Blog Home Agent of Chaos City Poetry Zine Buy Stuff!
 
...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

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

 

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





 

 
Copyright (c) 2009 Smith & Lady
Designed by Lady K