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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 ‘Music’ Category

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

 

buncha stuff – music, dreams, poetry, art, the 3 Fates

Wednesday, December 14th, 2016

leitmotif

Kathy Kieth, the editor/publisher of Medusa’s Kitchen, published my Stations of the Lost (for Lenny Bruce) poem online Sunday. This is pretty amazing since it has something in it to offend almost everyone. I wrote it as a stand-up comic routine for Lenny Bruce, and I thing he would have liked it.

As Mae West said, “Those who are easily shocked should be shocked more often.”

This is my 15th appearance in Medusa’s Kitchen since October of last year when poet D.R. Wagner included my found Ferlinghetti poem at the end of his weekly feature. I am honored to have become a monthly member of their crew. My next feature will be Dec 23 with my anti-Christmas poem/song Ex Christmas.

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2016/12/our-lonely-orbitsong.html

Right Sock Wrong?

We are born in cave of shadow
washed in birthing pan
walk with shadow in search of sun
till washed again at end

How well are our ways wound?

If I put left sock on left foot first
instead of right sock on right foot
does it make a difference?

Or yesterday’s right on today’s left?

Does the moving shadow
of my belt buckle on the floor
portent play of day?

Do things change if I put my pants
on left or right leg first?

What about both legs at once?

I know kindness to others,
listening, caring, compassion, patience
sways day’s way.

But what of stretch or no stretch?
yawn or no yawn?
left or right side of bed arise?

Is there a right right
and a wrong right?

Of the mother thread of life
Clotho spins and sings of is
Lachesis measures in song of was
and Atropos cuts, sings will be

Do they care what sock I wear?
or right left of wrong?

– Smith, 12.14.2016

Lady and I woke at 3:20 this morning and lay there talking.

Told her in my dream I was a young 40’s Harrison Ford and was lying on top of a bed with my ex-girlfriend Melania (our next First Lady) who was her current age age. We were both fully clothed and it was not romantic. I was worried I wasn’t going to get the movie role I was trying out for, and she was helping me prepare. I asked her why she kept breaking up with me and she said because I was so insecure.

Then Lady told me her dream.

She was back in elementary school, drinking beer (Guinness Stout), but was an adult. In fact all her classmates were adults too. She was taking stuff from her purse and putting it in the supply cupboard – 20 packs of Post-It notes, cookies, some other stuff, and slices of roast beef.

“That must have been some purse.”
“It was.”

crossload

 

more fee will if you please

Saturday, November 26th, 2016

spiderline

This is my 12th month featuring in Medusa’s Kitchen… 9 poems, 9 fotos, 1 song.

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2016/11/bring-back-snake.html

As usual, editor/publisher Kathy Kieth’s layout is superb. I’m grateful for her generosity.

Now to continue month by month into the unforeseeable future.

~

Philosophy 113

Free will ain’t free
more fee will if you please
when you don’t bow down on knees

~

Philosophy 114

Philosophy is song sung of soul and self
to restock the shelf

A few hints to focus flow
help shoulder the burden of go

Every moment has 360 degrees of exit
but when is best to flex it?

Can’t stay past, future ain’t here
then don’t last, when not near

Don’t run the wheel
repeal the deal

Past talk shapes tomorrow’s lips

~

Philosophy 115

As the child is father to the man
we are mother to our darkness
give birth to our own sin

~

Philosophy 116

Gettin’ weary but ain’t givin’ up
this burden on back busting my nut
keep sloggin’ thru muck
hopin’ for luck
but fuck
can’t quit cuz no consolation prize
unless reward is giving up lies
otherwise work till you die
in this worship of why

– Smith, 11.26.2016

sol

 

song & text man

Wednesday, October 26th, 2016

autumnsmith

Billy Clarksville remixed our 2nd recording from August last year so I don’t sound quite so rough… though still rough and unready.

Some folk have a three-octave vocal range – mine’s more like three-notes . . . here, almost here, and somewhere over there.

Slow Look Around (remix), 2015, 3:24, Billy Clarksville music, mix, recording, me word&voice >

~ ~

Autumn Would

Wind in trees
rain on leaves
sky losing light
season leaking heat
cold sneaking in
crowding sin
and the thin within us all
vegetation dying to fuel rebirth
the air cold, crisp, clean, electric
full of hope
what with the dry leaf crinkle
and whiffs of wood smoke

– Smith, 10.25.2016

compostladycompost Lady

 

1 new song, 2 new art pieces

Monday, September 19th, 2016

eberhardtsmith

Recorded new song with Billy Clarksville – my move into lounge lizard singing (think my vocal must have at least a 2 or 3 note range on this one). . . Billy Clarksville music, Smith word&voice

Samba Song

I do my samba dance in song / fumble feet in sweet retreat
Tangle-tongued I try to slog / slow and awkward beneath her feet
Look up her dress at fresh abound / hear Ray Charles’ Mess Around
Inside my head where I always run / look for ways to sway fun bun

She keeps it hidden in the dark / yet still I feel her sensual quark
It waits for touch of magic rub / but who and when, aye there’s the nub
She twirls on air above the beat / in between melody’s line
Shakes her hips in rising heat / tapping toes in tempting time

She belongs to spheres above / for she’s my long time love
She fits my me like we’re a prime / completes my ending rhyme
Inside her dress flesh abounds / pulsing sweet in cotton surround
she swirls the air above the beat / shakes her hips to raise the heat

Dance the samba dance tonight . . . Dance in samba’s sweet delight
Dance my samba all the day . . . Dancing samba watch me sway

– Smith, 9.15.2016

Two new pieces, collaborations with poet/artist Kevin Eberhardt . . . both pieces 23″ x 19″.

