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...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )
 
   
 
 

the lady & the doors van morrison

October 22nd, 2017

When I walk, my right arm thumps against my side, large, hard, like a massive weight lifter’s appendage, but this hard and heavy isn’t from exercise but rather swollen flesh protesting the knives and saws and pryings screwings bruisings of my second shoulder replacement.

Major change in pain pill philosophy. My two days in the hospital they gave me three 5 mg oxycodone pills every 4 hours, sometimes tossing in an injection of dilaudid as well. So one day in hospital was 24 pills. They released me with a prescription for one pill every six hours, or 4 pills per day. Fortunately this time it’s all low level pain, so I can manage. Bit hypocritical of them though.

~

Conversation with Wife 38

“Is penultimate the power of the pen?”
she ponders.

“Our salad was good,
the goat cheese, red onions and apples had synergy.”
Original synergy?

What’s choux?
“I think it’s an eggy dough.”
Didn’t Eggy Dough record with Iggy Pop?

“OK, you know what…” she starts.
I used to know What,
I dated his daughter, young Why.
She was a handful.

“What are we going to do about these hurricanes?”
Change the name to himicanes, let em go impotant.

“You know who drove the Doors? – Van Morrison.”

Where’d the fun go?
“Down the funnel.”

 – Smith, 10.22.2017


 

shoulder arm

October 16th, 2017


my 7 day old right shoulder replacement w/ 24 staples

A recent poem by Lady K.

~

Dry yellow pages and cool glossy lithographs
sheep, pastoral scenes, assembled figures in stately robes
blood like wine from years like vines
a finger of oil poured on the head and similar pastimes
of ancient lamps, mirrors and perfections
or the confused castings of blank arrows
side glances of Rubenesque faces
noble lips that pick at berries

Almonds from rods
nocturnes, starlight, sand and the purity of a concept of water
just trickles slacken thirst

God takes respite low in a cave, cool dirt clean feet
listens to Mother Earth sing fecundity’s forgiveness
speak low thunder
wild pagan violin

– Lady, 19.14.2017





 

downwatch

October 13th, 2017

Spirit, Bone, Body, Mind

Spirit and bone, bone and spirit –
which the rein, which the stirrup?

Bone in body, body round bone –
which one jester, which one throne?

Right hand laughs as left goes long
cuz nothing’s right, nothing’s wrong,

Two left feet or lack of spine?
Neither one’s a crime.

Mind or brain or mental gain
depend on aim of game.

Your multiple choice questions –
don’t leave answer, just suggestion.

– Smith, 10.13.2017


 

chopped & channeled

October 9th, 2017

Life with Wife 6

My wife’s out with two lesbian friends
while I’m at home.
Am I worried?
No.
For though I am a lousy lover,
I still make her laugh.

– Smith, 10.8.2017

~ ~ ~

Chopped & Channeled

I.

Back into the body shop
tomorrow
this time to slice open right shoulder,
cut a few muscles,
pry aside others,
screw a ball joint to my cup joint,
cut ball joint off arm bone
and jam a cup joint in its hollow
so shoulder’s upside down,
release some muscles,
sew others,
close up surface,
keep me overnight,
send me home
with new cobalt and chrome shoulder
to go with
my other cobalt chrome shouder,
cobalt rods in neck,
and titanium ceramic hip.

Maybe get a job testing metal detectors
flor Homeland Thuggery
since I’ve already set some off
with just the hip
so I’d be neck and shoulders above the rest.

II.

Ir’s said
if you hurt, you’re alive.

I must be right lively then
considering my years and tears.

Though too much joy along the way
for sad to add to much.

– Smith, 10.9.2017


 

song & chance man

October 4th, 2017


Fear & Love in Los Cleveland
20″ x 14″ x 4″, 2010, Smith

A few shots of “Fear & Love in Los Cleveland” from 2010 I did for a Shawn Mishk show at Doubting Thomas Gallery.

