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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 )
 
   
 
 

6 latest

June 25th, 2018

Once again I’m 40-some poems behind in posting… guess ego doesn’t care as much as it used to.

Used ego for rent,
sale,
lease,
bye.

Here are 6 most recent poems from 6.13/25.2018, in reverse order.

~ ~ ~

Bad Boy Smith

At a reading at the ex-dive bar
The Millard Fillmore Presidential Library,
Ray McNiece and his band Tongue-in-Groove
played Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues
to bring me up with the announcement
I “was Cleveland’s bad boy,”
had “done time.”

So I confessed.

Served 9 days in Juvenile Detention
in 1960 when I was 14 for stealing 13 cars.

Spent 1 night in jail in 1968
on false charges after an argument
over thermostat settings in the hall,
case dismissed,
arguing neighbor moved out.

Locked up overnight twice
for drunken lurchedness —

first in early 80’s
after cops in civilian clothes
beat me bloody for talking back,

second 1990
for being too drunk to even walk
and driving through a fire hydrant,
water spraying everywhere;
I was lying shirtless on the jail cell floor
when a guard asked if I wanted a lawyer,
I replied, “No, you’re going to let me out
in the morning anyway.”

I’m ashamed I knew that.

Did have to spend 3 days in a hospital
after I got out
attending a You-Are-an-Alcoholic seminar
in place of being jailed for 6 more months.

But the big one was in the little house…
10.5 months in York County Jail 1970
for my second armed robbery;
after being caught,
my bulging pockets of stolen money
somehow reduced itself to $140
once counted by the head detective.

I am a bad boy.
But I’ve learned to pretend to be good,
seem to be getting away with it.

At least I’m not some cop
pocketing money another stole.

As for the alcohol?
Sober 27 years.

Down to strong coffee,
occasional grass,
driving too fast,
not respecting the government,
and jaywalking.

But I’m still one bad bone.

~ ~ ~

Breaking Bread

1.

Amsterdam
we buy cheese and bread
meats and cookies
and fruit
for not very much
take it out to the stone steps
facing the plaza
sit in the sun
feast.

Homeless man comes by
points at the cookie bag
I reach into my pocket for money
and he says,
“No, no, cookies.”

I open the bag
hand him 3 cookies.

20 minutes later we see him walking
across the plaza
he turns to us
raises his arm in a big thumbs up
and laughs delightedly.

2.

Bezier
we get two slices of quiche
and a sesame baguette
sit in the sun
on the old stone steps
of the massive church on the plaza
munching away
a couple walks by
smiles at us with a cheery
“Bon appetit.”

3.

Zagreb
big academic dinner
with Holbrook and Salinger
and their American School clients
at an old place in the woods
Lady orders wild boar
for symbolism I go for blood sausage
ground up dead flesh cooked in its own blood
Lady’s boar is excellent
my blood beast is soft
mushy
I spend the rest of the night
trying not to vomit.

4.

Marrakech
our Berber guide in walled city
picks small fruit off stand
hands it to me
says okay to eat
it is delicious
next day I take another one
wash it off
eat it
spend next two days
vomiting one end
excreting the other
lose 18 pounds.

5.

Puerto Escandido
on the Pacific beach
feral cats crowding our feet
we eat fresh fish grilled outdoors
most delicious meal I’ve had.

Knowing it can’t be replicated
next night I order a second fish
just as good.

6.

Essaouira
Magda orders pigeon
gives me a bite
now when we walk the streets
I stop and tell the pigeons
“I know your taste.”

7.

Oaxaca
in inner city
man across the street
gives me avocado from 40 foot tree
I stand in my kitchen window
stare at tree as I eat
and say “Thank you.”

Later I try roasted grasshoppers
because they say
once you eat, you never leave.

Insides undercooked
soft, squishy,
make me uneasy
We leave 15 months later.

8.

Krakow
every crack in the street’s facade
contains a French fry stand
I gain 20 pounds.

9.

Amsterdam
order legal grams of hashish
from coffee shop —
red, golden, green, brown, black,
and 2 laced with opium —
eat the opiated hash
get in bubble bath
put on headfones
drift.

~ ~ ~

Status Report 266

Read once somewhere
in one of the alternate realities
I keep stumbling through
that certain Texas rabbits
develop a nervous disorder
when they get too many per square unit
and start dying off to make room
for future rabbits
to become stress dead

thought about that today
reading the news.

