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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 )
 
   
 
 

daze late, dolor short

Have gone from blogging daily to 3-4 times a month. Don’t seem to care. Oh well, this too will pass, the fortune cookie sez.

5 poets doing the Februweary poem-a-day-a-thon dues… Mary E. Weems, Lady K. Smith, Ray McNiece, JJ Stick, and me. I’m going to have to up my game to keep up.

Mary’s doing 4-6 poems a day, Ray’s doing 2 a day, and his poem today The People in Tomb X might be my favorite.

I’d post it but that might mess up his publishing options. Lots of places demand to be the original publisher of a poem. I say they have small vision… each publisher’s poetry audience is so small it don’t make sense to limit readership. Every one of the 246 poems in my upcoming book has been published before, sometimes several times.

Here are days 2 thru 10.

~ ~ ~

Common Scents

It’s not the fall,
it’s the sudden stop
that does you in.

But even more
it’s the not getting up
that keeps you down.

~ ~ ~

Entropy’s Rain

The Garden of Eden’s
now desert and blame
thorns in the roll
bugs in the hay
sweat on the skin
in down dirty game
but oh
so sweet is the sin

~ ~ ~

Mr & Mrs Sisyphus

I ask, Okay, whatta we got?
“Another day another rock.”
she replies.

Then softens, sighs,
“I’ll be your warm rock,
you can be my lizard”

~ ~ ~

Crimes & Punishment

1970 sitting in a Burger King in Baltimore,
my crime partner to be
who’s in debt and about to lose
his typesetting machines
which keep his ad agency going
turns to me and says
“I’m in real money trouble.
Maybe I should rob this place.”

Thinking it theoretical
I give him advice…
you don’t rob Burger Kings,
maybe go for a big box office movie.

Week later
he shows up at our apartment
where he’s been a lot lately
trying to seduce my wife
(semi-successfully)
and shows me two large handguns
he borrowed from a friend.

We go to a deserted golf course
where we each shoot once into the night;
as I hand the gun back to him
it goes off
putting a bullet into the ground
between my feet.

Our first armed robbery next night
was a Seven-Eleven
in my rich boss’s neighborhood.

After the few customers left
and my partner paid for a pack of cigars
I pulled the gun from my belt,
the gun site catches in my beltloop
and it takes three tugs
so I point it at the clerk and say
“Don’t close the drawer”
just as he shuts it.

He reopens the register,
and gives me the money:
$64.

I tell him this isn’t enough,
to give me his wallet.

He hands it to me but I stare at it
and say, “I can’t take that, it’s yours,”
and hand it back.

He’s smiling as we run out,
dash through an alley
and up a muddy hill in the rain
where I fall on my face,
arms outstretched,
and the gun goes off
– again –
and misses my partner in front of me.

That makes two of us
I’ve missed so far.

Did one more robbery
at a Turkey Hill Minit market,
got pocketfuls of money
which the police mostly keep as they count
before locking us up for 10 1/2 months.

Fairly crime-free since
excepting grass, jaywalking, driving too fast,
and disrespecting authority,
which I see basic survival skills.

~ ~ ~

Poetry…

a paper stain,
an earache,
heartburn,

it fuels the tribal fire
to cybersize the moment,
the maybe,
the meant to,

makes the cracks crevice,
the blood to run,
the soul to seal,

best set of worry beads in town.

~ ~ ~

As light leaves
dark gains ground
recriminations creep

~ ~ ~

Unused Fortune

You can say sorry,
but stop and go
goes.

Night sleep
soothes brain static
to recharge wake

A hazy glow
as sun light mocked
by cold ice snow

We slip from if to if
as maybe mobilizes
this

Age and experience
bring calm wisdom
or else we just run down

The heart’s scorch marks
pried from flame
sell as souviners

A cosmic mouth trap
baited with book
waits

The mountains look small
the desert large
but it’s the other way around

Cold creeps up feet
as slippers sleep
lost beneath couch

~ ~ ~

Our Way Highway

They exclaimed
“Guitar is not a jazz instrument”
but Django Reinhardt didn’t hear.

No fiddle neither till St├ęphane Grappelli
missed their message.

Jimmy Smith’s jazz organ too.

Gotta love the rule makers
for they fart the true.

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 40

While cutting her gnocchi dough roll
I mention it’s like sectioning a snake.
“You’re having sex with a snake? How is it?”
Good, talk about deep throat,
but hard to withdraw
what with those curved fangs wrong way in.
“Groan.”
Fangs a lot.

“Boy, I’m tired today.”
Bicycle tired? Car tired? Truck tired?
“Cold medicine tired.”

There’s exit and there’s current it.
“Would either have a wild wild restroom?”

Trying to get me to start breakfast,
“How do you feel about bagels?”
Oh, I doono, they seem to be good dogs.

“I hate meetings.”
That’s why you’re a vegetarian.
“That’s not funny.”
Then why you smiling?
I’ve given you a few small smiles over the years,
and lots of groans.
“Does that make you a groan-up?”

Can’t eat the Nutella until we finish the Oldtella.
“You’re tellin me.”

“We need to get more incense.”
How about outsense?
“Or nonesense.”
Yes, we need more nonsense.
“Or common sense.”

You’re not supposed to drink out of your bowl.
“Oh don’t worry, it’s acceptabowl.”

~ ~ ~

So It Goes 2

Trudging through snow
with bad back,
pain walks tall

We’re born with wings,
then forget
so must regrow

Going over, leave tracks,
muss them walking back –
wind blows both away

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Sandwich

Dawn dark the bread
life the seasoning
me the meat

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