~

Could be turning this into a song; friend sez he can write some 12-bar blues for it. So, somewhere down the timeline…

Slow Talkin’ Blues

Well I talk to myself
I answer too
yes I talk to myself
and answer too
no one understands
why I do what I do

Moon up high
covers cold cold ground
yes moon up sky
casts no warmth down
if I don’t talk to myself
won’t be no sound

It’s said the Devil’s tongue
packs a wicked wit
while an angel’s wings
don’t always fit
some further heaven
some feather pit

Folk yak at me
their words got no life
folk flap their if
make whole buncha strife
so I gotta ask
why you spout such tripe?

You got a mouth
even a mom won’t kiss
your crap smothers
all kinds of bliss
why you wanna
muck around like this?

I gotta say
things aint quite right
too many stray
in lack of light
yet you say go way
tend my own blight

If I don’t talk
there ain’t no sound
just endless walk
round this nowhere ground
but when I do
I sound like a clown

– Smith, 10.4.2017







Fear & Love in Los Cleveland
20″ x 14″ x 4″, 2010, Smith


 

ache of break

October 1st, 2017

Philosophy 167

Many paths.
Many mountains.
Many valleys.
Many steps.

Yet one.

~

Philosophy 168

Hope to outgrow
what I cannot outrun.

The ache of break
from dream to wake.

– Smith, 10.1.2017


 

take receipt

September 30th, 2017

Christmas Coming

Your ghosts do not own me,
nor carry cry of Christmas coming.

I will take my lump of coal with pleasure,
burn in sin to warm my heart.

My step will be my own,
I will not walk in borrowed shoes.

But I respect your walk of way,
though not your push of Prophet.

– Smith, 9.30.2017

t


 

ennui

September 29th, 2017

Been in a bit of a funk due to health, finances, a general existential ennui – haven’t even posted my new poems.

The health is Lady’s battle with eye cancer (successful it seems) and my right shoulder replacement in 11 days. Already have a metal hip, a metal left shoulder, two metal rods in my neck, and a 2-year unhealed broken kneecap, and set off metal detectors.

The finances are like Sisyphus – eternal. Born poor, live poor, looks as if I’ll die poor.

In spite of all this I am a rich and lucky man – have Lady’s love, a fine cat, cool friends, decent in-laws, and a past fully lived. Plus I had a fine poetry reading at Mac’s Backs last week.

Here’re my two most recent poems, plus a few news updates.

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 37

“Sweat’s so weird,
I woke last night in a cold sweat.”

That’s a James brown song.

“Think it’s menopause.”

How long’s that last?

“10 years.”

10 years?!?!
You mean you bleed for 30 years
then spend another 10 getting over it?

“Yes, aren’t women wonderful?
All to make more of us.”

Why can’t we just order babies from catalogues?

“Are catalogues how we get cats?
Dogs from dogalogues?”

Captains from the Captain’s log.

“Humans from humanalogs.””

I used to belog to a club,
but they wooden let me stay.

– Smith, 9.28.2017

~ ~ ~

Lady K’s cat scan came back negative for cancer, which implies her eye cancer has not spread. They’ll check again in 6 months. Doc says her eye tumor is shrinking, and she has only a 2% chance of it spreading.

~ ~ ~

Status Report 259

I hunger within
for the things without,
yet the things without
cannot feed me
for they lack substance.

– Smith, 9.29.2017

~ ~ ~

Electricity was out 14 hours. Our neighbor saw the pole go down. Said a man cut across the traffic circle half a block away, blew his tire on the curb, gunned the gas, raced through the red light, lost control, hit the electric pole half a block the other way and knocked it over. Our neighbor is a male nurse. His first thought was stroke, so he ran over to see if he could help, saw no signs of stroke, smelled no alcohol, so his best guess based on the way the guy was acting is heroin. 12 hours later as we watch the repair, we hear an explosive KEERACK right across the street and see a massive tree branch as large as a medium tree fall, missing a man’s house by a few inches. He comes out, sees there’s no house damage, and says “Looks like I have some firewood.”


 

cat vac

September 21st, 2017

We drove 3 hours south for two nights in a cottage in the woods and took our 4 year old velvet black cat Misha,,, it was her first long car ride and stay-away. She loved it.

Here is Lady’s description of our jaunt.

