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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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December 3rd, 2020
2020.11.29 – I can’t eat the sun
2020.12.1 – Cold rain on roof
2020.12.1 – Rain rapped roof
2020.12.2 – Winter storm
2020.12.3 – 4 a.m.
2020.12.3 – The sound of wind
~ ~ ~
I can’t eat the sun
but sure do see it feel it breathe it need it
oh to be an autotroph
~ ~ ~
Cold rain on roof
warm within
glad to know I’m glad
~ ~ ~
Rain rapped roof
calms brain
soothes soul
~ ~ ~
Winter storm
turns night
white
~ ~ ~
4 a.m.
to sunrise
my time
~ ~ ~
The sound of wind
rushing through trees
sky water
November 27th, 2020
recent Smithverse
2020.11.24 – I light incense from the coffee fire
2020.11.25 – One from Column A
2020.11.26 – Not time but when
I light incense from the coffee fire
light joint from incense flame
lighten body with above
enlighten soul with the light
~ ~ ~
One from Column A
Small brown bulge in road —
once alive dead bump
or pile of horseshit?
Which’s better?
dump or pile?
life or lump?
Dead?
or never alive?
~ ~ ~
Not time but when
Not where but why
Form is automatic
Function much less so
November 26th, 2020
Haiku masters were expected to write a final death poem; here are the big 3.
~ ~ ~
falling ill on a journey
my dreams go wandering
over withered fields
– Basho, 1644-1694
~ ~ ~
the night almost past
through the white plum blossoms
a glimpse of dawn
– Buson, 1716-1784
~ ~ ~
a bath when you’re born
a bath when you die
how stupid
– Issa, 1763-1828
~ ~ ~
then there’s
~ ~ ~
Death poems
are mere delusion —
death is death
– Toko, 1710–1795
~ ~ ~
and, while not haiku, still most excellent…
~ ~ ~
Bury me when I die
beneath a wine barrel
in a tavern.
With luck
the cask will leak.
Moriya Sen’an (d. 1838)
November 18th, 2020
Last few poems… this final year of Trump has slowed my flow, though pace does seems to be quickening.
Interesting how consecutive poems change shape.
2020.10.25 – The green leaves
2020.10.29 – 3-part Harmony
2020.10.31 – I am Wallace’s Steven
2020.11.2 – Between the step and the stair
2020.11.9 – We’re all just on a different laundry cycle
2020.11.11 – Last Summer Day
2020.11.17 – Treasure Chest
3rd poem plays with Wallace, Idaho, where I was born,
and Wallace Stevens mixed with me.
~ ~ ~
The green leaves
in their cold sleeves
wave goodbye to warm
~ ~ ~
3-part Harmony
Rain on roof
rain on deck
rain on leaves
thunder keeping time
underlit by lightning
~ ~ ~
I am Wallace’s Steven
Was Steven’s myth
Sometimes it is best
Not to reread your heroes
~ ~ ~
Between the step and the stair
the earth and the air
entangled
~ ~ ~
We’re all just on a different laundry cycle
your wash is my rinse
my cool your hot
the whole thing mostly moist and lukewarm
with different bleach for each
the lost sock extra
but shrink free
(of course)
nothing personal
as long as you got the quarters for it
and room for water run
~ ~ ~
Last Summer Day
Sun softens wax
and
sun hardens skin
but
sun soothes the soul
so
I sit in sun and soak
~ ~ ~
Treasure Chest
On my right, cat sleeps on soft rocker
to my left, dog sleeps on thick rug floor
in between, covered wife sleeps in stuffed chair
sunrise an hour away
lights off
civilization’s sounds distant
rain wind moans low
dog snores
gas fireplace dances in dark
I finish my coffee
sigh
gather the gold
November 15th, 2020
here are 2 fone text collab poems with Wendy Shaffer
(while we begin #3)
~ ~ ~
So It Goes
The fog moves soft on forgotten waters
no sun breaks on the stretched canvas of years
While shadows give birth in tidal pools,
the flickering guppy fins of new thought
From earth through bone and flesh to birth
– Steven B. Smith & Wendy Shaffer 10.8.2020
~ ~ ~
Wotta daze today is, what a strange begone
No yawn, no scat, unlearned, begat
Eye of old, tongue of new, redo
She pauses at the top of the stair
Drumbeat in her chest
Caught between the up and forward
And the going back
Mother to no one
Swallowed by lack
So we do our done of start to finish
This Sisyphus of sum
Climbing day through night to numb
– Steven B. Smith & Wendy Shaffer 11.12.2020
October 31st, 2020
Scary adventure last night. Thought I lost an eye.
