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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 )
 
   
 
 

Archive for April, 2011

Water wears away

Saturday, April 23rd, 2011

Water damage – foto by Smith

Sound and Water

water is sneaky. also, patient, and insidious.
it’ll beat against you for thousands of years
in big waves
until it smooths you down
or breaks you apart.

or it’ll lie still in quiet pools,
and insidiously work
on the weakest
point

leaking

and

dripping

and moving.

and then when water does slowly sneak
inside, and lies in wait,
it can FREEZE and EXPAND with

TREMENDOUS FORCE and BREAK

(so water is sneaky,
insidious
and
patient.)

while SOUND is slippery
(and sneaky)

SOUND slip slides off every flat surface

SOUND double or triple slip slides..

skips from here
to there

(so you think what came from there
came from here.)

SOUND plays tag with yr ears
and lies
a lot.

plus, in destructive force, SOUND
(shatters)

whereas
water

wears away

— Smith & Lady, 2008


Laundry tips – foto by Smith

 

Lady Gray

Friday, April 22nd, 2011

April Lady 2011 – foto by Smith

Lady Gray

Well I got a little lady
Maybe she a shady gray
But when I lap her lapidary
She the only way

She make me sweet begonia
She jolly up my jam
She make me sweat petunia
She amp my is with am

I want to be her front door man

O lady let me light your darkness
Won’t you lead me late to sin
Let wicked lie be my harness
And my whip lip on lip

— Smith, 2005


drawing by young Lady K – foto by Smith

 

Sofa Satori

Thursday, April 21st, 2011

Cosmic kiss – foto by Smith

Sofa Satori

Just realized
my basic life philosophy
is glorified flower
caterpillar to butterfly
apprenticeship approach
in which
one sprouts
grows
buds
blooms
flowers
dies
retries
until you get it right
the old do and die
until there’s no more why.

But that ain’t true.

There’s no logic
no grand grid
from there to here
no now from then
it’s naught but cosmic comic whim
we don’t roll the dice
we’re the laboratory mice
the pepper in the stew
to keep the gods amused
it might be plan
or free form will
still
we’re the double bill
the clone clowns renewed
the soap opera crew
for laughing gods to view.

— Smith, 4-20-2011


Grid within – foto by Smith

 

Devolution

Wednesday, April 20th, 2011

welcome to the jungle – foto by Smith

Devolution

We pull from water to land
land to tree
tree to you and me
with but small change
always fighting, fleeing
eating, sleeping
procreating
repeating
me first
you last
mine matters
you but rung on ladder
to get me higher
or snack to slow monster
so I get away faster.

Yet we link atoms
ply plastic
weave wampum
fan tastic
walk on moon
braid electron
split light
site elastic
and lie with ease
we are our own disease.

We come from oneness
in probability plane
yet grab for space
in none numbness
entangle time
demand spotlight
trample tribe
hold tight
to special someness.

This poem is mine
but I didn’t write it
I’m just ink
to help you sight it
if cows were kings
and kings but coy
I’d ride my remorse
and become a coyboy

— Smith, 4-20-2011


a rose is arose – foto by Smith

 

Meat Machine Repair Shop

Tuesday, April 19th, 2011

Operators (artist not known) – foto by Smith

from Bone:

“My biggest and best scar though is the six-inch curve below my right knee. When I was nine, I was running and jumped a block wall and crashed leg first into the top edge of a second hidden block wall, ripping my flesh open down to the fibula. I got up and had trouble walking, so sat down and pulled my pants leg up. My flesh had separated into a six-inch open bloodless “V” all the way down to bone. The exposed bone was an incredible pure glowing whiteness in the sun. I was so fascinated I touched it, touched my own living skeleton bone with my finger flesh—it felt cool, hard, slick.

“About then I discovered the sensual side of flesh.”

— excerpt from chapter three of Stations of the Lost – a true tale of armed robbery, stolen cars, outsider art, mutant poetry, underground publishing, robbing the cradle, and leaving the country by Smith & Lady (to be self-published in 2011).

I’m entering the Meat Machine — checking myself into a local human repair body shop for a hip replacement May 11. Before that there will be blood drawings, pre-surgical meetings, and watching a film of what to expect. Then the old bone cut and paste shuffle, three days in hospital, and a three month window of pain rehab to a place far better than where I am now.

I hate pain. Hate knowing I’m going in to get worse pain; but at least this worse pain has an expiration date, which will be an incredible improvement over the ever constant constantly worsening current pain which is 24 / 7 / 365 times 6 years so far which I am fluxing tired of because it drains my spirit daily.

I wanna whine but that ain’t fine cuz it’s an ego crime and me-me mime that eats folk’s time so they walk away from my rhyme saying “get a better line cuz this one’s not sublime.”

I’ll be out of the poetry reading scene for awhile, and will even miss an art show opening next month at the Wall Eye Gallery in which I’ll have one piece (see foto below).

They wanted to operate a week earlier but I pushed it back so we could attend Jawbone 2011.

The Jawbone Open Poetry Readings is Major Raigan’s annual 3-day gathering of poets from across the country. Maj, one of the best poets I know, teaches at Kent State University and has been hosting Jawbone for over 25 years. Jawbone is a no sign-up sheet totally open mic affair which runs May 6-8, starting Friday night May 6 at 8pm at the North Water Street Gallery at 257 N. Water Street, Kent, Ohio — it is a grand affair with a greater density of fine poets than you can shake a simile at.