Red one = The Future Is Closer Than It Appears, blue one = Kind Of Blue.

steampunkplantkindofblue00kindofblue01futureappearskindofblue04futureappears3kindofblue03futureappears6kindofblue05

 

the vicissitudes of house husband Smith, with recipe

Thursday, July 28th, 2016

wtiwalkingthinice.com

Lady & I have uploaded 4,123 blog posts in the past 10 years on WalkingThinIce.com.

When Lady started this blog, I asked why. Now I’m hooked.

Except for our first 6 months together, the blog documents our soon-to-be 11 years together, our 31 months of living in 10 countries on 3 continents, our art, poetry, friends, family . . . probably 10-15,000 fotos posted. What a treasure trove to mine for our second memoir.

Thank you Lady.

Did a full day’s house husband work . . . one load of laundry, washed the dishes, made a batch of navy bean soup, and arranged picking up our new batch of bees this weekend. Had to sacrifice a needed nap and bath cuzza time.

I’ve always done the laundry and dishes. It’s only fair because Lady cooked; but she’s been frantically working 70 hours a week for less than $5 an hour trying to save her family’s web design business since she took over as President 8 months ago, so I’ve taken on at least half of the cooking and some of the bee business and cleaning and shopping.

I’m in a remarkably good mood considering I’m three weeks unstoned because we can’t afford to buy me grass or much of anything else – of course outside of getting stoned, I don’t have many needs.

To reduce my un-stoned stress, I’ve considerably cut down reading the news because it riles me, especially with the political charade going on, and I’ve also cut way down on coffee for the same reason.

Finally accept that my art and poetry are not going to make me money or bring me renown, even though I’ve been chasing fame and fortune for 50 years, but that’s okay cuz I do it for me – it’s the main way I’ve kept myself sane since 1964. Fuck fame, though a wee bit of help with the finances would be nice.

Been at it a long time – my 1st poem was 1964, 1st art piece 1965, 1st fotograf 1956, 1st drawing 1958, 1st blog 2006, 1st web site 2002, 1st recorded song with me singing my lyrics 2002, 1st published story 1969, 1st published newspaper article 1973, 1st published book of poetry 2008, 1st non-fiction book (my memoir co-authored with Lady) 2012.

I’m with the one I love and the one I loves wants to be with me, and we’ve a fine feline to make us three. So there you go. The poems come almost every day, and I’m working on a second art piece for Shawn Mishak’s Doubting Thomas Gallery group show next month on gentrification.

Now all I need is some grass and a huge reduction in my wife’s stress levels and life would be divine.

PS – interesting soup this time: 1 gigantic and 2 medium onions, 3 large cloves garlic chopped and sauted in 1/3 cup olive oil, add 4 large carrots, 6 celery stocks, 4 green onions, 12 sprigs parsley, 6 sprigs thyme chopped and saute some more, add 3 small cans navy beans, large can diced tomatoes, 4 chopped green onions, 2 zucchini squash chopped fine, good splash of sherry, couple pinches bonfire smoked salt, generous shakes black pepper, 2 bay leaves and slow cook for an hour; take the bay leaves out and throw them away (although I washed them off and put them in my new art piece), put about half the soup in a blender and puree, pour back in, add a package of frozen corn, simmer another 40 minutes and serve. Delicious.

navybean1

navybean2

navybean3

navybean4

 

Lady Poem 6-20-2016

Monday, June 20th, 2016

Odd lots of tertiary things
happenings dress the vast black
of my interior thought
the ornamented particulars
of my life

Hanging over the elaborate taffrail
purposed rosaries are plucked
from musical notes
bounding a watery surface

Decorations of devotion
scapulars draped from necks shush
and listen to soaring responsories

~ Lady

 

slink and slide to the surreal side

Friday, June 17th, 2016

williwontismith

Werewolf Rock

My song in singing
is growl howl groan moan

I’m old school
old werewolf school, that is

But I got the text
and the texture

Both rhythm in roll
and earworm recall

As I slink and slide
to the surreal side

(107 songs:

)

– Smith, 6.17.2016

worthofsoul

 

Lady Poem 6/4/2016

Saturday, June 4th, 2016

Tracery

Beyond the failed utopia
the witch of the high wind
lifted up her hem

Loosed genies spilled fractals
sitars traced the cosmic mandala
and adults admitted memories
of dragon realms

Horns sauntered horses
from choruses of island muses
to the polyrhythmic noodles
and multiple loaming shadows
of ethiopian jazz

~ Lady

 

 
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