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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 ‘Photography’ Category

new book – Where Never Was Already Is – 244 poems, 29 pieces of art

Wednesday, May 23rd, 2018

I have a new book of poetry out – Where Never Was Already Is – on Crisis Chronicles Press, publisher/editor John Burroughs.

324 pages – $15 – 6″ x 9″ – 244 poems, 29 collages – 5.5 cents per item.

The poems cover 54 years – 1960s: 2, 1970s: 6, 1980s: 9, 1990s: – 10, 2000s: 29, 2010s: 188.

One collage is by Lady K. Smith, and 5 of the poems are co-written by her.

Order at: https://ccpress.blogspot.com/2018/04/098Smith.html

titles of the 27 reading rooms
each room has its own collage
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1: Men as Birds and Women as Water
2: Broken Crumbs in the Snow
3: The Melancholy of the Cycle Calling
4: Weren’t for Monk, I’d Catch Coltrane
5: Yesterday’s Gone, Tomorrow Ain’t Here
6: The Homework Ate My Dog
7: Red Wheelbarrow, Dusky Attic, Dancing in the Dark
8: No Wrapped Supply of Fly
9: We Who Rise in Heat from Dream
10: With Drum and Tune of Bone Prevail
11: That Little Snake
12: Eating Dirt While Dreaming Sky
13: Light… Dark… Light… Dark…
14: Unbowed Before the Bacon
15: Shadow in Search of Sun
16: Womb Warm Wonder
17: for Lady K., wife, collaborator, partner, friend
18: Sometimes Sleep Slides Us
19: No Heart to Pierce with Truth
20: East of the Sun, West of the Moon
21: Ghost Dance of None Against my Skin
22: The Lying Moon Whispers Untruths
23: Light Like Liquid Zen
24: Do Again the Done Before
25: Surplus Meat in Land of Sharpened Teeth
26: Just Cuz It Is Don’t Mean It is
27: Meet Me in the Meat Lane

 

sloth smith

Friday, May 4th, 2018

SlothSmith here – my daily blog seems to be down to once a month. So slowly I turn…

Various statuses or statii from my Facebook page past 4 days.

~

I worked 45 years, paid Medicare and taxes… my last year as a programmer analyst consultant I made $75,000. I had a good life, money in the bank. Then throat cancer ate up all my money, so I sold my condo and we lived on that for 10 years. Now I’m poor enough that my hospital absorbs all costs that Medicare doesn’t pay. Welcome to the roller coaster called capitalism.

~

What is this Big Band that created the universe? Are we really the by-product of swing?

~

what trump’s own people think of him:

White House chief of staff John Kelley – “an idiot”

former Secretary of State Rex Tillerson – “a fucking moron”

National security adviser H.R. McMaster, – an “idiot,” a “dope” and a man with the brain of a “kindergartner.”

former chief of staff Reince Priebus an “idiot.”

Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin – an “idiot.”

Then-chief economic adviser Gary Cohn – “dumb as shit” and “an idiot surrounded by clowns.”

billionaire media baron Rupert Murdoch – “a fucking idiot”

Me? I call him a child rapist (he was sued for raping a 13 year old girl), a thief, a liar, a traitor, bottom feeder, and sexual predator.

~

They use “the birds & the bees” as metaphor for the ‘sex’ talk, but the bee queen has sex once, then spends the rest of her life laying 1,500 fertilized eggs a day until she dies, or until she doesn’t produce enough and is killed by her loyal workers who grow a new queen. Perhaps this would be a good model to use with British Royalty.

~

Our 4th year beekeeping – lost 4 hives hives plus 2 queens so far. Our 5th hive’s queen didn’t make it out of the queen cage so I drove an hour southwest yesterday to buy a $40 queen, hour back, then hour east to hive to put queen in, then back.. Our 1st year we harvested 120 pounds of most excellent honey… years 2 and 3 one small jar each. This is our make or break year – love bees, love beekeeping, but can’t keep putting hundreds of dollars into it for bees that never survive the winter

~

I worship the Great Vine.

 

8 April poems

Saturday, April 7th, 2018

Writing a poem-a-month through Leah Muellar’s Poetry Feast. She’s giving daily seeds.

~ ~ ~

Mistakes

It’s always Miss Takes
never Mister Takes
or missed aches
though mist aches as well
as does misgivings from missed takes
for vampires never miss stakes
while vegans may miss steak
in wake ache
of gold ring miss/take

– 4.1.2018

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Play

I play this game
where I get up before dawn
sit in dark brooding
sipping coffee
taking a toke if I’m lucky
pop pain pill
trudge to mountain
see which rock I’ve been assigned
which worthless route up which hell hill
and begin the begin again
roll rock up
watch it slip back down
roll rock
lose rock
aim’t no rock ‘n’ roll
just me up here and loss below
day after day
again and again
pain in brain
pain in body
pain in pay
today… and today… and today
forever and ever
anen

