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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 )

2 pieces of my art, 49 years apart

July 22nd, 2017

left: East of the Sun, West of the Moon
20″ x 16″, December 2015, Smith
right: Voodoo Lounge, 1968, 20″ x 30″, Smith

Two of my art works, 49 years apart.

Fotos above are
East of the Sun, West of the Moon, December 2005
Voodoo Lounge, my first wall piece, 1968.
The blue is my mixture of copper corrosion. The action figure is Edgar Allen Poe with a raven on his shoulder.

Did my first piece of art in 1965. Still doing it.
First poem I still have is from 1964. Still doing it.

Going to try to post a piece or two every few days cuz folk have forgotten I do as much art as poetry.

The last solo Smith & Lady show was 2012 at the Mastroianni Gallery, titled Sacred Pulp – Two Dead Smiths, Two Live Smiths, featuring my dead mom Mother Dwarf (1926-2005), my dead brother Cat (1957-1987), my live wife Lady K, and me (current status enigmatic)

My brother Cat Smith blew his brains out at age 30 in the bed of his pickup due to too much alcohol, too much speed and coke, marriage problems, financial problems, the stress of trying to keep his and our father’s Brick/Block/Stone mason business going in light of Pappy’s decaying health, and maybe perhaps starting drugs too young – he was 11 when he first dropped acid in high school. I was 21 when I started drugs, had a chance to ripen before diving in.

Fair Trade

I don’t always turn the other cheek,
sometimes I slap back.

And I always forgive,
but never forget.

So beware,
fair is fair.

– Smith, 7.21.2017

Fotos below:
word piece is Voodoo Lounge, 1968, 20″ x 30″, Smith
blue piece is East of the Sun, West of the Moon
20″ x 16″, December 2015, Smith

Fotos above:
word piece is Voodoo Lounge, 1968, 20″ x 30″, Smith
blue piece is East of the Sun, West of the Moon
20″ x 16″, December 2015, Smith


Life in the Smith Lane

July 18th, 2017

Life in the Smith Lane

Crickets creep between cars
in not quite night
their soothing sound attending ghost
of then and them and now
matching most of me somehow

Saw an I-90W sign saying
“Drug Activity / Impaired Driving
Call This Number”
so I did
said I was interested in some drug activity…
it didn’t go well

Roads outside this window
goin’ places doin’ things
with a lot less cussin’
and fussin’ and cheatin’ moan
that’s where I wanna roam

Late at night
we drive into deep wood
to camp way off grid
nada on GPS screen
gas near empty
next morning turn wrong way
go further into no-one-home land
fuel light starts cursing
the film Deliverance runs in my mind
so we give up
turn around
retrace tracks
finally find gas
and small town library with wifi
get go again
add new rule to list:
don’t wait to tomorrow
to refill strange territory today

Friday – $350 for muffler
Monday – $550 front wheel bearings
Nowday – pain anguish anger depression
there goes the rent money
and my marijuana

White line black top
pedal metal heavy through
go of tomorrow
awash in sorrow
and chance

– Smith, 7.18.2017


Which coming kiss or curse

July 15th, 2017



Day and night come and go
wet dances with dry
old seeps through new.

The dead outnumber us
feed the living
canceled checks.

I still take new day’s step
most hopeful, and yet
look for the lance.

Which coming kiss or curse
or hug or worse
will decide my stance?

– Smith, 7.15.2017



Sisyphus After All

July 13th, 2017

Sisyphus After All

It’s not all rock
there’s the exquisite relief of quitting time
dragging dead flesh twixt hill and home
to swallow cold food
before tepid bath and bed
and the dreamless ache of sleep
where eyes closed in dark
wake in same dark
at alarum’s croaker cry
to rise again
stack old bones on new pains
then limp to manual mountain
and hope against logic for gain

– Smith, 7.13.2017


invisible patty-cakes on the Zen back of night

July 11th, 2017

got it locked away

Happy Sandwich

Beauty’s the butterfly of age,
age the flower of youth.

Catching up to the rat wheel
takes money, time, desire,
and I’m short all three.

Invisible patty-cakes on the Zen back of night,
or the sad middle notes of an old 50’s song?
Both fine soundtracks
for yet another Walking Monkey Production
(believe it’s the old-timers with Alzheimer’s
who’re running the show).

Still, the setting sun climbs the tree
lays along its leaves
and watches layered light
sink slow below the surface
of our 3rd floor Victorian window
and I feel eased.

Go eased, young ma’am, go eased.

