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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 )
 
   
 
 

today’s sermonette

March 3rd, 2015

lattice need

Today’s Sermonette

Rituals rise from lattice need
to gird with grid our daily bleed.

Outside the box is danger of
dragons and our falling off.

But go, step, it’s just a line
authority insists is in your mind.

A line not there in any case,
simply something for saving face.

Too many chickens, cowards, sheep,
zombie people walking sleep.

Afraid to live so live a lie
afraid to cut and savor pie.

Scared to ask for piece of puzzle
so booze and TV food do guzzle.

Afraid of life they look to Gods
to tell them when they cannot trod.

But Gods are gone to Corporate Land
so say the monied Upper Hand.

We bow and scrap and shake in fear
avoiding growth and seeing clear.

Why use their rules to live your life?
It’s up to you what’s good, what’s strife.

You pay the price of what they say.
I say we choose, go our way.

Fish in sea, bird in air, clan on land,
each one has its own plan.

Play and smile and laugh and dance,
discover stuff by taking chance.

Their code concretes on money myth.
No need to follow sez Irreverend Smith.

– Smith, 3.3.2015


fish in sea

 

Smith & Lady Poems – March 2015 – Lady – #3

March 3rd, 2015

 

Hop like a bird and
wagtail like the bees,
shake ideas like a virgin
from snakes attended by priests
hoe down boogie ground then
do the wave at sky
home grow mysteries
stud nebulas with life

~ Lady

 


 

our daily groove

March 2nd, 2015

Our Daily Groove

There’s the late wakers and the slow Quakers
and the teddy bear picnic parade
in the glade of good and glad
welcoming the sad and moonlit mad
from their trails of trials
with smiles to add
while subtracting pain for inner gain
for mom and dad and gal and lad
regardless of color clan
skin scan
or religious plan
it’s joyous élan for all
big and rich and poor and small
or else it’s the writing on the wall
as judgment calls.

Is bops
hope hops
and stiff stops
as the buck plops here.

- Smith, 3.2.2015


 

Smith & Lady – March 2, 2015

March 2nd, 2015

 

Give us this day our comfortable grooves
the daily bread of paddings if packaged like
patting Eau de your smoke, my iron, our scent
in the nest, a valorization of fairy dust from
corner distillations

Let’s make a gingham picnic by moonlight
in Lincoln Park, the packing of a basket, the cologne
of our legs made musky with bike, unfolding berries,
Indian dal, cheese and bread on the cool metal
of a public bench on a warm summer night –
may we, mais oui

~ Lady

 


 

Bill Evans Victorian England Lady me

March 1st, 2015

For March, Lady and I are tag-teaming poetically. She started the month with the poem below. I’m to use her poem to inspire my poem for the day, then tomorrow she uses mine to jump-start hers. And away we go.

Things I Want to Understand

The world of subtle specifics
of men in play, affect and fashion
like soporific maneuvers of Pétanque
to the pig, foreskins, those who wore ulsters
in Victorian England, and the cigarette of
Bill Evans sticking out his mouth
like a writer at his piano
sucking on a pen

~ Lady, 3.1.2015

Had to look up two of her words:

Pétanque - a form of boules where the goal is to throw hollow metal balls as close as possible to a small wooden ball called a cochonnet (literally “piglet”) or jack, while standing inside a starting circle with both feet on the ground. The game is normally played on hard dirt or gravel, but can also be played on grass, sand or other surfaces. Similar games are bocce, bowls and (adapted to ice) curling. - sez Wiki;

and

Ulsters - The Ulster was originally a Victorian working daytime overcoat, with a cape and sleeves. It is often seen in period productions of Victorian novels, such as those of Charles Dickens and was referred to in the Sherlock Holmes stories – per Wiki.

The Ulster overcoat looks like my US Naval Academy Midshipmen raincoat I wore from 1965 through 1968 when they kicked me out. It’s short cape is also rather like my foreskin as well.

I took the Bill Evans foto above in Art in America art critic Thomas McEvilley’s NYC apartment in 2002 while helping Jeff Chiplis take down his White Box Gallery show. Thomas’ apartment had more art and books and uncleaned dirt than I’ve ever seen in one place.

Under Stand

I have no secrets to share,
nor truths to unsheathe
like fore-ulsters of old.

Clothes make no man more man,
rather hide his less,
whereas a bared breast is beauty.

But there is one gleam —
a naked mind is scary seductive
in want and hide and need.

Close companions walking together
with talk, sit, think, silence, stink shared,
this is sweet.

Streets stray, luck sways,
and whether cold slivers or heat sweats,
two as one completes.

- Smith, 3.1.2015


 

 
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