– 4.2.2018

~ ~ ~

Resurrection Ritual

Low hope
body closer to dark than dawn
lids locked
eyes blurred
bone bruised in battle
spirit sagged
flesh failed
I crawl broken before dawn
from bed to sink to stove to coffee
in resurrection ritual
worthy of Doctor Frankenstein
or the unlovely Lazarus
for rise in radiance
as holy caffeine
rolls stone to new daze
and second cup

– 4.3.2018

~ ~ ~

Zenless

Thin id
Reduce grandiosity
Less more

Everything is nothing at all

– 4.4.2018

~ ~ ~

D.C. Diet

Government assembly diets
of gimme politicians
the lowest of the low
corporate slime
(but I repeat myself)
scum buckets come
with hands out-splayed
morals delayed
truths un-sayed
from both sides their forked tongues
greed belly jiggling
small dick dripping
birthing their bromides
of racial crimes
and culturcide
as they pad their less
with our more
hating happy
killing healthy
stealing unsteathily
our daily food
our nodes of hope
shouting nope to every maybe
with force of might
from mostly white
mostly men
mostly fat and ugly
paying for sex with our dime
they whine
of changing times
sit in theft
bereft
shitmen with greasy lips
expanding hips
rich
old
white
men
whose best use is fertilizer
so
if you see a rich man drowning
toss him a big bag of pennies
a die it for the diet
and their unbalanced books of red

– 4.4.2018

~ ~ ~

Brain Drain

Trump’s brain is not on vacation
is neither particle nor wave
might be a vacuum
or immoral virus
is as small as his hands
dumb as dim
it’s said no one’s home within
I’d say his heart’s hard
if he had one
instead of Big Bankrupt signs
in chest and head
and yet I don’t want him dead
wish him long life
so he can drown in history’s sum
of his immoral dumb
and dumber sons
crooked daughter
hostage wife
what a life
tacky gold stained walls
rich white trash
making an ash of himself
and us
what’s the fuss
just one more rich fat fuck
pushing his luck
stuffing his pockets with our buck
I wish him slow syphilis
and endless humiliation
this man accused of raping his wife
raping a date
raping a 13 year old girl
do I hate
perhaps I do
but I’m more aghast at his crooked past
and present
may he suffer through and through
and if he’s down
I’d kick him good
again and again for the hood he is
the good he isn’t.

– 4.5.2018

~ ~ ~

I Gots U Babe

Wife usually cooks
and workwebs a lot for little,
much more stress than bucks.

I quit work 12 years ago,
she’s 27 years behind me,
has 15 to go.

I do dishes, laundry, catbox,
errands, make some soup, this n that
to ease her squeeze.

Both poets, artists, fotagrafers,
we share words, ideas, objects,
each the peach.

Laugh with and at,
croon over cat,
always at bat.

Our differing looks
soften brittle,
lift luck.

These 12.5 years so far
are 27% of her life, 17% of mine,
100% ours.

Share time, place, grace, rhyme;
don’t know why
but it seems to work.

– 4.6.2018

~ ~ ~

Silver Lined

On street unlit in town unknown
nowhere here to somewhere gone
looking for the light
after hours over
time moved on
somewhere
nowhere
down the line
awaiting the unarrived
grateful for disaster’s delay.

I see sad women
husbands fallen from hope
exit failing houses
to meet at the well
where forgetting pain
they laugh in gossip giggle
wetting buckets
warming heart
knowing they are not alone.

Darkness sparkles stars
harsh with heart
pearls of diamond night.

– 4.7.2018

 

buncha poems from past 3 weeks

Wednesday, March 14th, 2018

Haven’t been posting lately. Lost interest.

Here are the rest of February’s poem-a-day… did 50 poems in 28 days., plus my 4 March poems so far.

Turned 72 last week. Feel as if I don’t have to pretend as much since I can say, “I’m 72, that stuff doesn’t matter to me anyore.”

~

Sects Plex

You got your in sects
you got your out sects
you got your God sects
and your sect sex
consecrated cunts
and privileged pricks
sectioning life
to select vex
and unelect ex
it ain’t complex
so relax
put back on your slacks
and watch your backs
for penis imperfection
and vaginal compression
in the factual crime
of physical penetration

Wife sez I’m disgusting
but I’m not sure
what she’s discussing

Don’t trust the flesh
it leads to mess
and children yes

Worship the form
if you want to keep warm
but use condom
if you get wanton
or it leads to swarm

– 2.21.2018

~ ~ ~

Mushrooms to Rent

I’m not insane so much as outsane,
but inside my head it’s banana bonkers.

Hi whore hi whore it’s off to work we gore.

Want to repair the earth?
Buy an Eartha Kitt.

One needs very small hands to milk a cowbird.

Do you know what a worm’s life is like?
Boring, pure dirt boring.

All fathers are motherfuckers
except for the remote inseminators.

Does polyester want a cracker?

Gonna write a new song for Xmas —
I’m Dreaming of White Christians.

Einstein sez time & space are in-laws.

When they drop their bottle of Viagra,
Viagra falls.

Add mature to old, you get mold.

What do you call the first cell firing?
Original synapse, of course.

May those without sin smoke the first stone.

Why do people get harder of hearing
the louder I drink?

