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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 )
 
   
 
 

SOUND POEM

October 23rd, 2014

SOUND POEM

Does a bell go on and on?

Or hit space and dampen anonymously
into the capacitance of some sea?

Does it richochet round forever,
applications of ever lighter feather,
gilding wind and weather?

And thunder…
a long caress sunk in the
dissipating static of
rumbled heat?

~ Lady


 

Raw High

October 23rd, 2014

Watching a 1959 TV show on NextFix starring Glint Mythwood riding shogun on a sagecoach in the old rest looking for the 8-rolled path with its four cultural pollinations.

Here’s its theme song.

Raw High

Tokin’ tokin’ tokin’
keep that pipe a smokin’
get high
swell bent for pleasure
mellow testin’ measure
tokin’ for the treasure
gettin’ high
get it out roll it up
flame it nice and fine
toke em up and hold it in
keep em smokin’
I’m still tokin’
hopin’ to stay high
rollin’ up the numbers
smokin’ up from under
lightin’ me some thunder
keepin’ high
sweet weed in head arisin
mellowing my horizon
ain’t no tellin’ no lies when
I get high
me oh my oh fly
rollin’ rollin’ rollin’
keep those numbers comin’
through rainy day woman weather
and plan 9 cashmere sweaters
there ain’t no nothin’ better
raw high

– Smith, 10.23.2014


 

In here

October 22nd, 2014

In Here

Darkening dim and blowing cold
out the window of my wall
yet so warm and toasty within
with love of Lady as she sleeps
with love of sleeping cat
it’s warm and soft and safe
in here
as safe as chance lets be.

– Smith, 10.22.2014


 

Industrial Symphony 35

October 21st, 2014

Industrial Symphony 35

They wedge me in the MRI
surgical shoulder ache in pain
start to roll me into machine as I inquire
“How long will this take?”
“Thirty-five minutes.”
My mind cramps,
don’t like being trapped,
don’t like this,
know the panic button in my hand
CAN NOT BE USED
and then Industrial Symphony 35 starts
bleep blap boop
duck duck duck duck duck
baptist baptist baptist baptist
whirl screech scrack scream
bipbipbipbipbipbipbipbipbipbipbip
groan jerk jerk jerk growl
whappa whappa whip whop
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
blurp bloop bleep
gurgle
grok
chick chick click click chick chick crik
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
woopwoopwoopwoop
ruha ruha rumble rumble row
shudder shake shake shiver
herk quirk murk blurt
scrape jerk jerk jerk scoop
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
bump
aooooga aooooga
dive dive dive
silence
start again different order
different sounds
worthy of recording for hard music market
loud loud loud
I trap my trap fear
breath slow, deep
say Buddhist chant
start counting one thousand one
roam levels of hell
until “You doing ok?”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes more.”
rise through purgatory
finally
“Three minutes. You’ve been very good.”
one thousand one one thousand two
hit one thousand one hundred fifty
“Done, be right in.”
Never again.
But thanks for the symphony
if not the memory,
and may you never ever hear it.

– Smith, 10.21.2014


 

SOMETHING ABOUT CATS

October 21st, 2014

SOMETHING ABOUT CATS

Her urges, like a rubber band, pull at her voice box,
and she rests on the satisfied platform
of play and sleep

When it comes to words
what does she think? Does
she use words?

How to think without words?
Does she think with sound?
What was I before words?

Is it touch, like taking one’s hand
along the wall, or one’s tail, and seeing
where the wall leads?

Maybe like a potter?

Is it sight?
Or smell?

Imagine smell, thinking in smell
making more of it than Proust’s
recollections of times past

Rather smell a hard-working
Swiss army knife
that widgets one
through days

~ Lady


 

 
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