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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 )
 
   
 
 

Archive for the ‘Lady’ Category

conversaling

Tuesday, 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

 

the lady & the doors van morrison

Sunday, October 22nd, 2017

When I walk, my right arm thumps against my side, large, hard, like a massive weight lifter’s appendage, but this hard and heavy isn’t from exercise but rather swollen flesh protesting the knives and saws and pryings screwings bruisings of my second shoulder replacement.

Major change in pain pill philosophy. My two days in the hospital they gave me three 5 mg oxycodone pills every 4 hours, sometimes tossing in an injection of dilaudid as well. So one day in hospital was 24 pills. They released me with a prescription for one pill every six hours, or 4 pills per day. Fortunately this time it’s all low level pain, so I can manage. Bit hypocritical of them though.

~

Conversation with Wife 38

“Is penultimate the power of the pen?”
she ponders.

“Our salad was good,
the goat cheese, red onions and apples had synergy.”
Original synergy?

What’s choux?
“I think it’s an eggy dough.”
Didn’t Eggy Dough record with Iggy Pop?

“OK, you know what…” she starts.
I used to know What,
I dated his daughter, young Why.
She was a handful.

“What are we going to do about these hurricanes?”
Change the name to himicanes, let em go impotant.

“You know who drove the Doors? – Van Morrison.”

Where’d the fun go?
“Down the funnel.”

 – Smith, 10.22.2017

 

shoulder arm

Monday, October 16th, 2017


my 7 day old right shoulder replacement w/ 24 staples

A recent poem by Lady K.

~

Dry yellow pages and cool glossy lithographs
sheep, pastoral scenes, assembled figures in stately robes
blood like wine from years like vines
a finger of oil poured on the head and similar pastimes
of ancient lamps, mirrors and perfections
or the confused castings of blank arrows
side glances of Rubenesque faces
noble lips that pick at berries

Almonds from rods
nocturnes, starlight, sand and the purity of a concept of water
just trickles slacken thirst

God takes respite low in a cave, cool dirt clean feet
listens to Mother Earth sing fecundity’s forgiveness
speak low thunder
wild pagan violin

– Lady, 10.14.2017




 

chopped & channeled

Monday, October 9th, 2017

Life with Wife 6

My wife’s out with two lesbian friends
while I’m at home.
Am I worried?
No.
For though I am a lousy lover,
I still make her laugh.

– Smith, 10.8.2017

~ ~ ~

Chopped & Channeled

I.

Back into the body shop
tomorrow
this time to slice open right shoulder,
cut a few muscles,
pry aside others,
screw a ball joint to my cup joint,
cut ball joint off arm bone
and jam a cup joint in its hollow
so shoulder’s upside down,
release some muscles,
sew others,
close up surface,
keep me overnight,
send me home
with new cobalt and chrome shoulder
to go with
my other cobalt chrome shouder,
cobalt rods in neck,
and titanium ceramic hip.

Maybe get a job testing metal detectors
flor Homeland Thuggery
since I’ve already set some off
with just the hip
so I’d be neck and shoulders above the rest.

II.

Ir’s said
if you hurt, you’re alive.

I must be right lively then
considering my years and tears.

Though too much joy along the way
for sad to add to much.

– Smith, 10.9.2017

 

ennui

Friday, September 29th, 2017

Been in a bit of a funk due to health, finances, a general existential ennui – haven’t even posted my new poems.

The health is Lady’s battle with eye cancer (successful it seems) and my right shoulder replacement in 11 days. Already have a metal hip, a metal left shoulder, two metal rods in my neck, and a 2-year unhealed broken kneecap, and set off metal detectors.

The finances are like Sisyphus – eternal. Born poor, live poor, looks as if I’ll die poor.

In spite of all this I am a rich and lucky man – have Lady’s love, a fine cat, cool friends, decent in-laws, and a past fully lived. Plus I had a fine poetry reading at Mac’s Backs last week.

Here’re my two most recent poems, plus a few news updates.

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 37

“Sweat’s so weird,
I woke last night in a cold sweat.”

That’s a James brown song.

“Think it’s menopause.”

How long’s that last?

“10 years.”

10 years?!?!
You mean you bleed for 30 years
then spend another 10 getting over it?

“Yes, aren’t women wonderful?
All to make more of us.”

Why can’t we just order babies from catalogues?

“Are catalogues how we get cats?
Dogs from dogalogues?”

Captains from the Captain’s log.