– 2.21.2018

~

Black Cat Scat

Black cat ignored my lap
for couch rub next to Lady

When I got up
black cat took my ass warmed place

When I sat down and put her in my lap
she left me for a fly

When fly got away
she went back to Lady couch

Where’s my I in this food chain?

– 2.21.2018

~

Dystopia

I’m zero, not one
off, not on
I live in dis topia
I live in dat topia
hoping for a topiary
or a top hat
to top this
top that
while you go round the block
reverse your path
forget the underground
cuz you’re above that
stick right foot in
speak with forked tongue
and whatever you do
dumb down the young
because they’re seeing truth
you don’t want known
your money tricks
hating skin not your own
and barefoot women
are starting to wear shoes
staying out of the bedroom
with empty wombs
so I gotta find a way
to live happy in sad
gotta go good
as the rich run bad
mean little pricks
with hands roaming wrong
hiding accounting tricks
far too long
time for the tar
and feathers too
pitchforks and torches
under full moon
ride em on rails
to the edge of town
tie em to ant hills
and never look back
better the gene pool
by removing the scum
for the core of conservative
is con damn dumb

– 2,22,2018

~

NRA

Bullet in chamber
finger on trigger
child in ground

– Smith, 2.23.2018

~

Me & Elvis

1975
when Elvis was alive
he saw a black woman
in Memphis staring longingly
through the display window
at a new Cadillac.

He went in, bought it,
and handed her the keys.

In 1968
on an out-of-town torture trip
trying to sell bulk paper to printers
I stopped in the heat
at an outdoor pop machine
and bought a bottle of cold Coke.

As I turned to leave
a boy on a bike
stared lhungrily at the bottle
so I gave it to him
because I’d always wanted
someone to do that for me.

He grinned big
thanked me and left.

I turned back to buy a second bottle
and found I had no more money
and laughed in delight
at Reality’s joke.

But I felt good for doing good
even though as always
I had made no sales.

What a politician is to honesty
was me to salesman.

Two years later
I was jailed a year for armed robbery.

Two years after Elvis bought the Cadillac
for Minnie Pearson
he died from drugs.

Elvis started 9 years before me
now he’s 30 behind.

– 2.24.2018

~

Shadow Shallow

I fight rhyme
in climb for stars
so far as I am able
in this unstable mime
of time and space
in place of other
under nights gone
to long day’s decay
in way and why

why lie?

I rise from sleep refreshed
and unmesh shadow
of shallow new to study old
in mold of morrow
sorrow the price we pay
to stray upon its
summit

sticky wicket

I bubble broil as troubled toil
roils rest
to best this earthly route
with shout of mirth to make rebirth
worth the walk about

in and out

– 2.25.2018

~

Unweave Wove

Dada Longlegs rises wall
banana perks on stove
orange crush circles love
while wail wobbles woe
please sir the sire exclaims
bubbles bouncing forth
sick the health to heal the lame
else farce will reckon force
for I accept my blame in this
my aim way off course
as always missing is
I reuse remorse

– 2.26.2018

~

Waiting Room

Overheard Doctor walking by
cell phone to ear,
“I’m not supposed to tell you…”
pause
“I’m not supposed to tell you…”
pause
“I’m not supposed to tell you…”
pause
“You’ve got to swear not to tell anyone else.”

– 2.26.2018

~

The Poetry Thieves of Barcelona

In Bezier train station waiting for Barcelona
an Arab showed me a xerox
of his 2 children who were hungry.

Not believing
I gave him a couple Francs anyway
because it was cheap
and better to be taken
than too hard of heart.

Hour later I watched him
hand the xerox to another man
who eventually showed me his starving kids.

It was their job.

Punch in
show folk fake hunger for a shift
punch out.

Professional liars.

Just like the young men
walking the Moroccan beach
with trays of cookies
all handmade by their mother named Fatimah.

Half dozen young men
same time same tray same cookies
handmade made by same Fatima
who must have had one big rumpled bed
and a heck of a kitchen.

I wrote their act in a small notebook
I carried in my back pocket for poetry.

Down the line
boarding Barcelona subway
man bumped me sideways
as door tried to close
between my back and pack
hitting and retracting
with each bump
he pushing me back into the door
in counter bounce
while he looked up to read the route
which must have been wrong
because he left.

Watching him and his friend walk away
I flashed “Pickpocket”
felt my empty back pocket
and laughed.

My money was in my front pocket
so he’d taken my poetry notebook instead.

Perhaps not a total loss for them
since my notes on the Bezier station scam
might give them some new wrongs.

I wonder what they thought of my poems.

– 2.27.2018

~ ~ ~

The Last Rites for Past Wrongs

Who do you blame
Eve, Adam, or the snake?

I know the snake had a grudge with God
and fomented unrest
in the land of ease and plenty

But Eve was certainly complicit
taking that bite
then smoozing Adam to eat

Yet Adam was dumb, weak,
or pussy-whipped to follow,
allowing good and evil

But the villain was God.

