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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,
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Archive for the ‘Lady’ Category

the Lady, the Dick, and the Liar

Wednesday, October 31st, 2018

This is a 3-fer – the Lady, the Dick, and the Liar.

~ ~ ~

Here is Lady K’s poem written last Saturday in the hour before our monthly poetry workshop called Rufus, run by poet Wendy Shaffer.

Rufus is 6-10 friends sitting in a circle around coffee and bagels sharing 1 new poem each for feedback, and has been going on longer than Lady & I (and we’re in our 14th year).

Rufus includes 3 of my favorite poets – Wendy Shaffer, Russell Vidrick, and Lady K. Smith.

Stone soup is, according to Wikipedia, “an old folk story in which hungry strangers convince the people of a town to each share a small amount of their food in order to make a meal that everyone enjoys, and exists as a moral regarding the value of sharing. In varying traditions, the stone has been replaced with other common inedible objects, and therefore the fable is also known as axe soup, button soup, nail soup, and wood soup.” Love the concept.

RUFUS
by Lady K, 10.27.2018

Let’s meet at the the crossroads, I’ll bring a
stone. someone some magic beans, and one a
string from their pocket, and someone a
clock

The cat will bring some cheese, the mouse
will bring some cream, the clock will bring
its hands, and we will make some time

We’ll tie our shoes with patience and button
up our ironed shirts, flashes of the pinks
from filed nails on worried-over hands, what
our barber has made of us this moon.

Harvest conjures measure. This is the time
for apples and carrots, for potatoes and
pumpkins and Mother Goose’s cobbled shoes.

This is the time for the reunion of friends these
words are candles in the closing tilting
cabbage of year each other like a yardstick
turning in measured postures we are, the grace
of our liquid profiles, the loping of shoulders,
and years are offspring of old who have gone
their whimsical way while we, we turn as houses
in each other, seasons housed in us, how I
looked last year, how I look this year, how I
look again, squinting through the sleeping dark
at the blurry clock through years and years.

The solace of friends, friends, this is our
solace, survivors of time’s laminating palimpsests
over memories until the poignancy of a turn
uncovered, the clear mirror of each other through
the madeleine of crisp seen huffs of breath in
huddled sky, we are characters of favorite books
meet in knit caps, we ladle out the stories and
make stone stew.

~ ~ ~

Just reread The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick (1962) and found it much better than I remembered from 40 years ago, though it doesn’t seem to have much similarity to the TV series. Now rereading Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? for the first time since they turned it into Bladerunner in 1982 – he died just before it came out, but I read he had seen it in a studio showing especially for him.

Bladerunner is better than Sheep.

The man might have the most titles turned into film/TV… though Shakespeare could be competitive with his 37 plays.

Philip K. Dick 1928-1982.

Second Variety, 1953, shortstory, Screamers, 1995 movie
Paycheck, 1953, shortstory, Paycheck, 2003 movie
Imposter, 1953, shortstory, Out Of This World, 1962 TV
Imposter, 1953, shortstory, Imposter, 2002 movie
The Hood Maker, 1953, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
The Commuter, 1953, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
The Hanging Stranger, 1953, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
Sales Pitch, 1954, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
Exhibit Piece, 1954, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
The Father Thing, 1954, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017
Adjustment Team, 1954, shortstory, The Adjustment Bureau, 2011 movie
The Golden Man, 1954, shortstory, Next, 2007 movie
The Crystal Crypt, 1954, shortstory, The Crystal Crypt, 2013 movie
The Impossible Planet, 1955, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
Human Is, 1955, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
Autofac, 1955, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
Foster, You’re Dead!, 1955, shortstory, Philip K Dick’s Electric Dreams, 2017 TV
The Minority Report, 1956, shortstory, Minority Report 2002 movie
The Minority Report, 1956, shortstory, Minority Report 2015 TV
The Man In The High Castle, 1962, novel, The Man In The High Castle 2015 TV
We Can Remember It For You Wholesale, 1966, shortstory, Total Recall, 1990 movie
We Can Remember It For You Wholesale, 1966, shortstory, Total Recall 2070, 1999 TV
We Can Remember It For You Wholesale, 1966, shortstory, Total Recall, 2012 movie
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, 1968, novel, Bladerunner, 1982 movie
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, 1968, novel, Bladerunner 2049, 2017 movie
Confessions of a Crap Artist, 1975, Confessions d’un Barjo, 1992 movie
Radio Free Albemuth, 1976, novel, Radio Free Albemuth, 2008 movie
A Scanner Darkly, 1977, novel, A Scanner Darkly, 2006 movie

plus some short films like Piper in the Woods 2016 7 minutes from 1953 short story

~ ~ ~

While I have not read of a single decent person ever saying a good thing Trump has done, I have seen that he has publicly been accused of 3 rapes (one of a 13 yr-old), of stealing from his vendors, cheating on his taxes, cheating on his wives, laundering money for both the Russian and the American mobs, of treason, racism, misogyny, xenophobia, homophobia, destroying evidence, voter fraud, stealing from charity, of being a genuinely shitty person, and of siring Trump thug junior 1, Trump thug junior 2, and Trump thug daughter who’s married to a Trump thug wanna-be… I dream of Trump and his Klueless Kluck Klan of a family in jail, without bail, all in one cell with no food – the deal being the last one left uneaten gets to be put in a cage and floated out to sea.