~ ~ ~

Time Lie

Time and weather
wind and wave
smooth the stone
shine the glass
rewarp woof
reweave past
otherwise we’d crash
from weight of wrong
going fast

~ ~ ~

Saved by Face

That pebble before sculpting by sea,
you’d have passed by.

The grain of sand inside the pearl,
pretty poor predictor.

Life wears away,
shows true face.

The deeper the lines,
the greater the grace.

~ ~ ~

Cawing All Crows

Raucous crows
telling me what to do
in language I don’t understand


 

text of my 15 minute reading last week

June 20th, 2018


front book display at Mac’s Backs
me left, my collage up top, and Beats the rest

Here the text of the 15 minutes I read last week at Mac’s Backs bookstore. (takes 10 minutes to read).

These poems are from “Where Never Was Already Is” on Crisis Chronicles Press, published 4.2018 – 244 poems over 54 years – 29 collages – 324 pages – 6″ x 9″ – $15: http://ccpress.blogspot.com/2018/04/098Smith.html.

You normlly have to be dead or famous to get 244 poems in one book.

~ ~

Want Ad

I like walks in the rain
I like licking pink stains
There’s good and bad things baby
Crawling through your hair
Old lumps of new grown gravy
Calling from your lair
You wanna bite me baby
I wanna bite me too
Bite me three times
You got a deal

~ ~ ~

Lineman

Hey baby, what’s your sign?
Cum here often?
Wanna see my coloring book?
I’ve got a big red crayon
Fit right between your lines

~ ~ ~

Dada Greybeard

A lady poet followed me home
And asked if I could keep her
I replied
It must be denied
For I had no room in my freezer
She engineered her stay
Of relocation with play
Charm and elocution
Praised this and that
Allowed a wee pat
Counted on evolution
I may be cheap
And easy too
But for female I’m hard-wired
And too
It’s sort of cool
This once being the one that’s desired
Though I question her taste
Her need of rat waste
A too hasty fade
Will shatter shades
I cannot replace
Best to see
What she reweaves
What treasure in her trundle
Though it fracture my plan
I am but man
And man is meant to bundle

~ ~ ~

Love Potion

In the cool of the Fall
when we first fell
she was my B-movie star stable,
scrappy girl reporter one date,
witty secretary a la lusty librarian
or pouty pal with secret crush
the next,
sometimes all in one night,
it became ritual
each time we left I’d stop
two steps below
look up
demand one kiss for passage
and gauge
what girl tonight?

One evening talking witches
as she left I found in fridge
on white plate
thick wet orangeyellow mango slices
arranged in crescent circle
with mound of red slick pomegranite seeds
glistening in their midst
like surreal sperm on fertile egg,
and flashed, aha, a love spell,
and flushed it down the toilet.
Did no good though,
we married a few months later.

~ ~ ~

Life with Wife 5

Scrub tub
add epsom salts
fill with hot water
ease in
take a toke
lay back in hot wake
to soak away ache
and phone rings
wife saying
“Can you pick me up?”
“Now?”
“My eye hurts.”

Four weeks ago
doctors took her eye part way out
sewed on 21 radioactive pellets
put eye in
locked her down three days
while radiation bombarded tumor
popped eye back out
removed pellet plaque
put eye in again
sewed inner eyelid shut
and sent her home to hard since
her eye blurry from serious salve
pupil dilated due daily drops
eyeball swollen and bruised
burning from bright
tired of trauma
she works more to see less
amid multiple pains
shooting ache stab throb
burn itch pinch
and she is
… weary

“Sure, I’ll pick you up”
because pain trumps pleasure
and love binds both

and baths can be refilled

~ ~ ~

Yen

Had I my way,
the world would be at peace and fair,
and we’d all be out on the porch sitting in the sun,
bees buzzing, breeze blowing,
slow toking, coffee sipping, writing poems,
listening to friends, family, folk
picking, playing, harmonizing,
hope and happy on horizon,
the past a purr of catnip cream.

~ ~ ~

Status Report 220

Looked out the window
looked inside my head
didn’t see nothin’
so went back to bed

~ ~ ~

Primordial Ooze

First pre-dawn sip of coffee
followed by first toke of day
and finally, faintly, from afar
I hear Doctor Frankenstein’s mad cackle:

“He’s alive. HE’S ALIVE!!!!”