– Smith, 7.11.2017


The Coffee Bin (18 pocket notes for future poems)

July 8th, 2017

The Coffee Bin
(18 pocket notes for future poems)

Does one consume the reflections
floating atop one’s cup of black coffee?
If so I’m only drinking
at the Neon Diner from now on
get more buzz per cup

Ching ching ching goes the coffee
slow slow slow goes the will
must coffee clink before brain links

That’s a poor pour
so pour more
more caffeine
pour faster so I’ll walk faster
and won’t fall
gotta go gotta go gotta go
cant stop cant stop
or rat wheel will rust
and we’ll all fall down
like sadsack clowns
limp in limb
laying around
let’s fill my form with vroom
gimme some Zen zoom
caffeinate me over the hill
in mind/body will

3 pm
time to lose or chose
third cup of coffee or no
knowing I’ve no weed
to slow caffeine’s carom

My, my, hot milk and honey chai
stained masala beige
a dance for tongue and caffeinated mind

Thanks for the buzz
Thanks for the love

Coffee, marijuana, cat, and wife
I have a nice life

Caffeine rings my ears
buzzes brain
electric exclaim

Weak cup coffee to pry my weary lids open
this freezing so-called spring morning
with weed running out and money not enough
and wife stressed with boss-lady worries
and the cat wheezing much and vomiting often
and the politicians in a race downhill
to dumber meaner cheaper
and decent folk so amazed not to be
locked away in concentration camps
they keep their head down and fear unsaid

Ahhhh, the first sip of pre-dawn coffee
the first toke of pre-dawn grass

Black pool of night before sun
surrounds as I drink black pool
of coffee in cup

Caffeine in my brain
need in my node

Drinking coffee from Kathy’s cup
it’s another day in Paradise
in the temple of the ample

Brain fuzzy cuzza not enough coffee

The push of coffee, the pull of grass,
the swoosh and soothe all bound
around untight to firmer ground

A black cup of black coffee
raised to my white face

And if you really want to up the ante
try a cup of cowboy Costa Rican pan coffee
Fair Trade of course.

Neon Coffee, please

– Smith, 7.8.2017


licks and leaves

July 7th, 2017

Status Report 257

Some days
it’s the space between pages
the silence before sound
the tip of the tongue
just out of reach
you can almost taste it
the one that got away
in happy never after
worry worn as won

Sometimes fire plays with wood
just licks and leaves
licks and leaves
until it gets a taste
and chomps

– Smith, 7.7.2017


after long silence coffee speaks

July 5th, 2017

Night Moves

Walking rough terrain through pitch black
first cup of campfire coffee one hand
flashlight the other
stop on trail
turn off light
sip black unsweetened coffee
hot in black back of night
something large rustles near by
I tell it welcome, but coffee’s mine

black out
I pour black outer liquid
into inner body darkness

after long silence
coffee speaks

– Smith, 7.5.2017


b 4 it was cool

July 2nd, 2017

Status Report 256

We rent two night tipi
to recharge through quiet of forest
in slow sun and breeze
bird chirp
man noise down
nature noise maxed
honoring the Native Americans
we genocided to get the land
where rising wind like river
rushes trees with leaves bouncing in and out
of shafts of sun in constant celebration
of life

One firefly inside tipi
two more glowing through the canvas side
insider heads up to apex
where spiders are
yet survives
shines on

– Smith, 6.28.2017



The carpet stairs are worn
and old in ways unknown
some creak, some groan
yet up or down
they hold their own

– Smith, 6.29.2017


Mind Mine

Sitting in dark
one bird trying to sing up sun
first cup of campfire coffee
moving toward my brain
no plans but make more flames
and explore the caves

It wears its fire well
the straw that broke the feather’s back

– Smith, 6.30.2017


Lost Degeneration

Yearning for tribal fire
we hunker round TV
worship dancing light

– Smith, 6.30.2017


Minnesota, North Dakota, Kentucky, Connecticut, and Generic

June 27th, 2017


Plopped five quarters into the machine,
one each from Minnesota, North Dakota,
Kentucky, Connecticut, and Generic
and my clothes dried right fine.

Why can’t we all work this well together?

– Smith, 6.27.2017

My right shoulder is almost gone. Teaching my left arm to do more. Pain’s getting a bit much but will try to put off shoulder replacement until January 2018 because I’ll be needed this fall for honey harvest.

So far I’ve replaced right hip, left shoulder, and put two metal rods in my neck past 6 years. My left kneecap broke 18 months ago and did not heal – bound itself together with soft tissue instead of bones melding, so that may have to be replaced down the line… but that should do it.

Glad I can be repaired, but tired of being repaired


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