...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 )
Archive for the ‘ethics’ Category
Saturday, July 30th, 2016
Surprisingly, this moan and groan turns into an affirmation.
Had to cut down on my stress and inner anger level so I’ve cut way down on news.
No longer read editorials, opinion pieces, what-might-happen articles, watched none of the republican or democrat conventions, and stopped following several negative Nortons on Facebook.
It’s mostly lies, smoke and mirrors anyway.
If there were truth in advertising, the republicans would change their name to the repugnants, and the democrats would drop their name entirely since they are definitely not democratic.
Also cut down on news about corruption and police brutality and people killing cops.
We all know corruption flows from the top down – the rich folk flout the rules, hide their money offshore, politicians are mostly bought and sold, the church covers up pederasty, corporations lie, cheat, steal and kill without penalty while not only not paying their taxes but getting large portions of ours as rebates. The military bombs civilians at will killing mostly dark-skinned innocents of all ages. The drug companies in America are some of the best extortion artists around, our health care is the most expensive in the world yet we rank 37th in quality. The oil companies are killing our land, our water tables, and the earth. Our tomorrows aren’t worth the paper yesterday’s printed on.
Pretty much the only folk who are tried and jailed are the little peope who steal or kill small – kill big and they honor you along with the Henry Killingers, fete you with dinners and book contracts and awards.
World’s always been this way, just not as much and not as openly.
About all I can do is follow Mr Roger’s advice and try to clean up my own act, make my corner a little brighter and happier for wife, friends, folk around me.
Zen monks have always said the task is to live a happy life in an unhappy world because the world’s always been unhappy and seems hell bent on staying that way.
I have to admit I’m not very good at brightening my own corner. But I am still trying, have been for decades, but it is so easy to slip and become one with the mudmen.
What helps me is being with the missus and the feline, enjoying the creativity of our friends, the warmth of family, the new baby born to the relatives, writing poems, making art, taking fotos, feeding the birds and listening to their chatter, the peace in the hour before dawn, ornamental grasses, the first cup of pre-dawn coffee . . . the list is literally endless.
And I have a marvelously moral and kind-hearted friend and companion in Lady K. Smith, who has softened and enlightened me these past eleven years with her endless effort to be good and fair to others, even when it costs her, especially when it costs her.
And there is always hope – I mean just think, in the early 1950’s we were ravaged my polio, then Dr Jonas Salk invented the polio vaccine and gave it free to humanity . . . I remember taking his sugar cube doses in three installments standing in long lines at elementary schools in 1955 when I was 9. It meant a lot to me because my father’s left leg was withered from having polio as a child so I knew how dangerous it was.
One day there was no hope, next day free polio vaccine. Who knows what great thing in science or humanity’s heart may come along and heal our current sickness. Maybe the greed and cruelty darkening these days has a cure just around the corner.
Whatever, I still try to keep hope alive in my heart. Begin every day with a refreshed batch of it when I wake, and it slowly leaks away as I stumble through the day until I get a bit depressed by bedtime and go to bed to sleep and recharge – my Sisyphus loop, rolling hope up each day’s new hill.
So here’s to hope, and my patron saints Mr Rogers and Lady.
Monday, September 7th, 2015
the Vietnam War was called the Coca-Cola War by some
Status Report 76
Aggressive gas guzzling Labor Day jets gulp the sky
killing our tax dollars for their propaganda . . .
Why do governments lie?
– Smith, 9.7.2015
the mouse that roared
Monday, June 8th, 2015
“Me”gyn Kelly and Lie O’Reilly,
willfully ignorant, or bigot?
No truth too small to lie
no fact too strong to wrong
they cotton to the contrary
of our country as a crime.
Kleptocrats and their twisted sifters.
Long Noose and Moses saunter through town
looking for supposes
holding their noses at the truthfully bound.
The flat-earth right seem mostly to be wrong
and strong in human feces.
Two-faced Texas slime need
crawl back under their flat-earth rocks
on those racist roads they walk.
I don’t know but I’ve been told
greed’s so cold it hurts the soul.
Bill O’Lielly and Rush Slimeball
two cancers on our soul
four buttcheeks soiling soil.
I don’t live my life in the remainder bin
won’t talk your talk or walk your when.
Said the spider to the fly
come zither, play my gland
fill my belly
help my waist expand.
Fox News prostitution
the obverse of Constitution.
We surf the curse of worse.
– Smith, 6.8.2015
Thursday, June 4th, 2015
A kneeling person
in a sunken cathedral
haloed by the universe’s concern
like an x marks the spot
Christ on the cross
Knights playing lofty
games of giant chess on the
battlefield of conflicting ideals,
honor and secrets
Live and love
persistent flapping prayer flags,
a Buddhist monk flying, an asexual actor
trailing through bowing flowers kissed by
pursed lips of blowing wind
hugging flow xoxo
Women, too, claiming stakes
not only moon, but sun, too
Wednesday, May 13th, 2015
There’s an open poetry reading Sunday at
Rooms To Let art installation
2 pm at 3810 E. 71 St., Cleveland, OHIO
hosted by Smith & Lady
in the Chiplis room I would imagine,
or elsewhere outside, depending on how many come
no sign up, just read if and when you feel
Rooms to Let art installation FaceBook page
Where’s The Sun This Earth Run?