~ ~ ~

Tried & Traveled

After I died
in my dead end drinking
twenty years ago
it took
three days intensive care
and six months Nyquil
to beat alcohol,
cocaine to kick Nyquil,
poverty to kill cocaine,
valium to get off grass,
and weed to beat it all.

Tried most anything to get off me.

Now it’s one cup cowboy coffee
Costa Rican strong
each morning
and hope of toke or two
to take me through the month.

But what I really want is
copper brain wire
direct to pleasure center
battery hooked
finger on button
blaze of white light.

~ ~ ~

One-More Smith

My younger brother called me One-more Smith
He said
“Every time we get ready to leave
You say
One more toke
One more line
One more glass of wine.”

Now I’m 27 years sober
And he’s 31 years dead.

~ ~ ~

My Tree Barks

My bark is worse than my bite
although once my bite was worse than my bark
back when I was but burgeoning bark on tree
but it was a dogwood tree
so I was bark bark
and became known as Bark Bark Smith
and little dogs pissed on me.

It was a good life
warm and wet
before I matured into tendril stock
which warps and weaves
in woof woof wonder
which is why
I’m now known as
Bark Bark Woof Woof Smith
the One Who Never Whimpers.

~ ~ ~

Status Report 127

Piling high the sticks and stones
mixing muck, dirt and earth
She-God cries “Up and atom, Adam,”
then nudging his ribs
steals his bone
adds mirth
and laughing up Her sleeve
creates Eve
for better and worse

~ ~ ~

Sky Cog

O Great Cog
release me from this wheel
I’m but broken bit
neither tooth nor flair
save me from this pace
before I wreck the place
for I am wrench in works
will impede the flow
jam the am
and scram Your precious plan
You should offer me some slack
put me on the beach
coated with soothing oils
a book in hand
pen and paper near
grass in pipe
strong black coffee dear
food units to imbibe
the occasional magic mushroom
to color reason
and I will season tone
while You work the other drones

~ ~ ~

Spirit Bone

There’s truth in the dark
in the hours before dawn
if I could find the inner light to see

It whispers “I’m here”
soft and seductive
just outside my human
in the hour of the wolf
when sleep won’t come
and wake ain’t here

No baby being born
no madness lurking
so I light some nag champa
and om a hum job for the soul
while making coffee for mind and flesh

The truth is there
somewhere
playing hide and seek
offering wee peaks
like an old stripper with wrinkled skin
hiding behind pastel scarves

~ ~ ~

Now Zen

It ain’t age.
It ain’t sex.
It ain’t race, religion, height,
gender, color, class or learning.

It’s path, progress and position.
The road not not taken.
Be here now.
Hear now
o eyes unseeing
o ears unearned.

We’re all perfect potential
cept maybe republicans, lawyers,
the true organized crime called police
the true whores called priests.

You can walk on water IF water wants.
Just ask.
Walk willing.
There ain’t no dark night’s ungentle light.
Ain’t nothing outside but lies.
But even lie true ain’t for you.
Walk within.
Don’t need no god.
No catholic pimp pushing blood feast.
My lie’s mine.
Walk my own walk.
Fuck the talk.

Grasshoppers gone wrong become ants.
Bad ants cry uncle, cry wolf, cry baby.
Goats goad sacrifice to sun.
Ritual requires repetition, release.
Nothing stays river’s run
but drought’s dry dirt
(and river still runs).

Rub your ears together.
Start a fire.
Flesh alarm.
Let gone go.
Lock lip.

Listen.

~ ~ ~

Confessions of a Conservative

Let others munch spare frogs legs and things
Or their mother’s tidbits so fine.

Not me.
I prefer wee bumblebee wings
With a pipe of blueberry wine.

I’ve no desire for porcupine stew
Aunts coated in chocolate yea thick
Fried crocodile
Ala flayed caribou
Or some other chef’s table trick.

A simple table whenever I dine.
Not mine all these modern cuisines.
I’m quite satisfied with blueberry wine
And old fashioned bumblebee wings.