My Back Porch, 1996, 13″ x 13″ – assemblage & foto by Smith

 

After I died

Monday, April 18th, 2011

Dead Center – foto by Smith

Tried & Traveled

After I died
in my dead end drinking
twenty years ago
it took
three days intensive care
six months Nyquil
to beat alcohol,
cocaine to kick Nyquil,
poverty to kill cocaine,
valium to get off grass,
and weed to beat it all.

Tried most anything to get off me.

Now it’s one cup cowboy coffee
Costa Rican strong
each morning
and hope of toke or two
to take me through the month.

But what I really want is
copper brain wire
direct to pleasure center
battery hooked
finger on button
blaze of white light.

— Smith, 4-17-2011


Be Fabulous – foto by Smith

 

Backside the Mirror

Sunday, April 17th, 2011

Backside the Mirror in Tarnished Brain Land – assemblage & foto by Smith

Dan, a MySpace feeder of birds and animals and fellow poet friend, requested I show more of my assemblage Backside the Mirror in Tarnished Brain Land. The piece is 55″ wide and 31″ tall and was created last year.

The blues in the background are copper corrosion (various mixtures of acrylic polymer, copper powder, salt and water), while the gray swirls have aluminum powder substituted for the copper powder.

It’s a difficult piece to fotograf because of its size, complexity and especially the mirror fragments — it is much more interesting in person.


Backside the Mirror in Tarnished Brain Land – assemblage & fotos by Smith

 

Night Dancing

Saturday, April 16th, 2011

Let’s get crazy – foto by Smith

High Wind Whether

The trees are dancing
Wind playing the tune
In sky tall prancing
Beneath a full moon
Clouds chant the chorus
Direction and sound
In song sung just for us
We being earth bound
Our feet stuck to dirt
Our hearts leap for air
With happiness we flirt
And shirk our despair
Yes the trees are dancing
Leaping for the moon
My soul sky chancing
Laughing in loon

— Smith, 4-16-2011

$
Night dancing (detail from Smith assemblage) – foto by Smith

 

life

Friday, April 15th, 2011

sow & reap – foto by Smith

Life

Is it sow and reap?
Or rip and sew?

— Smith, 4-15-2011


rip & sew – foto by Smith

 

Bad Poem for a Bad Day In a Bad World Going Wrong Way

Thursday, April 14th, 2011

death race – foto by Smith

Bad Poem for a Bad Day
In a Bad World Going Wrong Way

Too blue to do the do
Too brown to turn the frown
Too low to get and go
Too sad to skirt the bad
The news fuels blues
The facts lack act
The is mists fizz
The at slack splat
Better getting badder
Upper going down
Bitter climbing ladder
Super stepping down
Oil slicking water
Atoms curdling grape
Soil sickening barter
Madams crying rape
Richer getting richest
Poorer dropping fast
Inner retching sickness
Power knifing past
The sick get tossed
The stocks embossed
The pricks get sloshed
The lost pay cost
Just how much money
Do you assholes need
You’ve stolen the honey
You’ve gained in greed
You’ve poisoned the air
You’ve pissed the pond
Stolen more than fair
What disease are you on
Why are you even here
You should be in jail
Locked in stocks and bonds
Your success is your fail
You should abscond
With what you’ve stolen
Before we awake
Before we get rolling
Tie you to the stake
Pour gas in your glass
And make you drink
First tossing a match
In your toxic shake
We need a revolution
Need our land back
Must work in solution
Punish the rich pack
They’re dogs digging holes
Burying too many bones
These arrogant assholes
Need locked up alone
Fed bread and water
With mold and decay
Stopped before further
They lead us astray
They have the guns
We have the numbers
And we’ve finally begun
To awake from our slumber
They steal from us
Let’s deal with them
We’re thrown under the bus
And that we must stem
Get pitchforks and fire
Get dogs and clubs
Go after the liars
Stop being so dumb
We have the power
They’ve really no spine
Now is our hour
Make them pay for their crimes
Storm their gates
Knock down their towers
Hate their hate
Steal their power
Put them in prison
Hang them from trees
Feed them the poison
That’s killing our bees
Burn their oil
Vasectomize their sons
Collect for our toil
Make the cowards run
Punish the priests
For shagging our young
Label them beasts
Then castrate each one
We can’t eat the rich
Cuz they taste too bad
But we can make them itch
Turn them real sad
Make these sons of Capitalist bitch
Pay for their bad
Make them pick cotton
Then shovel shit
Remember how often
Our pockets they’ve picked
Pay them in peanuts
For extra days work
Don’t feed them enough
So their tummies hurt
Make them grovel
Let them beg
Hand them a shovel
And tell them to dig
Dig for their betters
Dig like a slave
Dig like it matters
Like they’re digging their own grave

— Smith, 4-14-2011

I apologize. I’m in a bad mood after reading way too much bad news about politicians whining and lying while lining their pockets with our money and Corporations turning their customers into corpses as the rich eat the poor while making us pick up the dinner bill. They’re killing the planet, the air, the soil, the plants, the animals, the birds, the fish, the oceans — and they’re killing us. If we’re to survive, we must fight back. Their law states it’s not murder when it’s self defense.

Even President Thomas Jefferson agrees.

“God forbid we should ever be twenty years without such a rebellion. The people cannot be all, and always, well informed. The part which is wrong will be discontented, in proportion to the importance of the facts they misconceive. If they remain quiet under such misconceptions, it is lethargy, the forerunner of death to the public liberty. … And what country can preserve its liberties, if its rulers are not warned from time to time, that this people preserve the spirit of resistance? Let them take arms. The remedy is to set them right as to the facts, pardon and pacify them. What signify a few lives lost in a century or two? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time, with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure.” – Thomas Jefferson


Lady’s protest signs – foto by Smith

 

 
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