 

Friday Night

Friday, July 6th, 2018

A delirium of talk
from my head to my heart
tight burn hollows of shoulders
dog breath, a panicked cat
bird in the throat
bird in the ear
bird in the eyes
bird brain
Friday night

~ Lady

 

Lady K eye cancer news (basically good)

Wednesday, June 27th, 2018






Lady had her extremely rare (1 out of 2,000,000) eye cancer tumor radiated March 2017.

Then in March 2018 she had cataract surgery for that eye since the radiation worsened the cataracts.

For two month she had great vision, better than in years, but now her retina is swelling from radiation damage so they stuck a needle in her eye yesterday to give her a shot of steroids.

The tumor’s dying. Catscans say it has not spread, and is extremely unlikely to.

So now it’s a cat and mouse game of healing her eye from radiation damage.

Last foto is skylight at Cole Eye Institute up at Cleveland Clinic.

 

catch up catsup ketchup

Monday, June 4th, 2018

Last posted a new poem April 7th… I’ve 40 poems since then unblogged. Think I’ll post 6 a day to catch up.

Hard to blog lately. The blatant evil rampant in the Republican party and the 62.96 million who voted for Trump and the egregious racism and greed shown since are getting to me. Never expected a lot from people, but I expected more decency than this.

Here’s Lady’s latest poem from June 2.

~ ~ ~

“You’re Prickly Pear’s Paramour.”

Remember when we were in Morocco?
Remember when you carried me on the
roof by the parapet?

“Were i Spider-Man I would whishhh my hands
over to you and tear your blouse off,
that’s what I’d do, touch the tips
of nipples where the milk used to be”

You have a serpent’s tongue slithering out

“We’re all innocent –
the serpent’s innocent, the mongoose
is innocent
but one of them’s going to win
I’m not even positive it’s nice
to eat vegetables. They might have
tiny little tomato screams. Rhubarb
might be begging for its life
lawnmower out there sounds like
big angry fly
looking for some shit”

You are just so many facets…

“Yeah, there’s the hot water facet,
the cold water facet”

~ ~ ~

and my most recent 6, from 5.15-6.4.2018.

~ ~ ~

Splice of Life

The panicked deer
desperate
dashes three westbound lanes
of 60 mile-per-hour expressway
that no one’s obeying
and with quick wit luck
leaps triumphant the concrete divider
success surging through brain
when SPLATTT
eastbound truck paints partition red.

And yet
she dies in dance of joy
euphoric escape last taste of fate
which rebirth
reshapes as joy over hate.

Live on edge, die on edge,
happy way go round.

And then of course there’s slo-mo-go,
the easier way to roll.

But is it?

~ ~ ~

Philosophy 172

I been working in the quandary
wandering my weird wrong way

If you go when you’re happy
take happy with you

If you go when you’re sad
leave sad behind

Count sheep if you will,
just don’t look in the mirror

~ ~ ~

Zen Box

Kneeling on the floor
before the cat box
removing clayed clumps of piss
and dried shit
then smoothing the surface
I realize this is my Zen sand garden
the urine my sins against others
the shit my sins against myself
the baking soda confession and forgiveness
for past’s smell
so I start new day new
clean
free
knowing I’ll be on my knees again tomorrow
for same old shit

~ ~ ~

Fork U

Washed the dishes

past 24 hours we used
3 tablespoons
1 teaspoon
3 knives
8 forks

one tablespoon and knife every 8 hours
one fork for 3
one teaspoon per 24

could be clue
I mean, 1 goes into 24 24 times

would make a good poem
if I knew where to go

all moments are interesting
not all poetic

and are

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 41

I need to write a poem.
I feel better after writing a poem.

“Then write one.”

I don’t have any poem words.
I don’t have any poem pen.
I don’t have any poem paper.
I’ve got shit and toilet paper, that’s what I got.

There, there’s your poem.