~ ~ ~


display dowstairs at Mac’s Backs where we read…
my memoir from 2012 by Smith & Lady on left:
“Stations of the Lost & Found, a True Tale of Armed Robbery,
Stolen Cars, Outsider Art, Mutant Poetry, Underground Publishing,
Robbing the Cradle, and Leaving the Country”…
my new book middle and right


portrait of me above Mac’s Backs cash register
1991, chalk by Tim Herron, collage by me
3′ x 4′

Got this nice blurb in Cool Cleveland:

Local Poet Steven B. Smith Shares Old and New Work in New Poetry Book at Mac’s Backs

Reading went well, extremely well, sold 2 books, had a poem videoed by Cool Cleveland who say they may review the book.

Tom Mulready of Cool Clevelnd told the audience my memoir – Stations of the Lost and Found – is one of the best he’s read and should be required reading for anyone interested in the arts or the underground. Wow.


 

6 unblogged poems April 30-May 9, 2018

June 5th, 2018

unblogged poems from April 30 to May 9, 2018.

~ ~ ~

Leah Mueller’s Memes

She talks of finishing last
but does she mention fights, maturity,
drugs and alcihol?
No.
No mention of parents, health, flying,
second chances, terror –
the terror!
she never ever mentions terror!
(oops, my error)
or cleaning up sleep bad habits politics numbers
I could go on
and will cuz it’s all a game
of mental metal mind
a word game paying my dues
keeping secrets of sex
in my blue suede shoes
betrayal pure fire of caution
forgetting going nowhere
sharing vacation, diets, resurrection,
playing games’ mistake
of ache and cake…
anyway that’s my take.

~ ~ ~

Status Report 265

Get up 5:30
wife feeds cat
I feed fish
we each feed other love and coffee
at 7 I feed the birds
more coffee
noon feed cat
6 feed fish again
before sleep try to write poem
to feed myself

~ ~ ~

Seed Pod Willy Nilly

‘They’ or ‘He/She/It’ gave us earth pod
wrapped in dirt and air and water
soaked in sun
grown in grass
blessed by leaves, trees, flowers
with the instructions
‘Abuse until choose or lose.’

Planets have enough low fruit
for life to flourish
up to a point
then resources run low
temperatures rise
air earth water become toxic
and it’s fish or cut bait
live or die
do right or so long
sucker.

It’s an IQ test
a morality maze
to see if we’re worthy
know enough
to stop shitting in our nest,
stop pissing upstream,
quit raising fools to king,
bowing to Mammon.

The godz laugh.
‘We got you this far,
now it’s up to you.’

So what do we fracking do?
We swallow the cyanide of capitalism,
bury our head in ‘Me first,’
the me screw me of
‘Fuck you you, I got mine.’

Silly sentiment cuz Earth wins
Earth always wins
just a question if we survive
cuz She simply outwaits our bad
covers our corpses with dirt
composts us
breaks down our concrete with vines
our metal with rust
our arrogance with actuality.

I won’t miss us when we go
for 25% of us are slime
50% wouldn’t be missed
20% mean well and try
and 5% actually contribute.

Be a pretty world when we’re gone
outrageously red sunsets
due poisoned air
and once we’re fertilizer
ssno more jackhammers, jet engines,
clink of coin, gush of oil,
diarrhea of politician and priest
just sigh of wind
swish of wild grass
chirp of bird
purr of beast.

Makes one eager for the end.

~ ~ ~

The Breakdown Boogie

Sitting in dappled sun and shade
breeze and blossom
watching river run round bend
knowing it’s going
but gone unknown

Moment of joy in soup of sorrow

Squeaky axle
squealing down road
highway hell going home

We shape the dead to shoulder living

Less into peer pressure
than pure profit

Is it real, or happy ever after land?

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Dreams

Waiting for eyes to un-unopen
in dark before sun
dream stuck thick to lid
mind scream why this again
but caffeine will lance these lies
hope and habit handle the rest
as I walk one foot in foot of one
head high humble
foot low slow
pocket empty
moving through misconstrue
till sleep and wake rerun this fool

But someday…
raindrops on roses
sunlight on glass

~ ~ ~

Blues in the Naught

Birds sing in the dark
before the sun they seek rerises.

Everyone is speeding somewhere
lights on, wallets out, minds off.

We worship repetition
become rock, are hill.

Get in starting block
ready, sit, go.

Before and after are lies
it is always now.

