Remote Control by Frances Smith

They know how to hurt you don’t they!?
Those cold, calculating controllers.

They know how to hurt you don’t they!?
Those cold, heartless controllers.

They break your heart with denials don’t they!?
Those ice cold, controllers.

They hide things from you, don’t they!?
To ensure they are the controllers.

They don’t know love and trust, do they!?
No natural affection from controllers.

In their game they have to win
Winning is all that matters
To beat you, at any cost.
It is their game.
You are not allowed feelings
You are not allowed opinions
In a controlling dictatorship.

You are not allowed to be you
There is no laughter with those
Ice cold, heartless, remote controllers.

Time to Heed by Frances Smith

Money money money
Buy buy sell
Dow Jones, footsy100.
How exciting and what fun
9 to 1
Odds on favourite
Bull or bear
Do you care?
Wow! What a profit
Here’s a few million
To make a trillion.
And as the money flows
The fever grows
The flowers bloom
For some.
Yet down below
The flowers can’t grow
They are a luxury
Second to food
For the mood is

Struggle to pay the bills
And pop the anti stress pills.
But who says this is ok?
Who allows this greed to breed?
It is
Time to heed!
There is no need for greed
Heed now!
Or breed contempt and strife
No wife or women to make society
Beautiful and wholesome.

Our youth is rife with debt
Burdened with despair
Instead of
Faith and hope
In a life that’s fair.

Working women
Burdened by duty
Love and loyalty
To their children and homes
Until breaking point.

Hardly any time
To sit and smell the roses
To see their fruits
Or ripening.

Wives and women struggling
Men and media
Against lawlessness
Struggling and
Losing the values
That make a society wholesome.

Homes becoming hostels to
Sleep between work and chores
Unhappy stressed
Women can become bores.

Stressed communities break down
Stressed families break up
Stressed couples break up
Stressed individuals break down
Perversions of life are born
Like stress, and porn.

True love cannot dwell
With stress and fear
Where love cannot exist
To hold someone dear.
Happiness, smiles and contentment
On hold
Peace, fulfilment and harmony
Ever elusive

Sins and vices sold as
Naughty but nices
Techno devices
Drip-feeding desires
To sell, sell, sell
Sex and violence
Affairs and murders.
The stuff of drama
That make up stress
And depression
And impotence
And crime
For profit.
Where man is enslaved
Again, and again
Because he won’t listen
To the messages of pain.

It is time to heed
Let’s abandon greed;
What is this profit
If all are poor?
By always wanting
More and more.

Frances Smith:
After 30 years working as a therapist I write about emotional links between mind and body. I convey these with an appreciation for all creation, in particular the miracle of life in the human body. I write about abuse, stress, injustice, infidelity, animal welfare and the healing power of love for an empathic world for peace. I write to observe and inspire change. This  poem is from my book Healing Poems for Positive Love.

Taxing Taxes by Frances Smith

The bedroom tax, the council tax, the income tax and value added tax are taxing you and me, indefinitely; making us weary to infinity, and my ancient granny aint so dandy.

We used to have a cult of faith that now we need to cultivate

for our youth to rise and prosper to make our parenting seem proper.

There ain’t no colours and ain’t no genders when we evolve into being

Human beings. Being human beings. Being humans. Being loving beings. Being loving. Beings being human: Humane;

That is all that is asked from above – that we do love

within loves laws and that is how we open doors

to parallel world’s of life so fine we can drink fine wine

and find the time to put washing on the line

to air away the life not fair

of a struggling generation of good kids who care.

We are educating with the wrong food for love;

We are filling with fast food dense with mood, and

capital annihilation when it is time to leave the station

of a nation in poverty.

Poverty is only a state of mind of duality

where there is no equality, and

it is time to rise and be the best we can be

which can and will be free.

Battered by Frances Smith

Oh no! He’s had too much to drink;
The façade fades
The dragon flares
And sees red

The kidneys try
To cool and keep the balance;
An ignored call for hydration
Water, to dampen the fire within.

The liver fails to cope;
The spleen sends out
Its army of defences
To fight and protect.

The shoulders raise
As the chest concaves
The triceps draw back
Ready to attack;

The biceps flex
Then he’ll vex
And leave in tatters
The one who matters.

After 30 years studying and working with the healing arts as a holistic health & beauty therapist, Fran works to identify emotional links between physical ailments and healing. In her poetry and non fiction she conveys these along with an appreciation for the miracle of the human body all towards finding inner and outer peace. She has two books available on Amazon – Healing Poems for Positive Love and Book of Life – and is a regular reader at spoken word events.