Between dark of bed
and too early dark of rise
lack of sleep leaves lead.
awake in unpromised land
carries dark in heart.
If this be stage,
where’s my mark, what is word,
what my length of run?
Enter stage left
and before exit stage right
place for count each step.
Script is total blank,
and on cue cards
Applause often sparse
and co-actors lack in tact,
their performance flat.
Change the channel,
strip off this costume shell,
ad lib some shit.
They can’t fire you
until your done is do
so go, play the fool.
You won’t get renewed
unless you sleep with crew
or director’s tool.
And no money paid
in spite of contracted say,
that’s just way of play.
So you walk the boards
until replaced or bored,
then retire, gored.
We seem sign unseen
used for decorating stage,
sought until no need.
– Smith, 5.13.2015
The Mayweather-Pacquiao fight took in 500 million dollars . . . this is a country where folks pay half a billion dollars to watch two brown-skinned men beat the shit out of each other . . . a country where white cops kill unarmed blacks with impunity . . . where 62 of 100 Senators are worth a million or more while the rest pocket lobbyist money as fast as they can . . . where corporations buy politicians by the bushel, millionaire football players cheat to win, millionaire baseball players cheat to win, millionaire bicycle racers cheat to win . . . where corporations raking in billions pay no taxes . . where Faux News hate-speakers spew bigotry for cash . . . where clowns and homophobes and racists and sexists openly run for President . . . where cops constantly lie, priests abuse young boys, police hire out as murderers . . . where our government takes from the poorer to give to the richer . . . where our president kills whomever he wants without moral or legal cause — our leaders are crooked, our police are crooked, our corporations are crooked, our newspapers and regulatory agencies toadies to the 1%, our Supreme Court two-thirds corrupt . . . and yet we wonder why there’s such a lack of morality in life today — it’s simple, that’s the way things work now, from the top on down . . yet if you shoplift a loaf of bread to feed your family, you’re jailed . . . the crime ain’t stealing, the crime is not stealing big enough.
What’s really weird is I’m spouting off about morality, yet I stole 13 cars as a kid and spent almost a year in jail for my second armed robbery. On the other hand, I’m a perfect example that one can change, leave a bad path and try to walk a better.
Saturday, April 25th, 2015
we’re like a glacier leaving a trail
in our hurtling maneuverings for convenience
whatever’s needed’s forced import like
for inhabitants of Alaska
Tattered matters dash past, the handle
let loose on a neighborhood, some
future land bank
Unleash summer’s moist green season
Dip us in fat softness of renewal
Think, just going down the freeway
past the rubbery clusters of chicory
Queen Anne’s lace, secret feet of
animals living quietly
on sacred soil
Thursday, April 23rd, 2015
Curlicues of boogie woogie mugwort dreams
eddies from the white buffalo pipe pooling
into wintergreen calm of yellow birchbark,
living breath of the Great Grandfather
Mystery, the present of the Wild White
The pipe circles around hand offering to hand
for the songs of the four directions, White North,
Morning Star East, South Wind, Sunset West
Keen beauty of traditions indigenous to this land–
can we find them again?
Get away from our empty ghosts
of oblivious disregard
Friday, April 10th, 2015
Stuck in some rut
I lay my rode out to accompaniment
of my narrator’s soliloquy telling the audience
of my mind this is what being adult is,
what being self-sufficient
So I prepare the scope measure by measure
it’ll pull me where I’m going–I put out the hard dinghy,
set the anchor in it, row the rode to my determined vantage
drop the kedge, row back, pull myself to the new place
getting to it with will, with logic, with my ambition,
with whatever, whatever it takes
Saturday, March 21st, 2015
in its flapping passing
Even whoofing wings of an owl
make invisible sound
for the operator holding a boom
A lamb and her force field of softness
floats cloven tongues
on patting hooves
Attainment in sadhana’s posture
Monday, March 16th, 2015
Laying flowers side by side on the table
to array the palette of a bouquet, my jackleg fingers
in this matter remembering the words of
Thich Nhat Hanh, “leave space in
Looking towards learning skillful compositions,
juxtapositions of color and shape and mood, so many
ways to make and discover frontiers
Which reminds me of you–how you
would have every day novel, a zany birthday party
on a dance floor platform for whirling happiness, your
camera curiosity seeking out photos like the world
is full of easter eggs, and it is
Yet sometimes the spicy lightning
of your attention’s like you’re zapping barbed xrays
of unjust situations with moralizing words–promising
them their comeuppance
Condemnation of entire domains
heuristically earned yet with wild daisies of grace
sprouting exceptions to the rules and you smile with
surprise like the cheer of holding my hand and running
through a sprinkler
I’m growing a whole bunch of exceptions for you,
a lawn, a street, a town, a county, a country, the world–
I’m gathering them and the other flowers
for the fiesta of our lives