Ashes of roses
ghosts of thyme.


 

catch up catsup ketchup

June 4th, 2018

Last posted a new poem April 7th… I’ve 40 poems since then unblogged. Think I’ll post 6 a day to catch up.

Hard to blog lately. The blatant evil rampant in the Republican party and the 62.96 million who voted for Trump and the egregious racism and greed shown since are getting to me. Never expected a lot from people, but I expected more decency than this.

Here’s Lady’s latest poem from June 2.

~ ~ ~

“You’re Prickly Pear’s Paramour.”

Remember when we were in Morocco?
Remember when you carried me on the
roof by the parapet?

“Were i Spider-Man I would whishhh my hands
over to you and tear your blouse off,
that’s what I’d do, touch the tips
of nipples where the milk used to be”

You have a serpent’s tongue slithering out

“We’re all innocent –
the serpent’s innocent, the mongoose
is innocent
but one of them’s going to win
I’m not even positive it’s nice
to eat vegetables. They might have
tiny little tomato screams. Rhubarb
might be begging for its life
lawnmower out there sounds like
big angry fly
looking for some shit”

You are just so many facets…

“Yeah, there’s the hot water facet,
the cold water facet”

~ ~ ~

and my most recent 6, from 5.15-6.4.2018.

~ ~ ~

Splice of Life

The panicked deer
desperate
dashes three westbound lanes
of 60 mile-per-hour expressway
that no one’s obeying
and with quick wit luck
leaps triumphant the concrete divider
success surging through brain
when SPLATTT
eastbound truck paints partition red.

And yet
she dies in dance of joy
euphoric escape last taste of fate
which rebirth
reshapes as joy over hate.

Live on edge, die on edge,
happy way go round.

And then of course there’s slo-mo-go,
the easier way to roll.

But is it?

~ ~ ~

Philosophy 172

I been working in the quandary
wandering my weird wrong way

If you go when you’re happy
take happy with you

If you go when you’re sad
leave sad behind

Count sheep if you will,
just don’t look in the mirror

~ ~ ~

Zen Box

Kneeling on the floor
before the cat box
removing clayed clumps of piss
and dried shit
then smoothing the surface
I realize this is my Zen sand garden
the urine my sins against others
the shit my sins against myself
the baking soda confession and forgiveness
for past’s smell
so I start new day new
clean
free
knowing I’ll be on my knees again tomorrow
for same old shit

~ ~ ~

Fork U

Washed the dishes

past 24 hours we used
3 tablespoons
1 teaspoon
3 knives
8 forks

one tablespoon and knife every 8 hours
one fork for 3
one teaspoon per 24

could be clue
I mean, 1 goes into 24 24 times

would make a good poem
if I knew where to go

all moments are interesting
not all poetic

and are

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 41

I need to write a poem.
I feel better after writing a poem.

“Then write one.”

I don’t have any poem words.
I don’t have any poem pen.
I don’t have any poem paper.
I’ve got shit and toilet paper, that’s what I got.

There, there’s your poem.

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Sum

It’s hot with strain of ache and pain
this pushing rock up hill
in another day of try and loss
no hope of less
so grasp what’s good
like chirp of bird
and glint of sun
or inchworm on my arm
sometimes a cloud will move just right
or drop of sweat catch the light
as lack brings laugh
and loss a like
such sips quench my worse


 

new book – Where Never Was Already Is – 244 poems, 29 pieces of art

May 23rd, 2018

I have a new book of poetry out – Where Never Was Already Is – on Crisis Chronicles Press, publisher/editor John Burroughs.

324 pages – $15 – 6″ x 9″ – 244 poems, 29 collages – 5.5 cents per item.

The poems cover 54 years – 1960s: 2, 1970s: 6, 1980s: 9, 1990s: – 10, 2000s: 29, 2010s: 188.

One collage is by Lady K. Smith, and 5 of the poems are co-written by her.

