fuel to continuity – foto Smith

The Heart as Arsonist

Sure the kindling,
but as well the wood.
The place as such
and substance
of the matter.
Amounts of time to flicker,
flame in bright arrogance,
become fuel to continuity,
faded maturation.

It is not wonder
yet is
why wolves, weres and lovers
lie dreaming before fires
fire places
It is the melancholy
of the cycle calling.
Warmed atavisms
consumed in life
in love of rebirth.
The remembrance
of werewolves wanting wings.

All these
the core past caring
the fire is
is love.
The spark
to kindle the passion
then human the substance
to weather completion
this this is love.

— Steven B. Smith, 1975

Heartfire – foto Smith

Clothing for the Benefit of Reality

Every so often Smith & I attend the Monday sale at Unique Thrift. Everything in the store is 50% off. It’s really ethical to get clothes from a consignment or thrift shop (or if new, from a locally-owned shop, especially one that makes clothes locally). The reason it’s ethical to get used clothing is that a lot of energy goes into manufacturing cloth.

I’ve started to collect old shirts with positive messages. “Positive” is desirable as long as it doesn’t mean  a cancer test turning up positive, etc.

So this week’s catch includes shirts about teaching, a science fair & some kind of sports team sponsored by a concrete manufacturer. By wearing shirts with nice messages I am helping facilitate a beneficial flow, a flow about respecting great aspects of civilization. I have some nature shirts, too, but would like to find more.

3 shirts

I got the “Concrete Works” shirt thinking about concrete aggregated results of meditation, hope, prayer and dedicated good action, and also I was thinking about repairing this infrastructure in an environmentally-friendly way. And I happen to really favor the back of the shirt, too:

ksmith shirt

Nice to find myself threaded into Reality. Here’s some interesting stuff about the number 33…

~ Lady

Winter summer song

Summersong – foto Smith

Wintertime, and the living ain’t easy – foto Smith

Beam me up Lady – foto Smith

Wintertime, and the living ain’t easy – foto Smith

See what we see – foto Smith

Wintertime, and the living ain’t easy – foto Smith

Summer somewhere – foto Smith

Wintertime, and the living ain’t easy – foto Smith

Summer incubating – foto Smith

Wintertime, and the living ain’t easy – foto Smith

Mine Map

This is what we got – foto Smith

Mine Map

First, I am poet.
Second, writer.
Third, visual artist.
Plus I do all the above
with fotos.

None I chose.
All I embrace.
Thank you Flow
for cursing me so.

— Smith, 1.6.2013

In the land of the blind the one-eyed is king – foto Smith

Junk It, Kick It, Spit On It (for Steven B. Smith)

A hard way to go – foto Smith

Here’s Mark Weber’s 1989 unflattering poem on me as a drunk. I drank myself to death less than 2 years after this, woke up in intensive care. Sober since.

Junk It, Kick It, Spit On It (for Steven B. Smith)

I don’t think there was
anybody in the Tremont bar last night
that didn’t relate
to what you were going thru

we’re concerned, but yeah
go head on
kick the shit out of everything
burn all the money
and the papers
in your wallet
break every glass you drank out of
kiss everybody
roll on the floor
bark like a dog
throw chairs
pronounce: “I’m not sure this
is worth selling out for”
sleep on the bar next to your wine
tie Amy Sparks’ shoe laces together
ask the microphone if yr a democrat
or a republican
stand there teetering
drunker than drunk

how in the fuck did you
ever get home
last night

— Mark Weber, 1989

Coulda been me – foto Smith

new chap: Hip Cat Femur Whack Give a Doc a Bone

Smith’s Farm – foto Smith

Dianne Borsenik’s NightBallet Press is within a week of publishing my new chapbook *Hip Cat Femur Whack Give a Doc a Bone* featuring 40 poems – one from 1965, one from 2005, two 2006, one 2009, four 2010, seventeen 2011, and fourteen 2012 . . . 47 years of poet Smith from age 19 through 66.

Excited because I gave her all my poems and let her choose . . . it is a great gift to see what other poets choose of your work, a chance to see old words in new light.

It’s likely more than 50 pages, so it’ll be $10, or 25¢ per poem (if under 50 pages, $5).

Half the poems I didn’t remember because I usually start a poem the night before, finish it next morning and immediately blog it, then go on to the next poem, frequently forgetting what’s been posted. Averaging 8-20 poems a month lately; in the old days before our 31 months of travel I was writing 5-10 poems a year.

Haven’t seen the cover yet, but believe this to be the poem flow:

Cleveland Gray
Cliff Notes
Formulating Future
Ego Disease
The Rejeculation Blues
Do Wrap
The Owl & the Pussycat Have Sex
To Every Man Who Seeks Cosmic Funk
Sofa Satori
The Doers of Perception
Six Senryu in Search of an Umbrella
House of Seven Veils
Scat Box
Running from the Quantum Cop
Rumi by Way of Dr. Seuss
On the State of the State
Hip Cat Femur Whack Give a Doc a Bone
The Wolf Who Cried Human & the Pack That Wouldn’t Believe
Rosary Candle Cable Wick
Jump Start Cable
Pome Skool
Dalai Lady
Get Me to the Witch on Time
Laptop Dance
Herb 4:20
Life Lines
Out at the In-laws
Out at the In-laws 2
Seven Year In
Walking the Wanting Wheel
In Throe of Woe
I’m Not as Bad as All That
Head Light Tail
High Wind Whether
My Children of the Me
Tonight’s Advice to Tomorrow’s Me

Just washed my face & can’t do a thing with it – foto Smith


Lady – foto Smith


Between the cat
and Lady runs a wire
of need, want, desire

— Smith, 1.1.2013

Cat – foto Smith



So what?

What if.

What if we saw tension
as a muscle overworked
as a muscle
we want to smoothen
as lactic acid crystals
from either exercising
or interestingly enough,
stewing on our couch

What if we saw the mental clutter
that mental stuff
we wish we’re rid of

as this kind of buildup of
lactic acid crystals

(metaphorical lactic acid crystals!
not real ones)

What if we saw meditation
as stretching
daily exercise of
whatever lever
ladders mindfully
or mindlessly
like stretching
preventative maintenance
to charm the mental clutter
the overchattering clatter

What if we employ it?

What if we take it,
and lay our ladder
in a lattice,
buttress a creation?

What if the mental chatter…

is normal?


What if the mental chatter…

is OK?


Yep, yep, yep

What if we’re supposed
to DO something with it?

What if we’re supposed
to take this fodder
for new art?

What if we are supposed
to bend the fork
which points to stuff
we’ve bent to touch
our misperceived

the things we think
we’ve done wrong

the hoops and hurdles
we oughted
ourselves with

And think, Oh yes,
I’ve got this fork
It’s not meant to punture
but to prod

It’s fuel

And then use it

And feel at peace

What if
we utter
a word that’s chock
like rock
like hammer pulling hand
to glide through
gap in curtain
for our I
to fly
through waves

~ Lady