Lake Hope

We opened the door to unwrap the cabin with its better-than-the-pictures golden floors abutting wood trim abutting wood paneling rising to meet exposed rafters and beams. We unpacked the windows from their unexpectedly high quality horizontal blinds.
I opened all the doors to see what I could see, plurality of closets an invitation to a longer stay.

I quick took a lone journey in the car through curlicue roads to find logs on private property from a fit man named Bubba who had chickens and aspired to own goats and bees. “Bees and chickens get along,” I told him. I handed him a twenty and said, “Thank you, I appreciate it,” without even thinking about the words “I appreciate it” until after, a newly picked up mannerism of mine. Logs and spiders rolled in the folded down back of our trunk.

From the car I carried and spread our brown box of kitchen stuff on the table like some writing from the 70s. The kitchen was with what was deemed necessary plus a couple extras. For instance, a colander (necessary), a full set of four plates, bowls, cups, silverware. The luxury of a corkscrew for wine.

Thankful for a full kitchen, I made salad the first night. I made salad the second night, too. “Our salad was good,” I said. “I think the goat cheese, red onions and apples had synergy.”

“Original synergy?” He asked.

Our bedroom smelled deliciously of bleached blankets. The bed tall and soft. Dirt from the day on the smooth hardwood floor tasted by my toes. A large framed print of Malabar Farm.

Like what made memories for me when I was a sweaty mosquito-bitten kid, I wondered if we would have hard water, softened water or water that tastes like nothing – like a broom in which closet.

I waited for bed on the vinyl sofa in front of the fire, the flames like little sprites pounding Bubba’s logs with their hands. We could talk on the couch. I lay down with my legs over his, and his on the hassock. We could play cards and talk in the future, I decided.

A dog barked come twilight’s poignant stirring with other campers and their far off breathy exclamations. Blue turned the corner to deep blue against the filigree of the canopy, the blue only skies make. The cat traveled black through flickering projections of firelight. I waited until night was black on black, indiscernible.

A curtain fell into magic night. Unwillingly leaving wakefulness, I felt the lamp around the corner of satin steel finishes and clouded glass with pull chains for easy finding, modern, clean but timeless.

The blankets smelled deliciously of crisp bleach. The bed tall and soft. The bed against the window, inches away, which I left open for the crickets and the birds. I needed another blanket but I held the smooth skin of his back.

Oaks rained acorns in knocking ones or flurries that poured from the roof onto the cool dirt of the outside floor, its grass, twigs, ash and more acorns, some with caps on, some lost.

In the bathroom come showertime, things well done. Sturdy medicine mirror inset into the wall which when opened all inside satin metal shelving deep enough to hold rolls of toilet paper. Complimentary soap and fresh towels laid out for scrubbing. The only thing worn in the cabin the shower with assorted stains in which my heart celebrated that other people share the joy of this cabin. It furnished hot water, strong and plenty and savored.

Coffee quickened a speculation of ground that could be covered today, the lake seen, or horses ridden, a path walked short or long. I read and re-read the glossy state park pamphlet. But there were chairs and sofa in the main room for interior moments. Chairs in the kitchen and a small wooden table for drinking coffee silently. Chairs and adirondack chairs on the deck for mid-day hours. Chairs outside around back circling the fire pit if the day were to migrate to there.

A mild depression mid-day that we could not stay so long. I played hide and seek sitting behind the slats of the closet. Even I could not hear my breathing.

“Where’s my wifey?” He walked across the groan of floor, not knowing I was playing. I gave myself up when I heard him make to put shoes on.

The cat coiled on the bleach sheets by the cool bedroom screen. Later uncurled awake there, she watched past the window to crows playing in the pixelated green impressionist painting.

I’d light nag champa incense by the fire to thank the household god, the cabin god, the camp god. The god of time we make, a comfortable hollow suspended a few days from the river of aspiration.

Lady K, 9.19.2017






 

unseen scene

September 19th, 2017

Trinity

Most folk laugh at children
playing with their invisible friends.

Many folk electroshock the insane
for talking to invisible friends.

Yet some of these same folk go to church
to pay to pray to their invisible friend.

Three undone by one.

– Smith, 9.19.2017


 

 
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