Order at: https://ccpress.blogspot.com/2018/04/098Smith.html

titles of the 27 reading rooms
each room has its own collage
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1: Men as Birds and Women as Water
2: Broken Crumbs in the Snow
3: The Melancholy of the Cycle Calling
4: Weren’t for Monk, I’d Catch Coltrane
5: Yesterday’s Gone, Tomorrow Ain’t Here
6: The Homework Ate My Dog
7: Red Wheelbarrow, Dusky Attic, Dancing in the Dark
8: No Wrapped Supply of Fly
9: We Who Rise in Heat from Dream
10: With Drum and Tune of Bone Prevail
11: That Little Snake
12: Eating Dirt While Dreaming Sky
13: Light… Dark… Light… Dark…
14: Unbowed Before the Bacon
15: Shadow in Search of Sun
16: Womb Warm Wonder
17: for Lady K., wife, collaborator, partner, friend
18: Sometimes Sleep Slides Us
19: No Heart to Pierce with Truth
20: East of the Sun, West of the Moon
21: Ghost Dance of None Against my Skin
22: The Lying Moon Whispers Untruths
23: Light Like Liquid Zen
24: Do Again the Done Before
25: Surplus Meat in Land of Sharpened Teeth
26: Just Cuz It Is Don’t Mean It is
27: Meet Me in the Meat Lane


 

sloth smith

May 4th, 2018

SlothSmith here – my daily blog seems to be down to once a month. So slowly I turn…

Various statuses or statii from my Facebook page past 4 days.

~

I worked 45 years, paid Medicare and taxes… my last year as a programmer analyst consultant I made $75,000. I had a good life, money in the bank. Then throat cancer ate up all my money, so I sold my condo and we lived on that for 10 years. Now I’m poor enough that my hospital absorbs all costs that Medicare doesn’t pay. Welcome to the roller coaster called capitalism.

~

What is this Big Band that created the universe? Are we really the by-product of swing?

~

what trump’s own people think of him:

White House chief of staff John Kelley – “an idiot”

former Secretary of State Rex Tillerson – “a fucking moron”

National security adviser H.R. McMaster, – an “idiot,” a “dope” and a man with the brain of a “kindergartner.”

former chief of staff Reince Priebus an “idiot.”

Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin – an “idiot.”

Then-chief economic adviser Gary Cohn – “dumb as shit” and “an idiot surrounded by clowns.”

billionaire media baron Rupert Murdoch – “a fucking idiot”

Me? I call him a child rapist (he was sued for raping a 13 year old girl), a thief, a liar, a traitor, bottom feeder, and sexual predator.

~

They use “the birds & the bees” as metaphor for the ‘sex’ talk, but the bee queen has sex once, then spends the rest of her life laying 1,500 fertilized eggs a day until she dies, or until she doesn’t produce enough and is killed by her loyal workers who grow a new queen. Perhaps this would be a good model to use with British Royalty.

~

Our 4th year beekeeping – lost 4 hives hives plus 2 queens so far. Our 5th hive’s queen didn’t make it out of the queen cage so I drove an hour southwest yesterday to buy a $40 queen, hour back, then hour east to hive to put queen in, then back.. Our 1st year we harvested 120 pounds of most excellent honey… years 2 and 3 one small jar each. This is our make or break year – love bees, love beekeeping, but can’t keep putting hundreds of dollars into it for bees that never survive the winter

~

I worship the Great Vine.


 

Sparkling Fruit

April 10th, 2018

Sparkling Fruit

Water’s burn
quenches mineral thirst
frees yearn

Fluid husbands
two embraces

Fire leaves gas, ash
sickle’s attainment

Water
adds to the wetted mass of
suckling tree roots

Nurtured in mud,
woody lotus
tall seed dapples taut
sparkling fruit

~ Lady


 

8 April poems

April 7th, 2018

Writing a poem-a-month through Leah Muellar’s Poetry Feast. She’s giving daily seeds.

~ ~ ~

Mistakes

It’s always Miss Takes
never Mister Takes
or missed aches
though mist aches as well
as does misgivings from missed takes
for vampires never miss stakes
while vegans may miss steak
in wake ache
of gold ring miss/take

– 4.1.2018

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Play

I play this game
where I get up before dawn
sit in dark brooding
sipping coffee
taking a toke if I’m lucky
pop pain pill
trudge to mountain
see which rock I’ve been assigned
which worthless route up which hell hill
and begin the begin again
roll rock up
watch it slip back down
roll rock
lose rock
aim’t no rock ‘n’ roll
just me up here and loss below
day after day
again and again
pain in brain
pain in body
pain in pay
today… and today… and today
forever and ever
anen

