Things Lost

Old Things

Old Window Frames

Old Woman -- Old Cigarettes

Old Woman

Old Women Waiting

Ominous dark clouds

Once In Years

One step

One Thunder Clap

Orange Fire

Our Veterans Day

Park Bench

Pearls Of Scent

Propellers

Snow cover lost

Snow Covered peaks

Something I wrote

Sparrows

Sprawling Peaks

Spring's Rebirth

Stable Lamp

Steep Hillside

Steep Slopes Above

Stone Mnt.

Strange Time

Strong Feelings

Suddenly Twas Light

That's All

The Old bag Lady

Thoughts Cry

Train Whistle

Underground Railways

Unknown

Vietnam Wall

Violets & Iris

Voices

Walking Among Butterfly's

We watch the sun set

Why I Write Things

Without Options

Woman Of The Streets

Wood Pile

Words Slipped

Words

Write it, without Hatred

WW 1, 1917

WW-1 Flight Training

A Lamp

My light has darkened,

died as though

I had turned the switch.

One last bright blue flash

of electrical flame and poof !,

melt down of its element

like a nuclear power plant might

if the cooling system should fail.

I turn the switch off

then remove, and replace the bulb.

Then I turn it one more click,

and, Poof ,

my lamp spills forth brightness

like a new street light

scatters the black of night

from a usually dark roadway.

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A Mission in Space

We ply the depths

of the universe, travel

into a deep chilling, silent space.

For what purpose have we come ?

We have a mission,

a mission to discover, to search

for answers to many things yet unknown.

Answers to questions in great quantity

but as yet, of unknown competence.

We trespass, deep into the cold

treacherous universe, in areas beyond

the milky way.

Even into the great endless space

far past the boundaries of the sunlight.

Searching, always searching

for all things, ----- unknown.

Undiscovered,---- Unknown.

Always dreaming of the, --- Unknown

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A Tree Sings Of Death

A tree sings the fear of death

from the chain saw

preparing to cut it away

from its life giving root system.

The axes waiting to

chop its limbs, (arms)

free from their life giving trunk,

then the great separation

of its body as

it is quickly cut into

short individual sections

to be hauled away for firewood

in some ones fireplace or stoves.

A tree sings, the fear of death,

in its last minutes of life.

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An Airplane Waits

It is after midnight,

somebody is beating on my bunk

he's saying, wake up boy

there's an airplane waiting for you.

They want you in the