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Sum

It’s hot with strain of ache and pain
this pushing rock up hill
in another day of try and loss
no hope of less
so grasp what’s good
like chirp of bird
and glint of sun
or inchworm on my arm
sometimes a cloud will move just right
or drop of sweat catch the light
as lack brings laugh
and loss a like
such sips quench my worse

 

Good Friday Lady Poem

Friday, March 30th, 2018

Discrete blades of crocus
gleam older lizard slivers against
Easter egg grass

Tree bird
coaxes sweet revolution
from the branches of marbled clouds
pearl in its warble telling of the oyster
at the garden gate
open maw honey tide
mellow rosin sun

Far away from lead and stained glass
Mulatu Astatke pops up on the radio
i faram i faram
permutations of rainbow cloth
carrying cross in coptic lands
warm feet on cold plateau
to the temple of the living rock

 

Lady Poems on some March days

Wednesday, March 28th, 2018

It’s Going to Be a Beautiful Day

Cat’s hours crouching for a mouse
in the kitchen under the dishwasher
maybe most of night I think as
making coffee to Sun Ra

Miles Davis plays in a silent way
Our hanging crystals in the window
hint at the day’s sparkling potentialities

Sunday a.m. moment between here
and there’s doorway where
light glows from ebb of ember

“Every Sunday’s Easter,” I think
and God responds with a magnificent
spread of light on our dirty window
calling and responding

Husband sees it too, says oo
Then sun goes away, “How dare
that sun go away,” he says, and then
“but actually it didn’t go away
the clouds merely blocked it,
right?”

And they lived happily ever after’s
embroidered on our pillow I tell him

“OK, fair enough,” he says.

A silence presses my ear, which is startled
at the quick and subtle answer from
an unexpected calculator taking note

The vastness of roar and silence
leaves one to a soup of thought,
worked over flagellation

“How are you?” husband asks, and I’m
keen now to leaving myself a comfortable mote
in the torrent

Our guppy quivers in the tank, the male guppy
her ever-present satellite, the banner
of his hippie tail happy to be near her

On our early morning soundtrack choirboys sing
sober remnant whispers of vespers

Traffic splashes in the early morning spring dark
the aftermath of rain’s laid diamonds
on our storm window

When the deal goes down
gonna sit here, before dawn
fishtank light on, our ever-present
Christmas lights silently festive
no computer on my lap,
listen to Chet Atkins chirping
to our slowly twirling
window crystals

The muffled tick of husband’s recliner
he shifts position and crunches
his early a.m. cashews

Black cat wanders cheerful
in the dark

 

Sun Ra

Saturday, March 24th, 2018

Sun Ra

1

My brother, a man of few words
goes across the street to pick up
a Mexican lunch and after he’s full
he gives me his bag of
leftover fresh tortilla chips
a kind of intimacy

2

Tetras – their movement’s squared off into binary digits
flicking 90 degrees like an object suddenly stimulated in a child’s mobile
half of them draw straight lines one tetra length long
various vectors and tangled orthogonalities

They cloud in their favorite spot, the hollow on the right side of the tank
between the lake rocks and the bookcase
The ones on the edge more quick, shooting long tangents,
unsure what they define
and when they thin they scatter
the cloud loses its mind

When a tetra’s alone, it’s adrift
without the ballast and balance
of its companions

The reflection
from the fishtank’s bubbler
goes up at the same rate
looping like contained
stars on a strip
of quicksilver

3

Lyle Lovette says
stars shine on water
sun burns on sand

4

Jupiter is rising
in the ring of Saturn
to celebrate the equivalence
of the days forthcoming

Polly want a polysaccharide?

5

Staircase at night
Low piano note
Comfortable noir

6

I’m going to get a beer
husband goes off to urinate
we’re a pair

The romance of
cyborg man and
atomic eye woman–
the title of our
next book

“When the rising sun
hits the army tents it’s a tent, son,”
he says, then, “s’n will be gone
before eight”

I say, “Astute observations for hire”
He says, “Call me Am….. Astute Man”

then “I was born on the border of
Tolerance and Intolerance,
Texas.”

7

Were my face an owl
thought not thought but
regard for thock of my
feeling, a mirror bent
down from a tree
undersea
being

8

I’d be a
calm caravan
plodding crucible of mothered feet,
shadow liquid in its shifting
under witnessing stars

Retiform filter
gold sifting loaded loam
easy, like a cold ripening apple
thinking about the sun
in the night

~ Lady

 

Tetras

Saturday, March 10th, 2018

Tetras –

Their movement’s squared off into binary digits
flicking 90 degrees like an object suddenly stimulated in a child’s mobile
half of them draw straight lines one tetra length long
various vectors and tangled orthogonalities

They cloud in their favorite spot, the hollow on the right side of the tank
between the lake rocks and the bookcase
The ones on the edge more quick, shooting long tangents,
unsure what they define
and when they thin they scatter
the cloud loses its mind

When a tetra’s alone, it’s adrift
without the ballast and balance
of its companions

~ Lady

 

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

 

 
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