He/She/It made Lucifer
and when Lucifer protested being #2
(and why would anyone accept second?)
God cast him to belly hell

He/She/It made the tree
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil

He/She/It
created man and woman with dirt
and stolen body parts

He/She/It
made Eve and Adam defective,
too weak to follow orders

Or else He/She/It
made them too well
so they thought for themselves

What true God is so insecure
He/She/It would fear their knowing
right from wrong?

If You can’t stand the heat
get out of the kitchen

We should hire Snake Lucifer
to sue He/She/It for malfeasance,
bad design,
and lack of faith in It’s own creation

Got to break this God cycle
of guilt from above
sin from below

– 2.28.2018

~

Book Ban Burn

Recent studies state
the more intelligent you are
the more you swear.

I must be fucking brilliant.

I was born when you could be jailed
for saying fuck in a story, or a poem,
on a wall, in the street, on the tongue,
even though it was heard and seen
everywhere.

I was 11 when they prosecuted
Ferlinghetti for publishing Howl in spite
of the 1933 Supreme Court ruling on Ulysses
saying you could not censor literature for obsenity
if the obsenity did not promote lust.

The government assholes lost.

The authoritarian fuckers tried again
prosecuting Tropic of Cancer in 1934
and on anon for 30 years
until a 1964 Supreme Court ruling
told them to fuck off,
leave Henry Miller alone.

The Government pricks started early
and never stopped.

In 1629 the Massachusett’s governor
sent a military expedition to stop
Thomas Merton from writing sexy verse.

Boston had to stop sales of Walt Whitman’s
Leaves of Grass in 1881 because
the District Attorney threatened prosecution
yet when Philadelphia published 1,000 copies
the next year they sold out in a day.

1st officially banned book in America?
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
by Mark Twain, 1885.

In 1915 William Sanger and his wife Margaret
were both indicted for publishing
information on contraception.

1859 saw Charles Darwin raise a ruckus
with On the Origin of Species
but it took until the 1920s to censor it,
remaining banned until 1967.

Some cities banned Ernest Hemingway’s
A Farewell to Arms in 1929.

In the 1920s the famous “Banned in Boston”
caught Lady Chatterley’s Lover,
An American Tragedy, Elmer Gantry,
American Mercury, and Strange Interlude
and more.

Some cities and school boards banned
Karl Marx’s The Communist Manifesto,
George Orwell’s 1984,
John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath.

Way too recently they’ve censored
The Catcher in the Rye and
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
likely because they undermine authority.

The most challenged book in the 21st century
is the kids’ book And Tango Makes Three
about homosexual penguins.

As late as 2003 Texas school boards
tried to ban Brave New World.

More bans on Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men
which is rated as our 12th best novel
and of course To Kill a Mockingbird
and the Harry Potter books.

Wikipedia lists Black Boy, Candide, Catch-22,
The Canterbury Tales, Captain Underpants,
Carrie (way to go Stephen King!!!), Fanny Hill,
The Decameron, The Federal Mafia, Homo Sapiens,
The Meritorious Price of Our Redemption,
Moll Flanders, My Life and Loves, Naked Lunch,
Operation Dark Heart, Uncle Tom’s Cabin,
United States – Vietnam Relations 1945-1967,
Women in Love, Drama, Absolutely True Diary,
and Looking for Alaska.

Won’t even go into the book burnings.

Who knew so many were so scared of thinking?

And of course Donald ‘Chubby Cheese’ Trump
would probably ban books if he ever read one.

This is but a taste of their wrongs,
there are many many many much more.

Appears the uninformed fear the educated,
the religious fear fact,
and the racists fear everything.

The sin here is the arrogance of the ignorant
believing they can tell the rest of us
what we can or cannot read.

So fuck the Puritans
and the perversion they rode in on.

– 3.1.2018

~

Once More Round the Bend

Sucked into the spiral
going forward faster than leaving behind.

I walk beneath the shaded leaves
knowing neither name nor number
my life a mercy
of luck’s good fortune and sense of humor
no way I’ve gotten this far and long on my own
gotta be a Joker in the deck
(who may be me0
with many a marked shard to spend.

Does the shoe worship the shoe-maker?
Does the foot fit the shoe?
Does the toe rule the foot?
The lace the tongue?
Or are they all appendages of each other’s lie?

Dismal day grey
Cleveland rain fog and warm cold
beauty in the mist

Driving down shadow lane
in shallow frame of thought
stuff once carried on tip of tongue
now stored in dusty boxes back behind my brain.

Big Sycamore winter bare reaching pre-sun light
trunk slow thinning
limbs branching smaller and smaller
till they fractualize sky
too small for our whys to see.

The sun comes up, the knives come out.

Wife looks at me with her cancer eye,
“I’m like a cat
I see the empty bowl
I want it full.”

We go on.

– 3.9.2018

~

The Garden of Eaten

Everything eats something
and is in turn by something eaten.

Fish eats snail,
bird eats fish.

So where’s fair?

What makes this death okay,
that death not?

Seems mostly the Rule-Makers exclaiming
eating is fine, being eaten ain’t.

As long as they’re the eaters.

History written by winners
while the vanquished dead rot.