– 4.2.2018

~ ~ ~

Resurrection Ritual

Low hope
body closer to dark than dawn
lids locked
eyes blurred
bone bruised in battle
spirit sagged
flesh failed
I crawl broken before dawn
from bed to sink to stove to coffee
in resurrection ritual
worthy of Doctor Frankenstein
or the unlovely Lazarus
for rise in radiance
as holy caffeine
rolls stone to new daze
and second cup

– 4.3.2018

~ ~ ~

Zenless

Thin id
Reduce grandiosity
Less more

Everything is nothing at all

– 4.4.2018

~ ~ ~

D.C. Diet

Government assembly diets
of gimme politicians
the lowest of the low
corporate slime
(but I repeat myself)
scum buckets come
with hands out-splayed
morals delayed
truths un-sayed
from both sides their forked tongues
greed belly jiggling
small dick dripping
birthing their bromides
of racial crimes
and culturcide
as they pad their less
with our more
hating happy
killing healthy
stealing unsteathily
our daily food
our nodes of hope
shouting nope to every maybe
with force of might
from mostly white
mostly men
mostly fat and ugly
paying for sex with our dime
they whine
of changing times
sit in theft
bereft
shitmen with greasy lips
expanding hips
rich
old
white
men
whose best use is fertilizer
so
if you see a rich man drowning
toss him a big bag of pennies
a die it for the diet
and their unbalanced books of red

– 4.4.2018

~ ~ ~

Brain Drain

Trump’s brain is not on vacation
is neither particle nor wave
might be a vacuum
or immoral virus
is as small as his hands
dumb as dim
it’s said no one’s home within
I’d say his heart’s hard
if he had one
instead of Big Bankrupt signs
in chest and head
and yet I don’t want him dead
wish him long life
so he can drown in history’s sum
of his immoral dumb
and dumber sons
crooked daughter
hostage wife
what a life
tacky gold stained walls
rich white trash
making an ash of himself
and us
what’s the fuss
just one more rich fat fuck
pushing his luck
stuffing his pockets with our buck
I wish him slow syphilis
and endless humiliation
this man accused of raping his wife
raping a date
raping a 13 year old girl
do I hate
perhaps I do
but I’m more aghast at his crooked past
and present
may he suffer through and through
and if he’s down
I’d kick him good
again and again for the hood he is
the good he isn’t.

– 4.5.2018

~ ~ ~

I Gots U Babe

Wife usually cooks
and workwebs a lot for little,
much more stress than bucks.

I quit work 12 years ago,
she’s 27 years behind me,
has 15 to go.

I do dishes, laundry, catbox,
errands, make some soup, this n that
to ease her squeeze.

Both poets, artists, fotagrafers,
we share words, ideas, objects,
each the peach.

Laugh with and at,
croon over cat,
always at bat.

Our differing looks
soften brittle,
lift luck.

These 12.5 years so far
are 27% of her life, 17% of mine,
100% ours.

Share time, place, grace, rhyme;
don’t know why
but it seems to work.

– 4.6.2018

~ ~ ~

Silver Lined

On street unlit in town unknown
nowhere here to somewhere gone
looking for the light
after hours over
time moved on
somewhere
nowhere
down the line
awaiting the unarrived
grateful for disaster’s delay.

I see sad women
husbands fallen from hope
exit failing houses
to meet at the well
where forgetting pain
they laugh in gossip giggle
wetting buckets
warming heart
knowing they are not alone.

Darkness sparkles stars
harsh with heart
pearls of diamond night.

– 4.7.2018


 

Cat & Dog

April 7th, 2018

Cat & Dog

Cat was on the feather
Showing me where the feather was, dear

“Did you catch a cat?”

Barely, like one of those quantum particles,
snapping my fingers,
hard to hold

Our cat knows
which one is the prey
in our current game

I saw a woman
play Three Card Monte with her dog
she’d put a dog treat under one of the cups
go swish, swish, swish, mix them up,
and the dog would point his nose at
the correct cup every time
and eat the treat

While this is impressive
it’s not quite as impressive as it looks
because she cheated;
she kept her right hand
on the cup with the treat,
never took it off,
went swish swish swish swish swish and
always kept her hand on the treat cup

The dog just watched it go
back and forth
and never left the right hand

When she stopped
he would touch his nose to it;
he would get the treat

Instead of a fireplace
we low-class have a water tank
there’s usually 10 seconds
between the bubble burps in the aquarium filter
but sometimes it’s 11 or 12

I am a wee odd.

