WALKING ON THIN ICE

Two sides of love

Lady silhouette – foto Smith

Two sides of love . . .

The first poem — Dada Greybeard — was written to Lady ten days after we took up seven-+ years ago. Poem is true. I gave her a ride to a poetry reading and she stayed; two weeks after the poem she moved in. So, “come hear my poetry,” and “want to see my art?” can get you the gal in the real world.

The second poem — Grease Your Grill — is simple sexual innuendo, delightfully so according to hearers . . . makes me smile everytime I read it.

Click here to hear Two Sides of Love . . 4:12 — excellent live musical accompaniment by Peter Ball.

Text of poems below foto.

60 more Ball & Smith numbers at reverbnation.com/mutantsmith

Lady meditating – foto Smith

~ ~ ~

Dada Greybeard

A lady poet followed me home
And asked if I could keep her
I replied
It must be denied
For I had no room in my freezer
She engineered her stay
Of relocation with play
Charm and elocution
Praised this and that
Allowed a wee pat
Counted on evolution
I may be cheap
And easy too
But for female I’m hard-wired
And too
It’s sort of cool
This once being the one that’s desired
Though I question her taste
Her need of rat waste
A too hasty fade
Will shatter shades
I cannot replace
Best to see
What she reweaves
What treasure in her trundle
Though it fracture my plan
I am but man
And man is meant to bundle

— 2005

~ ~ ~

Grease Your Grill

I’m an oven cleaner baby
Come to scrub your grill
Yes this oven loving man
Mean to steam your grill
Get the heat back baby
Flame and fire the thrill

I’ll rub your rust off lady
Get your grid to shine
Rid this mood of maybe baby
Lady let me lick your lime
Make much meat that might be
Moistened by munching lightly
Juicy, prime

Gonna grease your grill
Put the heat back baby
Then, send you the bill

— 2004

~ ~ ~

New Drool Cool

Prison of flesh – sculpture & foto Smith

This is a funhouse of a song with me playing with me and Peter Ball making loops and rearranging it all. I like this one.

Click here to hear New Drool Cool . . . 2:30.

Here’s the poem I’m riffing on.

The New Drool Blues

I got the blues
Baby needs new shoes
Old shoe won’t do
Tired of this fool
Gonna find new drool

She’s looking to see
What’s left of me
Saw she made her mark
I’m cold and dark
Baby spanks new spark

Oh I been to school
And I paid some dues
I know who fool
Whose who using who
Baby seeks new tool

Part and partial pain
Part hurting again
Part hurting as end
Never making amend
Never saying her sin

And she’ll never stop
Doing her dirty bop
Till sagging flesh drops
Or someone calls the cops
Messes up her ops

Nothing I can do
Too too her fool
Apply my own eye wool
I’m be gone butt drool
Dead dried toad tool

She’s moving too fast
Her next piece of ass
Her house made of glass
And her empty past
I’m yesterday’s grass

I’m old going slow
No goosing my glow
Ain’t got enough dough
Ain’t cool guy to know
She needs be I go

She’s seeking new beats
New trickings to treat
New sauces to heat
New meat to repeat
Old dick to delete

So I got me these blues
Baby needs new shoes
Old shoe won’t do
She’s tired of this fool
Gonna find her new drool

— Smith, 2004

Wait here – foto Smith

Now Zen (old-timey radio version)

Rocket racer – foto Smith

Starting a trip to Twilightszoneville over the next few days posting older recordings of me reading poetry while Peter Ball plays with switches, settings, electronic voices, mixes, loops over the past 10 years.

Today is an old-timey radio-voiced version of Now Zen . . . not a song, a reading.

Clich here to hear Now Zen (old-timey radio version) . . . all of one minute 30 seconds duration.

Now Zen

It ain’t age.
It ain’t sex.
It ain’t race, religion, height,
gender, color, class or learning.

It’s path, progress and position.
The road not not taken.
Be here now.
Hear now
o eyes unseeing
o ears unearned.

We’re all perfect potential
cept maybe republicans, lawyers,
the true organized crime called police
the true whores called priests.

You can walk on water IF water wants.
Just ask.
Walk willing.
There ain’t no dark night’s ungentle light.
Ain’t nothing outside but lies.
But even lie true ain’t for you.
Walk within.
Don’t need no god.
No catholic pimp pushing blood feast.
My lie’s mine.
Walk my own walk.
Fuck the talk.

Grasshoppers gone wrong become ants.
Bad ants cry uncle, cry wolf, cry baby.
Goats goad sacrifice to sun.
Ritual requires repetition, release.
Nothing stays river’s run
but drought’s dry dirt
(and river still runs).

Rub your ears together.
Start a fire.
Flesh alarm.
Let gone go.
Lock lip.

Listen.

— Smith, 1990 for poem, maybe 2005 for recording

Nehi – foto Smith

Neither Neck nor necklace (the song)

Mother Goo – foto Smith

Don’t know what this song is . . . musically certainly interesting but perhaps vocally challenged.

Hopefully I’m an example of doing one’s best with what one has — the cancer docs cut some of my vocal cord away in 2005.

Lyrics below.

Click here to hear: neither Neck nor Necklace

Neither Neck nor Necklace

The loop around the landbound fences we must leap
To catch the fly that hovers just outside our reach
Luring us with promise of seeing what we seek
To satisfy the fires waged within our keep

No necklace for the neckless
No creature for the creep
Just feckless for the reckless
Who stray outside the sheep

There is no neck or necklace, no fly fit to eat
Just lesson, learning, leaning aching us to meet
What we can’t with grasping or rending with our teeth
But only when we leave the prison of our need

It’s neither neck nor necklace
We turn on what we bleed
What’s tied to ego building
Best used to lead retreat

Let want, need, desire be free from what we teach
Stop collecting mire and focus each to each
For life is sometime lemon, sometime quite the peach
And therein lies the lesson in my need to preach

No necking for the neckless
No turning on our need
The reckless and the feckless
Both wander need to need

— Smith 2.1.2013

Let’s shake on it – foto Smith