The do as I play say
from eater to eaten.

So, what’s for dinner?

– 3.12.2018

~

Sand Cleans Water

This dirt road but dust on way to death,
neither sand nor water abide.

Been before, be again
in my unwisdom wander.

Words be slippery slope to sloppy charter
unless is meets oughter.

What we need now we learn later
at cost of blood, bone, time, loss.

One gets wily as one grows weaker
since less force needs more resource.

Each day strange road minus map,
detours not yet determined.

Most of us ain’t rich, too many hungry,
who hordes food from belly?

This is zero sum game
in which I stay until I can’t pay.

Promised wife I’d reach 101
regardless of crimps and creases.

Might have to apply
for some right-of-way eases.

Just a question of time,
whether I’m worthy.

Until then I sand words from tongue
to hold enigma.

Virgin spurt
& molten

– 3.14.2018

 

more daily poems for the few

Tuesday, February 20th, 2018

Here are more of my poems from our 5-poet Februweary poem-a-day-a-thon. Must say it’s a wee bit difficult producing this time. Money, politics, class war, liars in office, child-rapist President… whatcha gonna do?

~

Status Report 263

Hey Mister Trashman
won’t you haul my life away
it stinks of rot and scraps
and rabid rats
with soft cell decomposition
sticking to the sides
my rock unrolled
my roll discontrolled
my lay consumed in lie

– 2.17.2018

~

Snow and low outside
inside hospital waiting room
no warmth

– 2.17.2018

~

Ick

Doctor Skuzz on TV
feeding off white trash misery
in whorier-than-thou worship
of more the mess a rating bless…
bottom feeder seeding slime
on our dime

– 2.17.2018

~

Words of life
on page in lines —
Rumi in the room

– 2.17.2018

~

Plan B

Walk the wheel of woven weep
checking mirror for mutant meat

sun going up, sun going down
light and shadow in repeat

looks bad now but good near dawn
as old carrot becomes brand new prong

we feed it feel it fuel it fight
or ache in if if we don’t do right

fake it far and fake it long
or remember taste of sweet like peach

suffering daily human mark
shufflle off our heartbreak bleak

wandering from wrong to wrong
done been down for far too long

sometimes feel life’s on repeat
sometimes need to seek a peek

best talk up fair then talk belong
remember taste of sweet like peach

dark and light in circle dance
bad and good around it go

some is planned some is chance
joy goes fast while pain leaves slow

all is merely part of it
gotta play cuz we can’t quit

deal in real to seal the song
reappeal your contract ink

hope to find a friendly throng
try to make the bad guys think

and if of course it all goes bad
enjoy the good in life you’ve had

cuz upstream the rich shit and piss
passing toxins down to us

we foot the bill for their high class
while their greed’s shoved up our ass

they’re killing us with their expense
maybe time for self defense

get the torches pitch and fire
let’s help the bastards retire

– 2.18.2018

~

We All Fall Down

The slo-mos go slothful, slow,
the greeders grind in endless gruel,
the stealers stack their stolen deck,
the bullies bruise below.

Heading down the professional line
it’s Entropy by a stretch.

I put my foot in the sock,
the sock in the shoe,
the shoe on the ground,
and take a step…
to where?
Or why?

It’s one hasty constructed lie
from me for you,
from you to them,
for them from them.

Do you read my lie and believe?
Should I return the favor?
Or at least pretend?

It’s worse than Plato’s cave.
We are our shadows
on walls not there
in light unlit.

I ache from wake,
work for woke,
rather roll joints than rock,
and Tantalus can keep his sour grapes.

Every day I seek a seed
to bleed into a koan,
direct roam to unbuild day,
and look for the me I don’t see
in the mirror.

Sacred lies keep lives alive
for the sucker minute born.

– 2.19.2018

~

Another hospital
another waiting room —
free uncertainty, with crackers

– 2.20.2018

~

What You Need to Know

I don’t know much,
never have,
never will,
but surviving 72 years of drugs,
alcohol, running from the cops,
stupid stumbling and basic bumbling
thanks to a lot of luck
I can say
it’s best to be kind, patient, forgiving,
and a bit false in face
so others think you care,
(and for the record – start caring, really)
listen, say less,
be more,
but most of all
have good genes,
an unnatural luck,
and amuse the gods
so they go a little lightly,
keep you around for laughter
instead of squishing you like a bug

– 2.20.2018

~

Wake in dark
Look for light
Stumble to start

– 2.20.2018

~

Wake next to my love
hearing unmade coffee’s call
darkness lightens

– 2.20.2018

~

Funky jazz
from pre-dawn speaker
soothes new day’s score

– 2.20.2018

~

The cat
And the coffee
And the dark
And Moondog howling for the sun

– 2.20.2018

 

use other door

Friday, February 16th, 2018

Unmotivated towards blogging. Or explaining. Or exploring our culture. Lot of it has to do with having a blatant thief/rapist/pervert/liar as president #45. Some of it is since we came back to the US in 2009, folk aren’t as interested in what I have to say. Part is I now post 99% poetry and nobody gives a shit about poetry.

