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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 )
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February 21st, 2019
I’m down to 1 or 2 posts a month (from 1 a day for years and years). Just don’t care all that much… think Little Donnie Dump Trump and his gang of chumps are getting to me.
My 39th monthly feature on Medusa’s Kitchen thanks to the generosity of publisher/editor Kathy Kieth – 10 fotos, 9 poems:
http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2019/02/be-what-it-will.html
January 31st, 2019
Lady’s poem for the January RUFUS poetry workshop:
Jussive on the synthronus
with the silkaline hierodules
witwanton skeleton zygotes jazzbo on the basalt
woolward janitrix triaged the rebullition
ophiuran’s blue ball chaconne
the vaporimeter, which
issued copal in the ginnel below a whelky bell
a colation strung and distilled from wack
circumcrescent potter hands
tagmeme divination of the jural
passively watching the paseo
micromoment digits of the monad
– by Lady K
And here’s my 38th consecutive monthly feature on Medusa’s Kitchen thanks to the generosity of publisher/editor Kathy Kieth – the usual 10 fotos, 9 poems.
http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2019/01/hopes-possible.html
January 13th, 2019
Yes, erumpent fireflies warmed hands
on xanthous flames fireplaced in a
viperiform damascene hagioscope
gripping the reredos
Girandoled discoball constellations
yogiboogeyboarded swimming pool lights,
dog and ponied interstices of the ceiling joists
zoopraxiscoped herds of variegated animals,
the alopecoid and hares, all manners
of dazzling English animals
The nickle nutlets of teeth in
jellygraph gloss of a dead lamb’s grin,
closed eyelids, japan painted blunt nose
nuque broke, visceral ladled nup of bent innocent colliform
draped on a chair, the Inuit their kamiks
Corpulant agriculture was fecund
on plates we left for morning after Christmas,
wastive abundance, frapped humanity
in ruddy hardihood consecrated by
the rabbi we called in;
the comrade donned a biretta
the webster sat under the vesper
it was a mixed bag, fingers bewildered in
nodated whatevers, que sera sera-ing,
the cows munched their kerf
it was ok it was the weather
The validity of vermiculture,
of worksome insects typing logopedics,
rosining translucent violins withily weaving
wirewove niello of the organized whole
~ Lady
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Posted in Being, Creative Writing, Family, Food, Humor, Lady, Letters to the Universe, life, Peace, Poetry, spirituality, weather | No Comments » |
January 6th, 2019
My December feature on Medusa’s Kitchen – 9 poems, 10 fotos.
Thanks to editor/publisher Kathy Kieth for the monthly gig. This is month 37.
http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2018/12/unreined-dear.html
~ ~ ~
Here are the Lady K & Smith poems (1 each) written for Rufus last month. Rufus is our monthly poetry workshop that’s been going for decades. December’s included host Wendy Shaffer, Jack McGuane, Linda New, Russell Vidrick, Terry Provost, Lady K, and me. Jack’s the oldest at 91 or so, Lady K probably the youngest at 46.
First poem by Lady K.
~ ~ ~
Peace like paesano bread, ecphasis,
aegis, sacrament for serenity to hold off
venerers in the zebroid woods who
salt livers and kidneys on the sindon,
cast clean picked flageolets from the inglenook
to the midden, worser natures abluting
xerotic throats with pure
fidicinal zegedines
The beele quains the
glomerate chattering diamond
damned inesculent mechanomorphic lotus!
Fresh kerfed ravelins
are thrown on the compost pile
the worms puzzle it into trichroic castings
gastrolith for the innominate’s neogenesis
Crows dig doggedly
at a nubigenous bandaeau the zumbadors
ushered to garland the pomiferous
virgultum
– Lady K
~ ~ ~
Anthropocened
I was born in Dead Leaf Montana
raised near Brown Grass Gone
my momma loved walking the ridges
daddy was the Devil’s son
ate insects in swamp water for dinner
for fun watched roadkill drying in dawn
trying to catch our breath
as pus oozed from corporate spawn
so took what we could from the dying earth
knowing we wouldn’t be here long
– Smith
December 18th, 2018
I forgot to post my last month’s feature on Medusa’s Kitchen… what’s going on? Where’d my ego go?
http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2018/11/the-sun-always-rises.html
November’s feature was my 36th consecutive month – started December 2015, basically 9 poems and 10 fotos a month. Huge thanks to editor/publisher Kathy Kieth for this gig.
My latest book of poetry – Where Never Was Already Is, 244 poems, 29 collages, 324 pages, $15 – consists of the first 27 months of Medusa.
http://ccpress.blogspot.com/2018/04/098Smith.html
I have a 45 minute reading followed by Q&A coming up on February 19 at the Art on Madison gallery. There is no open mic, just me… although I’ll give 10 minutes to Lady to read our collaborations. Here’s the blurb.