“Humans from humanalogs.””

I used to belog to a club,
but they wooden let me stay.

– Smith, 9.28.2017

~ ~ ~

Lady K’s cat scan came back negative for cancer, which implies her eye cancer has not spread. They’ll check again in 6 months. Doc says her eye tumor is shrinking, and she has only a 2% chance of it spreading.

~ ~ ~

Status Report 259

I hunger within
for the things without,
yet the things without
cannot feed me
for they lack substance.

– Smith, 9.29.2017

~ ~ ~

Electricity was out 14 hours. Our neighbor saw the pole go down. Said a man cut across the traffic circle half a block away, blew his tire on the curb, gunned the gas, raced through the red light, lost control, hit the electric pole half a block the other way and knocked it over. Our neighbor is a male nurse. His first thought was stroke, so he ran over to see if he could help, saw no signs of stroke, smelled no alcohol, so his best guess based on the way the guy was acting is heroin. 12 hours later as we watch the repair, we hear an explosive KEERACK right across the street and see a massive tree branch as large as a medium tree fall, missing a man’s house by a few inches. He comes out, sees there’s no house damage, and says “Looks like I have some firewood.”

 

cat vac

Thursday, September 21st, 2017

We drove 3 hours south for two nights in a cottage in the woods and took our 4 year old velvet black cat Misha,,, it was her first long car ride and stay-away. She loved it.

Here is Lady’s description of our jaunt.

Lake Hope

We opened the door to unwrap the cabin with its better-than-the-pictures golden floors abutting wood trim abutting wood paneling rising to meet exposed rafters and beams. We unpacked the windows from their unexpectedly high quality horizontal blinds.
I opened all the doors to see what I could see, plurality of closets an invitation to a longer stay.

I quick took a lone journey in the car through curlicue roads to find logs on private property from a fit man named Bubba who had chickens and aspired to own goats and bees. “Bees and chickens get along,” I told him. I handed him a twenty and said, “Thank you, I appreciate it,” without even thinking about the words “I appreciate it” until after, a newly picked up mannerism of mine. Logs and spiders rolled in the folded down back of our trunk.

From the car I carried and spread our brown box of kitchen stuff on the table like some writing from the 70s. The kitchen was with what was deemed necessary plus a couple extras. For instance, a colander (necessary), a full set of four plates, bowls, cups, silverware. The luxury of a corkscrew for wine.

Thankful for a full kitchen, I made salad the first night. I made salad the second night, too. “Our salad was good,” I said. “I think the goat cheese, red onions and apples had synergy.”

“Original synergy?” He asked.

Our bedroom smelled deliciously of bleached blankets. The bed tall and soft. Dirt from the day on the smooth hardwood floor tasted by my toes. A large framed print of Malabar Farm.

Like what made memories for me when I was a sweaty mosquito-bitten kid, I wondered if we would have hard water, softened water or water that tastes like nothing – like a broom in which closet.

I waited for bed on the vinyl sofa in front of the fire, the flames like little sprites pounding Bubba’s logs with their hands. We could talk on the couch. I lay down with my legs over his, and his on the hassock. We could play cards and talk in the future, I decided.

A dog barked come twilight’s poignant stirring with other campers and their far off breathy exclamations. Blue turned the corner to deep blue against the filigree of the canopy, the blue only skies make. The cat traveled black through flickering projections of firelight. I waited until night was black on black, indiscernible.

A curtain fell into magic night. Unwillingly leaving wakefulness, I felt the lamp around the corner of satin steel finishes and clouded glass with pull chains for easy finding, modern, clean but timeless.

The blankets smelled deliciously of crisp bleach. The bed tall and soft. The bed against the window, inches away, which I left open for the crickets and the birds. I needed another blanket but I held the smooth skin of his back.

Oaks rained acorns in knocking ones or flurries that poured from the roof onto the cool dirt of the outside floor, its grass, twigs, ash and more acorns, some with caps on, some lost.

In the bathroom come showertime, things well done. Sturdy medicine mirror inset into the wall which when opened all inside satin metal shelving deep enough to hold rolls of toilet paper. Complimentary soap and fresh towels laid out for scrubbing. The only thing worn in the cabin the shower with assorted stains in which my heart celebrated that other people share the joy of this cabin. It furnished hot water, strong and plenty and savored.