Cleaning up our ex-apartment, I dropped a bottle of bleach which had a loose cap, its lid flew over my head, and a stream of bleach went into my left eye.
Can we say not pleasant?
My first thought through pain and burning was I’d lost the eye or some of my vision.
Immediately flushed eye with sink hose cold water while Lady googled what to do. Search said flush eye with lukewarm water and go to emergency room. Flushed it twice again and went, though paused, thinking the worst was over and maybe we should just go home due to time and expense – when you’re raised financially poor (but with massive love) you always weigh the money.
Eye bright red and burning, waiting 30 minutes to see the doctor, I figure I may lose it, or at least have damaged vision, but I’m not really upset because this is nothing compared to what Lady’s going through – she got eye cancer 3 years ago, the radiation more or less ruined her vision (but killed the cancer) and every 3 months they shoot a large steroid pellet into her eyeball with an even larger needle. So if she can handle it, so can I & eye. Plus one eye is better than none.
I analyze my symptoms and decide the burning has peaked, and I can still see. Doctor says I’m probably okay thanks to our immediate flushing and the fact that store bleach is quite diluted, but says my 3 minutes of flushing should have been 10, so I do 10 more minutes.
The water washes off the tear film normally covering the eyeball, so now I can’t see much of anything out of it. Doctor puts a PH strip in my tears, PH is perfect, then stains the eye to see if there’s any physical damage, says I’m fine, will be in pain for few days but likely no problems.
Now next morning, eye still red and irritated but most pain gone, vision back, and on we go.
I’ve so many instances where life could have been waaaay worse, and yet I skate.
Thank you Reality.
The foto below is Lady’s left eye scan before this week’s needle injection.
Our newly adopted old dog also has a left eye problem we’re medicating, whereas our cat has a weepy right eye.
Eye yi yi.
October 23rd, 2020
blipverse past 3 daze
~ ~ ~
Life is good –
look left at clock – 4:20
look right for pipe- already filled
~ ~ ~
30 year brother
dead 33 years
bullet to brain
~ ~ ~
Open road
Closed mind
Detour
~ ~ ~
Storm dark
sky starless
nightingale sings anyway
~ ~ ~
Negotiations —
not getting anything
demand more
~ ~ ~
Where’s it coming from?
Where’s it going?
What is it?
~ ~ ~
Are you food or fed?
Found or hid?
Kept or rid?
October 20th, 2020
I wrote this on Facebook, and they deleted my post:
“Hopefully the Republicans will be wiped out once their old white dumb die.”
So I reworded it to:
I mentioned on FB that perhaps once one political party’s old and dumb and racist voters expire from old age, perhaps their political party would whither away as well – and FB deleted it, saying it goes against their community standards against hate speech. Guess only Republicans get to hate on FB.
But when I hit POST, found out I was banned from posting or commenting for 3 days.
Zuckfuckinghitlerberg.
Man I wish I were rich cuz I’d be all over them right now.
Never been FB banned or censored before.
October 17th, 2020
detail Book Boy by Lady
2 from Lady this morning, her 1st lines after 5 days in new old house.
~ ~ ~
Early Morning Cat Magic
The immediate beckons –
The cat is not watching me
She’s watching the food bowl
down to the floor
We are not alone
in this universe
~ ~ ~
Early Morning Particles
I caught myself in bed –
just smiling –
and then I realized it —
“That’s OK, I’ll be grouchy
enough for the two of us,”
says my husband.
bad foto of Book Boy by Lady 17″ x 9″ x 8″
October 6th, 2020
fotoshopped by Lady… she added the barn star, 2nd story shutters, hydrangeas, she, me, and the old dog Marlowe we’re adopting
Last August, Lady asked if we could check out an open house, off of Pearl Road, by the zoo.
When we got to the street, it said DEAD END, and I commented “I like it already” from my poet perspective.
Turned onto the one block street and saw it was brick. Liked it even more.
The house was The Last House On The Left, which is the title of Wes Craven’s 1st film, he of Scream and Nightmare on Elm Street fame… yet another plus.
When I walked into the 140 year-old house, I said “This is it.”
We viewed the house, bid on the house, and signed a contract for the house, all on that Saturday… then spent the next 8 weeks making it real.
We overlook the zoo, and during warm days outside we should be able to hear the lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
It was the only house of the 6 or so we looked at I liked.
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