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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 ‘Poetry’ 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

 

Sparkling Fruit

Tuesday, April 10th, 2018

Sparkling Fruit

Water’s burn
quenches mineral thirst
frees yearn

Fluid husbands
two embraces

Fire leaves gas, ash
sickle’s attainment

Water
adds to the wetted mass of
suckling tree roots

Nurtured in mud,
woody lotus
tall seed dapples taut
sparkling fruit

~ Lady

 

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

 

Cat & Dog

Saturday, April 7th, 2018

Cat & Dog

Cat was on the feather
Showing me where the feather was, dear

“Did you catch a cat?”

Barely, like one of those quantum particles,
snapping my fingers,
hard to hold

Our cat knows
which one is the prey
in our current game

I saw a woman
play Three Card Monte with her dog
she’d put a dog treat under one of the cups
go swish, swish, swish, mix them up,
and the dog would point his nose at
the correct cup every time
and eat the treat

While this is impressive
it’s not quite as impressive as it looks
because she cheated;
she kept her right hand
on the cup with the treat,
never took it off,
went swish swish swish swish swish and
always kept her hand on the treat cup

The dog just watched it go
back and forth
and never left the right hand

When she stopped
he would touch his nose to it;
he would get the treat

Instead of a fireplace
we low-class have a water tank
there’s usually 10 seconds
between the bubble burps in the aquarium filter
but sometimes it’s 11 or 12

I am a wee odd.

For example, I count how long it takes you
from locking the door
to becoming visible in the parking lot

It used to be 31 seconds

“You mean you count?”

Yes, 1001, 1002, 1003

It used to take you 31 seconds to get out
and then 41 seconds because you were cold and you were carrying more stuff
and recently it was 51 seconds
and I started thinking, ‘this is getting
too long but you’ll probably stop at
the mail box,’ and I saw you and you had
a package in your hand.

If it had been more than 60 seconds,
I would have come down and checked

“Wow, that’s very nice”

I work what grid I can, he said
black cat, red feather, white line.

~ Smith & Lady

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 
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