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Archive for the ‘weather’ Category

Smith & Lady Poems March 2015 – Lady’s #19

Thursday, March 19th, 2015


Time keeps on slipping into the future
macerated into memories eclipsing yearly harvests
held in frontiers of flesh and weather, deposits of
taggants banding hourglass sand pinned under gravitational
anniversaries, the sommelier at the nexus grasping
key notes, crescent phases and
gibbous introspections

~ Lady



Smith & Lady Poems March 2015 – Lady’s #14

Saturday, March 14th, 2015

Pi Day

We wring hands begging spring and finally, winter’s
leaving Cleveland, a seasonal glacier carving the roads,
embellishing them with the grit of our driving in the
relinquished like hackies in taxies waltzing round potholes
as prevalent as scaled craters on the moon, o battered
road of rugged emotions–the consolation prize jobs for
people to spackle and pave, gigantic rags of the city
repairing its crust

Soon land’s raw thaw will be absorbed into spring’s
forgiving pillow powering fresh green leaf, flowering
chrysalis seed, budding trees for bees, sprinkling petals
into regal paths for cheerful hops of curious sparrows,
fresh air like ribbons of light, byzantine rites of stain
glass windows, spiral candy dance for everyone from
lusty flushed youth to clean peace aged

~ Lady


Smith & Lady Poems March 2015 – Lady’s #13

Friday, March 13th, 2015


Winter’s moon, parched and frozen
in the retina of trees, my aching trust
for a rusty glimmer of spring
like fruit from a cold jar

Kintsukuroi letter to the Galatians,
the egg that makes the egg again,
from rote engine to crackling hatching
softer law of this organic leap
spirit strangely pagan

~ Lady



Smith & Lady Poems – March 2015 – Lady’s #4

Wednesday, March 4th, 2015


Bend and pull
dogs ease of how to do
gravity a channel–
lack thereof, too

Lancet pushes rain
and xylem to the lattice
leaf’s studded guttation
looks like dew

From where we sit’s like
souvenirs to sip from zippers
dripping convergence
in the stew

~ Lady



Black History Month Poems #22

Sunday, February 22nd, 2015


Quetzalcoatl intercedes
from Earth to Venus, halmark of Nahua
rainy season, mandala of his dress
wrapping subject into

Snake and
most precious green bird shake
wind jewels of rain, lightning breaks
sky in two, loving the alien
under pyramids of sun
and moon

~ Lady



Lady Poem January 29, 2015

Thursday, January 29th, 2015


water, cloud, land & snow
star reaches into its shadow
rolling asleep, rolling awake
day night day night

~ Lady



Lady Poem January 27, 2014

Tuesday, January 27th, 2015


casually battened
in the filigree sees me sober
in a lee, wind blowing missives
round its reach

~ Lady




Thursday, October 23rd, 2014


Does a bell go on and on?

Or hit space and dampen anonymously
into the capacitance of some sea?

Does it richochet round forever,
applications of ever lighter feather,
gilding wind and weather?

And thunder…
a long caress sunk in the
dissipating static of
rumbled heat?

~ Lady


now & 10 yrz from now

Saturday, August 17th, 2013

Our corner now, and as Lady envisions it a decade from now:



Tuesday, March 12th, 2013

One might find rocks in a stream or by the lake, pick them up, turn them over, stack meditatively. One might find thoughts, pick them up, examine, stack them meditatively.

Some of these thought rocks hold uncomfortable ideas. I’d like to see the thoughts when they are there, acknowledge them, transform them. The thoughts have feelings attached. Physical feelings. I think about soothing the physical feelings, think what I’d like to feel instead, and let myself feel that without condemning myself for having uncomfortable thoughts in the first place. I am soothed.

How thankful so many of my thought rocks are gentle. How thankful so many of my thought rocks are ambitious in a good way. How thankful I am I have goals, how thankful I appreciate the goals met, the fun of steps taken in the process of attaining the goals. People call steps milestones; maybe there is something inherently associative with thoughts and rocks.

A guy sent a rock of healing intention over to his friend in Asia. He’d carried that rock in his pocket like a meditation bell, like a singing bowl. Every time he emptied his pocket for the night the rock came out with his keys onto the top of his dresser. Every morning when he put his pants back on, into his pocket the rock went with his keys. Every time he stuck his hand in there, he felt that rock.

The rock was with his keys. What is it about “keystone?”

We’re letting rock remain underground, unbroken, cool. Hot sometimes. How there’s so much loose rock already up in the streams that we can pick up, examine, put in our pockets, put back. About the majesty of mountains, unbroken. About the God of mountains, the gods of the mountains. I call on them to protect themselves. OM.

There’s sand under the boreal forests in Canada, sand everywhere. Sand comes from rock. I’d like that sand to just stand under the stands of trees. I don’t want the stands to be turned over. I call on the stands and the sand to protect itself. I call on the indigenous gods of the sand and the stands to protect themselves. I call on the gods to remember they are infused in our hands. They can keep our hands off the sands, keep keystone keystone without running a pipe through it, without scraping our rakes over it into rubble and cancer.

Without, without, oh, how easy to be *without* pain, without all the scraping and disease.

Without. How easy to be Without so many problems.

Oh, how easy to keep our lungs. How easy to blow our breath into the easy gerbil thrill of wind turbines, those easy tumbling breezes, those easy galloping breezes, those good winds. Those streams through something consonant.

I’m going to put a rock in my pocket, and the thick rock will lie calmly underground. It will be there relatively forever into the future. Sand will be there under stands, relatively forever into the future.

~ Lady


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