Rod Smith - Songwriter

I'm not really one for New Years Resolutions, but this year I have promised myself a few things - Get my 1st EP out, work on expanding my co-writing circle, increase working with other artists, challenge myself to write daily…

The suitcase slips from your sweaty palm.

“Crash!” – Heads turn – we have an audience again.

You abandon the hated case at the side of a busy set-down area, oblivious to annoyed individuals, now tripping and stumbling over it…

The hot morning sun is a prison guard, its searing rays a baton – goading me, poking at my hot and clammy skin from the free world outside, as I lay here sweating profusely on this thread bare prison mattress.

…

Fearing his sweaty palms will give him away, he quickly wipes them on the inside of his expensive, suit pants pockets, takes a long, deep, calming breath and steps out of the purring car to face the fervent crowd. His…

The mid-July sun is a furnace. Around me, brightly coloured lichen cling tightly to sea ravaged rocks, a painter’s palette of colour contrasting brightly against the deep blue merger of sea and sky.

A soft sea haze drifts gently over…

“Promise me, John.”

Her last three words to me, now perfectly preserved on this soft, scented paper.

I carefully fold the letter back along its creases, and gently return it to its waiting envelope, staring blankly for a moment at…

Mist

I trace my outstretched finger along the glistening surface of the smooth, metal barrier, watching larger, more defined water droplets form in its wake; tiny, narrow pools, reflecting a single, lonely street light that stands guard above my head.

…

A callous wind fans the flames on this funeral pyre of unopened letters.

The pitiful plumes of black, choking smoke,
causing my eyes to tear up, as I witness words that meant everything to me, disappear into a lonely grey…

Subtle scent of your perfume from my pillow
Now damp with tears
Early morning rain meanders down these misty windows
A worn old shoebox catches my eye from the side locker
As I cocoon my heavy head deeper under the…

Workday mornings
Tired head
Sleepy eyes

Struggling to drag myself out of bed
Lure of a warm duvet
Cocoon myself back inside
A morning butterfly
The quiet house distracted by
The rhythmic dripping of a leaky tap

All I want…

The mountain it looms like a pensive old man
With mustachio clouds that he twirls through his hands
The weight of the world baring down on his shoulders
A stubborn old king, he ain’t going nowhere
A chest full of…