So of course here’s my next batch of poems from our 5-poet Februweary poem-a-day-a-thon featuring Mary E. Weems, Lady K. Smith, Ray McNiece, John Swain, and me.

~

Limbic System

1981 driving from Ohio winter
to Las Vegas sun to pick up my brother
while wasted on wine and grass and speed
and bone cold from Cleveland
I stopped at an Arizona roadside park
where the sun shone
climbed on top the biggest boulder
and laid on it
face down
arms stretched wide
hugging it lizard-like for warmth.

A car stopped
family got out
began walking towrds the rocks
then saw me raise my head and look at them.

They stopped
turned around
returned to car
and left.

– 2.12.2018

~

Philosophy 169

You live for the moments,
slog through the rest.

– 2.12.2018

~

Philosophy 170

More’s not always more,
nor less less.

More can be whore or adore,
less bless or mess.

– 2.12.2018

~

Sisyphus Sighs

Despair’s got teeth,
and swamp’s everywhere.

The rich eat the poor,
strip their cupboards bare.

Like Golden Hops & the 3 Beers
too much not enough.

Weighing want and need
kinda rough.

Two empty bottles
don’t a 6 pack make.

For true crime watch the rich
who take.

Liquid lick of like and love
eases pain of rot.

Rolling rock when no one can
takes the knot from not.

– 2.13.2018

~

Fame & Fortune

Walked the sand,
water washed my steps away.

Went on hightop dirt,
wind erased my strode.

Climb to mountain top,
rock wont take my print.

– 2.13.2018

~

Rock Uproll

Blood’s so red
I’m so dead
the life I led’s a whore

Quoth the craven evermore

Release this cloth
that leads such loss
to light like moth

And weigh the right of wrong

We walk the stairs
to higher wheres
seeking prayers

In search of sweeter song

So end of day
our do and say
maintains way

As we count up score

– 2.14.2018

~ ~ ~

Karmalization

The last sip of coffee coats my throat
with the warmth of an old overcoat

Night stacks dark on dark
for dreams to lighten

Day slides hope after hope
hiding in plain light

Life’s orchards become more fertile
at full moon and high tide

Let us outlast our shadow

– 2.14.2018

~ ~ ~

Winter’s discontent
assassinates summer
seeds spring

– 2.15.2018

~ ~ ~

In the Beginnings

The Void rose in the unrisin
and after creating black and grey
and fog and slow and fuzzy
and endless
and sad
said
“Let there be coffee”
and life began

– 2.15.2018

~ ~ ~

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty

Start and stop
is most of what we got

I mean
there’s direction or speed
want and need
hole in bleed
you know
the knot in not

Which leaves the cat dead
or alive
and we here
or there
(but only if someone’s looking)

Best guess less is more more or less
and all illusion anyway
weighted dice from the bones of the dead

– 2.15.2018

~ ~ ~

Anger Management

Everyday is Soylent Green
reduced down to fat or lean
in every way we’re nibbled nub
gnawed, declawed, wrongly rubbed
walking wall of wretched wry
to answer cattle call of lie
jerking here or working there
vector stresses everywhere
snubs and sharps and flats forlorn
fade in rush and gush of lore
till soft and dreamless sleep doth fall
to mend the rend that tends us all
hurry scurry worry more
strip your soul of moral core
doesn’t mean you’re a whore
but shouldn’t there be some soar
faster farther further flux
makes a difference how one struts
instead of pay to play or be called nut
jump on in and rub your rut
run to ragged rend of life
jumping over hurdle strife
protecting back from the knife
hiding anger running rife

– 2.16.2018

 

catch up ketsup

Sunday, February 11th, 2018

These past 12 months have been difficult for Lady what with discovering eye cancer, 3 days radiation, the radiation worsening her vision by aggravating a cataract, and now a gel glop of steroids floating like a squid black ink spill inside her eye for a couple weeks — in 3 months she can get the cataract removed and once healed get new glasses and see what she can see.

Here’s my latest monthly feature ion Medusa’s Kitchen.

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2018/01/raining-cats-gods.html

All 246 poems published so far by Medusa’s Kitchen since October 2015 will make up my upcoming book “Where Never Was Already Is” from Crisis Chronicles Press. Medusa’s Kitchen resides in California, where publisher/editor Kathy Kieth posts a plethera of poets and artists every day of the year for years and years. My poems range from 1965 thru 2018. Once a month since I’ve sent her 10 fotod, 9 poems, and 1 song which she posted. It’s my 2nd best best gig so far after my publishing 21 issues of Artcrimes in 21 years (at a $20,000 loss).

Should be an interesting book because each month I’d pick the 9 new and or old poems that appealed to me most at the moment. I sent all the Medusa poems to John Burroughs (editor publisher of Crisis Chronicles Press) thinking since I’d selected the 14.5% of what I thought were among my best, he could take the best of my best for the book, but he read them and said “Let’s publish them all.”

And since they were spread over 27 months, we’ll have 27 chapters, each with its own mood and feel and Smith collage as cover art.

Really looking forward to this. It will become my public reading bible.

