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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 )
 
   
 
 

in seep of yesterday’s weep

November 18th, 2017

Ritual Rebirth

First stroke – cannabis toke
second service – sip of caffeine
third – toke
fourth – sip
again

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh

Gear engaged
cog converging
fog of wisp away

Now we wait for sun to rise
as today’s game begins again
in seep of yesterday’s weep

– Smith, 11.18.2017


 

frayed strings + long ago and far away + 2 collages

November 15th, 2017

Frayed Strings

The soundtrack without sound
in a movie never made

The apple of the paring
for the pie that wasn’t baked

The scratch of itch not coming
after sneeze aborts in air

The weight of daily drubbing
knowing fair is never fair

Final stride at end of day
which began with one at dawn

The learning from your “betters”
that you’re not even pawn

Looking in the morning mirror
hoping not to see an ass

The pocket ever empty
weighing wallet’s minus mass
– Smith, 11.15.2017

Have a poem published yesterday on John Grochalski’s WINEDRUNK SIDEWALK: SHIPWRECKED IN TRUMPLAND — https://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/2017/11/day-two-hundred-and-ninety-nine.html


 

bone hole

November 13th, 2017

Bone Hole

You have a house,

its floor may be dirt, wood,
tile, concrete, glass, or higher class,

and if there are walls
they may be solid
may be holey

your might-be roof
or might-not-be roof
may work
may drip
or leak light

and there’s too much to do
too many knot-wads

so you start on locks,
and windows, and rugs,
and furniture, and mortgages,
and driveways

yet you don’t know the neighbors,
can’t nip your own nubs
as you run to not fall
hopimg future’s failure annulls

you can make it better
you can make it worse
the glory’s yours, so’s the curse

– Smith, 11.13.2017


 

dead daddy Doubt

November 9th, 2017

Sisyphus at the Psychiatrist

So many rocks to rock and roll
there’s the rent rock
the car rock
the food rock
the cut and fix the flesh rock
the skin color rock
the bully rock
the cock rock
talk rot
mock rock
race rock
and of course the ought not rock
so I wake at night,
cry for missing mommy Entropy
and dead daddy Doubt,
mess my bed with wet of sweat
from cultural courted stress
more or less moralless,
and rage at rock
as I false
rekindle hope of besting slope.

– Smith, 11.9.2017


 

conversaling

November 7th, 2017

Conversation with Wife 39

Wife comes in looking for scissors and twine.
What are you searching for?
“I need to truss the bird.”
You can’t trust birds, they’re foul.

What’s the controversy with Porgy & Bess?
“It’s seen as white guy condescendence.”
Is that where dew collects on flowers?
“No, that’s condensation.”
Like a person becoming famous?
“That’s sensation.”
Oh, original sensation! The Garden of Eden!
“You never stop, do you?”

– Smith, 11.7.2017


 

serial solar recycle

November 6th, 2017

Sisyphus Prime

In dark before dawn
clutching cup of hot black coffee
poised between was and will
not quite is
licking wounds
weighing pain
seeing how much grass is left
to ease me through
the three reals of time
before the rock
during the rock
after the rock
and as always
the hill
the rise
the mountain
the sweat unsweet
doing today yesterday
tomorrow today
now now
now being walk to work
push up hill
drag back home
to repeat unnecessary
serial solar recycle

– Smith, 11.6.2017


 

leap sleep to sleep without the weep of wake

November 4th, 2017

Status Report 260

Goals?
I got goals:

Wake, get through day,
make it to tomorrow

Without too much sorrow
to myself, earth, or others.

Once walked for fame,
worshipped fortune,

Now simply thankful I’m not lame
or hardened.

Though am sad and weary,
cynica,l leery,

Yearn to leap sleep to sleep
without the weep of wake.

But there’s a silver lightning,
I keep wife’s stress from tightening,

And hold her when she wobbles,
am her favorite bauble.

– Smith, 11.4.2017


 

surplus meat

November 1st, 2017

I have 10 fotos, 9 poems, 1 song featured on Medusa’s Kitchen. As always, publisher/editor Kathy Kieth’s magic eye layout makes my happy/mad submission flow better than it should.

This is my 23rd monthly feature on Medusa… appreciate the gig.

https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2017/10/blues-in-my-pockets.html

~

Sisyphus Security

There’s rock,
there’s hill,
there’s knowing what to do.

But rocks can break,
hills wear away,
and knowing’s site specific.

So I could lose my gig,
have no place to go,
no rock, no hill, no roll.

Got no retirement fund,
no fallback plan,
no rescue from the mud.

Heading up to Big Box Store,
apply as a greeter
to remain an eater.

So sayeth me,
surplus meat
in this land of sharpened teeth.

– Smith, 11.1.2017


 

black cat koan

October 26th, 2017

Black Cat Koan

The cat circles in,
around,
lays down.

Looks at me
with languid eyes,
sighs.

Sleeps to dream
food love scheme
purrfection.

To her we be
serving slaving feeding playing giving
petting cleaning station

(and oft
soft source of heat).

Neat replete cool cat suite.

– Smith, 10.26.2017


 

here and down the road

October 25th, 2017

Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

The lie
“After this, therefore because of this”
is true

cuz treadmill don’t stop
stomach don’t quit
rent don’t go away

no winner’s circle
no golden ring

and the view down the road
looks to be a bad disaster movie
with its tacky tawdry
unfun unfair
one more Zen joke on folk

so it’s down to mirrors and moments:

who do you see in the mirror in the morning
when you hold your moments close?

 – Smith, 10.25.2017


 

 
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