Steven B. Smith published Artcrimes (1986-2006) featuring 517 poets/artists, including Bukowski and Harvey Pekar; per the Plain Dealer: “with the publication of 21 issues of ArtCrimes, Smith has made a vital and indelible mark on this city’s history.” In 2012, his memoir “Stations of the Lost & Found, a True Tale of Armed Robbery, Stolen Cars, Outsider Art, Mutant Poetry, Underground Publishing, Robbing the Cradle, and Leaving the Country” was published by The City. In 2018, Crisis Chronicles Press put out “Where Never Was Already Is” – 244 poems 29 collages over 54 years. He and his wife, Lady K, spent 2006-2009 living in 10 countries on 3 continents recharging their word wells. He’s run from the cops 10 times, got away 9.
Art on Madison, ?14203 Madison Avenue, Lakewood, Ohio, 7pm, February 19, 2019.
My 37th feature will be this Friday… I get the 3rd Friday each month. It’s reassuring to have a monthly outlet.
December 16th, 2018
by Lady K, 20″ x 24″
These are pieces Lady K’s worked on since October.
She has a tendency not to sign, title, or date her pieces (something I found I regretted whenever I did it), but all these except the last are based on sea creatures (tho I see alien genitalia as well), perhaps in the Mariana Trench. Many of the 3-dimensional forms are clay. All the blue is copper corrosion, the orange/brown coming through the blue is rust.
by Lady K, 20″ x 24″
by Lady K, 4″ x 6″ & 6″ x 6″
by Lady K, 8″ x 8″ (work in progress)
by Lady K, 8″ x 8″ (work in progress)
by Lady K, 6″ x 6″ & 8″ x 8″ (works in progress)
by Lady K, 8″ x 8″ (work in progress)
by Lady K, 6″ x 6″ (work in progress)
by Lady K, 19″ x 23″ x 6″
by Lady K, 19″ x 23″ x 6″
by Lady K, 4″ x 6″ & 5″ x 6″
by Lady K, 5″ x 6″
by Lady K, 6″ x 6″
by Lady K, 8″ x 8″ (work in progress)
November 8th, 2018
from A Page of Madness, 1926, Teinosuke Kinugasa director
Watched the 1926 Japanese silent movie “A Page of Madness” – the strangest most amazing depiction of mental illness I’ve seen on film. 30 minutes in, in the middle of an insane melee in the madhouse, the film disappears, turns to grey static with the message: “Oops, Sorry something went wrong. Please close and reopen your browser. Error Code 3000,” so I start over, and 30 minutes after that, Twilightzonesville again with same message. 4 more errors in last 10 minutes. Perfect for a madness movie. And adding to the ambiance, there are no title cards – back then the Japanese hired a narrator to give verbal exposition in each theater – so except for the IMDB plot summary of “A husband picks up a job as a janitor at an insane asylum scheming all the time to be close to and free his wife from the institution where she recently attempted suicide,” its interpretation is up to you.
At one point it looked like the old grieving husband trying to rescue his wife was hitting on a young woman, which did not make any sense, so researched and found it was their daughter.
The film’s first 10 minutes are a masterwork multi-exposure fast-cut montage of insanity. Brilliant. And unpleasant.
The closest I can come in weirdness, style, and intensity is Ingmar Bergman – Personae and Hour of the Wolf.
Powerful flick. Going to seriously miss Filmstruck when it shuts down end of this month.
Madness, madness I say!
~ ~ ~
The Starbucks barista asked which scone I wanted. Since the display had a glass top and a ceiling light above it. I held my finger on top and caressed the scone with its shadow. “The one with the shadow finger,” I replied. “Shadow finger?”, she glanced down, saw the shadow stroking the strawberry scone, looked up and broke out laughing.
~ ~ ~
Car starts making weird mechno-electroid sounds on Lady’s way to work. At a red light, she turns it off to see if the sound disappears – whereupon the stop light turns green and the car to her left starts through the intersection… and is hit by a turning car. So noise and stop prevented her crashing too – which is good – but noise comes from dying A/C compressor which is $1300 to replace – which is bad. Already had 2-3 expensive repairs past 18 months. Car is an 11 yr-old Prius and we love it, but looks like time to move up the line.
~ ~ ~
from A Page of Madness, 1926, Teinosuke Kinugasa director
November 1st, 2018
Hafiz (1320-1389) and I wrote a hatcheck girl poem 600+ years apart.
THE HATCHECK GIRL
by Hafiz
Why
Are there
So few in the court
Of a perfect
Saint?
Because
Every time you are near Him
You have to leave pieces
Of your
Soul
With
The hatcheck
Girl
Who won’t give them
Back—-
O
O
O
U
C
H
(from The Gift, Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Master, translations by Daniel Ladinsky, Penguin Compass, 1999)
~ ~ ~
A Hatcheck Girl in a Capitalist Bar
The capitalist in the hatcheck bar
suggested to the coatroom girl insofar
as tips were concerned she could go far,
for flirting brought her twenty-five cents,
while cleavage shown was a dollar,
and sharing her tits would pay the rent
and get her a fox fur collar,
while I think if she had any sense
his nuts with her knee she should clobber.
– Smith, 1.1.2014
(didn’t know about his until this week)
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