Writing more since Trump lost.
He did lessen quality of life.

2020.12.10 – With plague
2020.12.11 – Flayed Minion
2020.12.12 – Conversation with Wife 52
2020.12.12 – The mouth breathers
2020.12.13 – There’s night
2020.12.13 – Sun gone, lights off
2020.12.13 – Last warm night of year

~ ~ ~

With plague
even the well intentioned
bring danger

~ ~ ~

Flayed Minion

Do dead dogs dream of electric meat?
Why is it trick, never treat?

Do rich itch from inner need
or just enjoy watching us bleed?

If space has end, what’s other side?
Will race ever blend till we’re of one mind?

Do prayers work when sang to the skies?
And why hasn’t God replied?

~ ~ ~

Conversation with Wife 52

A billion more people past 8 years.
“Where are they all coming from?”
Vaginas.
“Wow, must be a lot of vaginas.”
Yes especially in China.
“What?”
China vagina.

Think I’ll produce a car called the Slave,
that way we can all be Slave drivers.
“No.”
Make the front half black, back half white.
“That’s racist.”
Yes, a racist car… we can all go to the racists
and watch them circle the problem.
“I wouldn’t post that if I were you.”

~ ~ ~

The mouth breathers
keep telling me
which haiku to read

~ ~ ~

There’s night
there’s day
same coin

My beast within
barely lies below
my caution

Go ahead
starve your inner evil
it eats anyway

Best I can do
is pass the peace
and toke

Make it easier
on others

~ ~ ~

Sun gone, lights off
fire in fireplace
toke time

~ ~ ~

Last warm night of year
sitting by the fire pit
pipe in hand

“who likes short shorts…” – The Royal Teens, 1958

2020.12.4 – Between the fire
2020.12.4 – The first to say
2020.12.5 – Lay back in too hot tub
2020.12.7 – Black
2020.12.7 – Shaking the fuzz
2020.12.7 – Silent echoes head
2020.12.7 – I’m not saying Walmart’s checkout is slow
2020.12.7 – Try to feed
2020.12.8 – Needle probing
2020.12.8 – Night’s not darker
2020.12.9 – Cat in lap
2020.12.9 – There’s this and that
2020.12.10 – Dogs lower their heads
2020.12.10 – The plague wind

~ ~ ~

Between the fire
and the forest
lies the flame

~ ~ ~

The first to say
“What’d you think of them apples?”
Was probably the snake in Eden.

~ ~ ~

Lay back in too hot tub
set time machine to one million years pre-being
push button
pull plug

~ ~ ~

Black
before sunrise, drinking coffee
black

~ ~ ~

Shaking the fuzz
heading for buzz
of morning’s first pipe

~ ~ ~

Silent echoes head
heavy holds heart
tiptoeing through dread
collecting the pretty parts

~ ~ ~

I’m not saying Walmart’s checkout is slow
but my green bananas ripened
while I waited

~ ~ ~

Try to feed
a sick cold hungry coyote
but it bolts in fear

~ ~ ~

Night’s not darker
than inside my head
and dawn’s a long way off

~ ~ ~

Cat on lap
rat in White House
I prefer purr

~ ~ ~

There’s this and that
some of the other
whatcha gonna do?

~ ~ ~

Dogs lower their head
wait, watch
cats control

~ ~ ~

The plague wind
brings masks, hand sanitizer
fear of fellow

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

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

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)

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

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