Poems by decade in upcoming “Where Never Was Already Is”
———————————————————-
1960s – 2
1970s – 4
1980s – 9
1990s – 10
2000s – 29
2010s – 186
(seems be a discrepency in my counts… have to recheck).

3 recent posts up at WineDrunk Sidewalk where publisher/editor John Grochalsi is posting a political poem or art daily as long as small-handed but greedy-fingered Trump’s in office. Here are 2 poems, one collage.

https://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/2018/01/day-three-hundred-and-fifty-eight.html

http://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/2018/01/day-three-hundred-and-sixty-three.htmll

http://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/2018/02/day-three-hundred-and-eighty-one.html

Here’s today’s Februwary 5-poet poem-a-day-a-thon.

Booking the Dead

Early 1950’s mom gave birth
to child three
a continuous squawl
who cried 9 months and died.
Next morning before school
I looked in on him
saw a live baby unknown dead.
When I got home and was told
I tried to resee with new eyes
but it was after fact
dead baby gone
no goodbye.

33 years later 30 year-old child four
blows his brains out over
too much speed and alcohol
woman trouble
and having to carry his work partner
our failng father
whose polio shriveled leg is crumbling
from 50 years of brick, block, and stone.
Pappy’s call wakes me.
“Vince shot himself.”
“He’s okay isn’t he?”
“No.”

Two year on Pappy died
wasted from missing his suicide son.
I flew out before he went
to see a 1/3 smaller once proud man
carried to the toilet
wiped when done.
He was good, kind, patient.
I loved him but left home at 17
so didn’t know him.
Mom called two weeks later
with he’s dead don’t come out
nothing to be done.

Moved her in with me
for final 16 years of her life.
When she went
she was home holding my hand
slipping in and out of consciousness
stopping breath
restarting
again and again for hours.

One unseen disappeared dead baby,
two long distance phone calls,
and one holding hand
slow taking her through passage…

Take door 4 every time.

 – 2.11.2018

 

daze late, dolor short

Saturday, February 10th, 2018

Have gone from blogging daily to 3-4 times a month. Don’t seem to care. Oh well, this too will pass, the fortune cookie sez.

5 poets doing the Februweary poem-a-day-a-thon dues… Mary E. Weems, Lady K. Smith, Ray McNiece, JJ Stick, and me. I’m going to have to up my game to keep up.

Mary’s doing 4-6 poems a day, Ray’s doing 2 a day, and his poem today The People in Tomb X might be my favorite.

I’d post it but that might mess up his publishing options. Lots of places demand to be the original publisher of a poem. I say they have small vision… each publisher’s poetry audience is so small it don’t make sense to limit readership. Every one of the 246 poems in my upcoming book has been published before, sometimes several times.

Here are days 2 thru 10.

~ ~ ~

Common Scents

It’s not the fall,
it’s the sudden stop
that does you in.

But even more
it’s the not getting up
that keeps you down.

~ ~ ~

Entropy’s Rain

The Garden of Eden’s
now desert and blame
thorns in the roll
bugs in the hay
sweat on the skin
in down dirty game
but oh
so sweet is the sin

~ ~ ~

Mr & Mrs Sisyphus

I ask, Okay, whatta we got?
“Another day another rock.”
she replies.

Then softens, sighs,
“I’ll be your warm rock,
you can be my lizard”

~ ~ ~

Crimes & Punishment

1970 sitting in a Burger King in Baltimore,
my crime partner to be
who’s in debt and about to lose
his typesetting machines
which keep his ad agency going
turns to me and says
“I’m in real money trouble.
Maybe I should rob this place.”

Thinking it theoretical
I give him advice…
you don’t rob Burger Kings,
maybe go for a big box office movie.

Week later
he shows up at our apartment
where he’s been a lot lately
trying to seduce my wife
(semi-successfully)
and shows me two large handguns
he borrowed from a friend.

We go to a deserted golf course
where we each shoot once into the night;
as I hand the gun back to him
it goes off
putting a bullet into the ground
between my feet.

Our first armed robbery next night
was a Seven-Eleven
in my rich boss’s neighborhood.

After the few customers left
and my partner paid for a pack of cigars
I pulled the gun from my belt,
the gun site catches in my beltloop
and it takes three tugs
so I point it at the clerk and say
“Don’t close the drawer”
just as he shuts it.

He reopens the register,
and gives me the money:
$64.

I tell him this isn’t enough,
to give me his wallet.

He hands it to me but I stare at it
and say, “I can’t take that, it’s yours,”
and hand it back.

He’s smiling as we run out,
dash through an alley
and up a muddy hill in the rain
where I fall on my face,
arms outstretched,
and the gun goes off
– again –
and misses my partner in front of me.

That makes two of us
I’ve missed so far.

Did one more robbery
at a Turkey Hill Minit market,
got pocketfuls of money
which the police mostly keep as they count
before locking us up for 10 1/2 months.

Fairly crime-free since
excepting grass, jaywalking, driving too fast,
and disrespecting authority,
which I see basic survival skills.