Coffee quickened a speculation of ground that could be covered today, the lake seen, or horses ridden, a path walked short or long. I read and re-read the glossy state park pamphlet. But there were chairs and sofa in the main room for interior moments. Chairs in the kitchen and a small wooden table for drinking coffee silently. Chairs and adirondack chairs on the deck for mid-day hours. Chairs outside around back circling the fire pit if the day were to migrate to there.

A mild depression mid-day that we could not stay so long. I played hide and seek sitting behind the slats of the closet. Even I could not hear my breathing.

“Where’s my wifey?” He walked across the groan of floor, not knowing I was playing. I gave myself up when I heard him make to put shoes on.

The cat coiled on the bleach sheets by the cool bedroom screen. Later uncurled awake there, she watched past the window to crows playing in the pixelated green impressionist painting.

I’d light nag champa incense by the fire to thank the household god, the cabin god, the camp god. The god of time we make, a comfortable hollow suspended a few days from the river of aspiration.

Lady K, 9.19.2017





 

conversation with wife #36

Saturday, September 2nd, 2017

Conversation with Wife 36

Wilcox and I are talking
of the rotted undergrowth that’s Washington
when Lady lays back
says softly, sadly
“I try not to look at the floor of the sausage factory.”

– Smith, 9.2.2017


1926 American Radiator ad

 

Cleveland Cleavage

Friday, August 11th, 2017

Cleveland Cleavage

Fleshly crease nigh nipple to neck
filled with sweet and sweat and scent

Jiggle jam compressed along
eye line song I long to roam

Cleavage is an isn’t impression
one nothing created by two tensions

A front-fleshed crack
to remind of ass smack

My wife is my breast friend
front and back and either end

– Smith, 8.11.2017

 

conversation with wife #35

Tuesday, August 8th, 2017


my gal is red hot

Conversation with Wife 35

I’m going to bill the webbots to read me.
“What, charge them some electrons?”
Yeah, I’ll say gimme some valence!

“We need sugar, bread, milk.”
Wonder what the offspring of sugar bred milk
would look like?

“I’m addicted to caffeine.”
I’m addicted to cowffeine.
“It makes you MOOOOOve.”

“Paramour is such a strange word.”
I like the single mour rather than a pair a mours
a single lell rather than a pair a lells
a single mount rather than a pair a mounts
a single dice rather than a pair a dice.

How was your 3 mile run?
“I’m weak.”
I’m weekend.
“We’ll have to strengthen you.”

“Where’s my lipstick?”
In my pants?

“I really like Aldi’s.”
I only like some d’s….
small d’s are okay,
but I don’t trust the capital D’s.

Do you think canvas was invented in Kansas?
“No.”
Sure would take a lot to canvas a neighborhood.

“I love pirates.”
If a loan had 3.14% interest, it’d be a pirate.

“Wonder what the origin of the word meat is?”
Some cavemen, after he’d eaten his beastie
said, “Me ate.”

“Sounds like pneumonia.”
More like oldmonia, me being 71 and all.

“We’re quite a pair.”
I’m more apple.
“I’m glad you have a sense of humor.”
I have fifty cents of humor.

Thank you. We’ll be here all week.

– Smith, 8.8.2017


I ear you

 

something fed in the night

Monday, May 1st, 2017

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2017/04/lady-k.html aka Medusa’s Kitchen put up 9 of my poems, 9 fotos, and 1 song of and for Lady K.

Kathy Kieth, publisher/editor, ended my feature last Friday with:

About today’s post, Steven says: “While I was recovering from neck surgery, my wife Kathy discovered she had a rare type of eye cancer. She started off with a 30-50% chance of survival if it had spread from the eye.

“They put her in the hospital, partially removed her eye, sewed a radioactive plaque to it, radiated her for three days, then took a biopsy sample. Doctor says there’s a 95-97% chance the tumor will shrink from the radiation, and the biopsy says there’s only a 2% chance of it spreading. Plus the CAT scan says it probably has NOT spread yet. So the prognosis is as good as it could possibly be under these circumstances.

“So, these are for Lady K: poems from 2005-2017 for and fotos of Lady K aka Kathy Smith— friend, companion, collaborator, wife.”

Thanks, Steven! And please give our best to Lady K.

—Medusa

Check out Medusa’s Kitchen — New post every day showcasing a plethora of poets and imagists for your perusal.

~

Re: Cycle

Yesterday on the ground
atop a large flat rock
the small featherless corpse of a baby bird.

Today it’s gone.

Something fed in the night.

– Smith, 5.1.2017

 

 
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