For example, I count how long it takes you
from locking the door
to becoming visible in the parking lot

It used to be 31 seconds

“You mean you count?”

Yes, 1001, 1002, 1003

It used to take you 31 seconds to get out
and then 41 seconds because you were cold and you were carrying more stuff
and recently it was 51 seconds
and I started thinking, ‘this is getting
too long but you’ll probably stop at
the mail box,’ and I saw you and you had
a package in your hand.

If it had been more than 60 seconds,
I would have come down and checked

“Wow, that’s very nice”

I work what grid I can, he said
black cat, red feather, white line.

~ Smith & Lady


 

daily blog now down to every 2 weeks it seems

March 30th, 2018

Kathy Kieth, publisher/editor of the daily changing 365 poetry/art posts per year that is Medusa’s Kitchen has been generous enough to grant me a monthly feature on her site. Started December 2015, and here is episode 28 – March 2018- 10 fotos, 9 poems, 1 song:

https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2018/03/in-beginnings.html

This is my first Medusa’s Kitchen feature that will not be in my upcoming book – all 243 poems they’ve posted from 2015 thru last month will be in Where Never Was Already Is out on John Burroughs’ Crisis Chronichles Press April 1st. The book also contains 29 pieces of art and links to 28 free songs… 5 of the poems are co-written by Ldy K, and 1 of the collages is hers.

~

Was challenged on Facebook to post an album a day for 10 days:

01 – In C, Terry Riley, 1968
02 – Gris Gris, Dr. John, 1968
03 – Ekstasis, Nicky Skopelitis, 1993
04 – Home of the Brave, Laurie Anderson, 1986
05 – At The Center, Meat Beat Manifesto, 2005
06 – The Best of Blue Note Years 1947-52, Thelonious Monk, 1991
07 – Positive, The Grassy Knoll, 1993
08 – Ice Cream for Crow, Captain Beefheart, 1982
09 – Lady Sings the Blues, Billie Holiday, 1956
10 – Moondog, Moondog, 1956

~

Is

Happy is
farm 62 years ago
wild grass and flowers
between the wheat and woods
lying on my back
sun on face
eyes closed
buzz of fly
lowing cow
chicken cackle
whick whick of windmill
distant drone of dog bark
and propeller of plane
growl of tractor
people miles away
no there where to be
all here
all now
all me

Safe is
four years old
lying on back in back seat
soft glow of headlights
and dashboard light in night
late 40’s car swaying side to side
motor droning
tires moaning old highway
parents protection in front seat
no fear
no where
no why
no safe since

Now is
rent
food
CEO crooks
death by cop
rape by priest
thug in White House
customer killing corporations
dying body politic
cancer water
cancer dirt
cancer air
movies music TV
no there
no fair
no fly

– 3.23.2018

~ ~ ~

A Persiflage Anent Chanticleer

A light-hearted talk about roosters
seldom brings light

They bray day
believing it their say

They cluck fuck
until egg laid

They call it capitalism

– 3.24.2018

~ ~ ~

Capitalism

The trouble with roosters,
the smaller they are
the more vicious they become

In the corporate world
it goes both ways

– 3.24.2018

~ ~ ~

Don’t Look Back

There are dark things that live in caves
and real trolls beneath real bridges
that’ll eat you
eat your brother
your sister
your parents
your dog
some of them aren’t even monster monsters
just humans mis-wired or mis-raised
the bad side of Darwin
trash compact
low class low act
it ain’t personal
it’s just you’re food
and they’re hungry
or inadequate
or bored
twisted
maybe it’s karma
you’re eaten by what you once ate
so you move up or down the food chain
reborn soft and chewy
or teeth and chomp
and maybe it’s pure chance
you’re here
hungry stomach’s there
juist the way it goes
nothing to worry about
but you might want to get
some good running shoes
rear view mirrors
and say your prayers to the players of fear

– 3.28.2018

~ ~ ~

A String of Pearls

Clean sheets
New made bed
Bathed body –
Joy drops in the sorrow

We weep when a child is born
Make merry when they die
From freedom to prison to freedom they fly

– 3.30.2018


 

 
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