~ ~ ~

Poetry…

a paper stain,
an earache,
heartburn,

it fuels the tribal fire
to cybersize the moment,
the maybe,
the meant to,

makes the cracks crevice,
the blood to run,
the soul to seal,

best set of worry beads in town.

~ ~ ~

As light leaves
dark gains ground
recriminations creep

~ ~ ~

Unused Fortune

You can say sorry,
but stop and go
goes.

Night sleep
soothes brain static
to recharge wake

A hazy glow
as sun light mocked
by cold ice snow

We slip from if to if
as maybe mobilizes
this

Age and experience
bring calm wisdom
or else we just run down

The heart’s scorch marks
pried from flame
sell as souviners

A cosmic mouth trap
baited with book
waits

The mountains look small
the desert large
but it’s the other way around

Cold creeps up feet
as slippers sleep
lost beneath couch

~ ~ ~

Our Way Highway

They exclaimed
“Guitar is not a jazz instrument”
but Django Reinhardt didn’t hear.

No fiddle neither till Stéphane Grappelli
missed their message.

Jimmy Smith’s jazz organ too.

Gotta love the rule makers
for they fart the true.

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 40

While cutting her gnocchi dough roll
I mention it’s like sectioning a snake.
“You’re having sex with a snake? How is it?”
Good, talk about deep throat,
but hard to withdraw
what with those curved fangs wrong way in.
“Groan.”
Fangs a lot.

“Boy, I’m tired today.”
Bicycle tired? Car tired? Truck tired?
“Cold medicine tired.”

There’s exit and there’s current it.
“Would either have a wild wild restroom?”

Trying to get me to start breakfast,
“How do you feel about bagels?”
Oh, I doono, they seem to be good dogs.

“I hate meetings.”
That’s why you’re a vegetarian.
“That’s not funny.”
Then why you smiling?
I’ve given you a few small smiles over the years,
and lots of groans.
“Does that make you a groan-up?”

Can’t eat the Nutella until we finish the Oldtella.
“You’re tellin me.”

“We need to get more incense.”
How about outsense?
“Or nonesense.”
Yes, we need more nonsense.
“Or common sense.”

You’re not supposed to drink out of your bowl.
“Oh don’t worry, it’s acceptabowl.”

~ ~ ~

So It Goes 2

Trudging through snow
with bad back,
pain walks tall

We’re born with wings,
then forget
so must regrow

Going over, leave tracks,
muss them walking back –
wind blows both away

~ ~ ~

Sisyphus Sandwich

Dawn dark the bread
life the seasoning
me the meat

 

super moon blood moon blue moon eclipse

Thursday, February 1st, 2018


small 7″ irridescent piece by Mother Dwarf Smith

Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse 2018

Went to watch eclipse of moon
but no – Cleveland cloud cover.

The annual Perseid meteor shower?
Cleveland cloud cover.

Comets? Cloud cover.
Solar eclipse? Cloud cover.

Sun? Moon? Stars? Blue?
Fuhgeddaboudit.

Can’t even turn into a werewolf
cuz I can’t find the full moon.

Though did see horizontal lightning
in a violent Cleveland snow storm,

The black and blue cloud bounty
above this red beaten earth,

And always the sun dread
of sailor warning.

So so much for my once in 150 year
super moon blood moon blue moon eclipse.

In Cleveland, sky is occasional.

– Smith, 2.1.2018

Today Mary E. Weems, Lady K, JJ Stick, Ray McNiece and I start our February poem-a-day challange. Be good for me because I wrote only 3 poems last month instead of me usual 15-25.

3 decades ago over a 5 year period, the Ohio Arts Council rejected me as a collaborative installation artist, then rejected me as a poet, then rejected me as an artist, then told me they wanted to help me financially in publishing Artcrimes, so I submitted my 4th application – and they rejected me again saying I didn’t have enough outside financial support from others cuz I had been paying the entire [unlishing costs myself.

That last rejection hurt because I was unemployed and seriously needed help with the publication costs, which I knew I would get because it was Bob Fox’s request that I apply. Unfortunately he either quit the council or died before I got my application in.

I could try again as a fotografer for a 5th rejection, but I won’t because in essense they’re right — I am an attacker of the system, so why should the system support me?

Their rejecting me was entirely proper and logical.

 

3 poems, 2 fotos, no song

Thursday, January 4th, 2018

Slipknot

Meet me in the meat lane
I’ll be lambing up the chops

trying to chase the safe
and not the not

laminating lamentations
crying up the crop

slipping slide relations
in cut of guardian knot

never wanted to fuck my mother
didn’t want daddy dead

actually loved my younger brother
before he blew off his head

they’re all gone and yet remain
in my side of am

none of this of course germaine
to jiggle jelly jam

– Smith, 1.4.2018

~

To Be Continued…

You can befuddle a dog
by throwing a stick

You can confuse a cat
by dangling a string

And you can distract people
by mentioning money

– Smith, 1.3.2018

My poem Bad Bush George (for the CheneyBush Beast) is up at WineDrunk SideWalk: https://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/2018/01/day-three-hundred-and-fifty.html

 

 
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