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Archive for March, 2013

unwritten unsubmitted poem published

Thursday, March 14th, 2013

Anthology Green Panda Broad Sidling 2013

I got a poem published I didn’t write and never submitted . . . man, this poet gig’s a lot easier than I thought.

I left a FaceBook status Monday . . . three days later I receive the new Green Panda Press anthology in the mail and there’s my FaceBook comment reformatted as a poem.

Descartes Race

I don’t know if I exist or not .
. . perhaps I am but a weed
dream from some godz pipe.
But whatever I am or ain’t,
still gotta pay the bloody
rent and plod on from sun
thru moon.

Smith, 3.11.2013

Check out

That lucky old sun – art & foto Smith


Frog Prince kiss

Wednesday, March 13th, 2013

rainy day comic – foto Smith

Found a hard-back book of my poetry I hand-made in 1972 and titled “Tarnished Crandles.”

This was back when I had to typewriter a poem on one side, turn the sheet over and type a second on the back, inevitably making a mistake and starting over.

Old stuff, odd stuff, light stuff, naive stuff . . . amidst the good and dross, this one made me smile, 43 years down the road.

Dear Family

Mother, father, brother, sis
I send to thee my Frog Prince kiss
And when my warts appear on thee
Thou wilt always think of me

– Smith, 1970

Almost two-thirds of my life ago; now mom, dad, brother are ashes, and sis is 2,128 miles away.

visiting hours – foto Smith



Tuesday, March 12th, 2013

One might find rocks in a stream or by the lake, pick them up, turn them over, stack meditatively. One might find thoughts, pick them up, examine, stack them meditatively.

Some of these thought rocks hold uncomfortable ideas. I’d like to see the thoughts when they are there, acknowledge them, transform them. The thoughts have feelings attached. Physical feelings. I think about soothing the physical feelings, think what I’d like to feel instead, and let myself feel that without condemning myself for having uncomfortable thoughts in the first place. I am soothed.

How thankful so many of my thought rocks are gentle. How thankful so many of my thought rocks are ambitious in a good way. How thankful I am I have goals, how thankful I appreciate the goals met, the fun of steps taken in the process of attaining the goals. People call steps milestones; maybe there is something inherently associative with thoughts and rocks.

A guy sent a rock of healing intention over to his friend in Asia. He’d carried that rock in his pocket like a meditation bell, like a singing bowl. Every time he emptied his pocket for the night the rock came out with his keys onto the top of his dresser. Every morning when he put his pants back on, into his pocket the rock went with his keys. Every time he stuck his hand in there, he felt that rock.

The rock was with his keys. What is it about “keystone?”

We’re letting rock remain underground, unbroken, cool. Hot sometimes. How there’s so much loose rock already up in the streams that we can pick up, examine, put in our pockets, put back. About the majesty of mountains, unbroken. About the God of mountains, the gods of the mountains. I call on them to protect themselves. OM.

There’s sand under the boreal forests in Canada, sand everywhere. Sand comes from rock. I’d like that sand to just stand under the stands of trees. I don’t want the stands to be turned over. I call on the stands and the sand to protect itself. I call on the indigenous gods of the sand and the stands to protect themselves. I call on the gods to remember they are infused in our hands. They can keep our hands off the sands, keep keystone keystone without running a pipe through it, without scraping our rakes over it into rubble and cancer.

Without, without, oh, how easy to be *without* pain, without all the scraping and disease.

Without. How easy to be Without so many problems.

Oh, how easy to keep our lungs. How easy to blow our breath into the easy gerbil thrill of wind turbines, those easy tumbling breezes, those easy galloping breezes, those good winds. Those streams through something consonant.

I’m going to put a rock in my pocket, and the thick rock will lie calmly underground. It will be there relatively forever into the future. Sand will be there under stands, relatively forever into the future.

~ Lady



Monday, March 11th, 2013

detail “Doe in Heat” by Susan Jamison, egg tempera on panel – foto Smith


Wake and bake
Toke and soak
Weed and read
Tea and see
Cheeba sleep

– Smith, 3.9.2013

Upcoming . . . foto Smith


face phase

Sunday, March 10th, 2013

face phase – foto Smith


Marlatt / Lady / Smith / Kent OH 3.16.13 7:30pm

Thursday, March 7th, 2013

Gilded Lady – foto Smith

There’s a temp dental plate in my mouth past three weeks and it is not the most enjoyable acclimation — my tongue’s roamed my mouth 67 years and abruptly finds itself restricted top, front and sides by plastic. We’ve a book reading in nine days, down in the college town of Kent; be interesting to see how I perform.

Click for event page:

WHO: Standing Rock Cultural Arts Rock in the River Literary Series in cooperation with Last Exit Books and with support of Wild Goats Cafe

WHAT: Rick Marlatt “Desired Altitude” Launch Reading with SRCA Friends Steven and Lady K (Kathy Ireland) Smith
-Launch of “Desired Altitude”
-Smith Book Tour of “Stations of the Lost & Found” Memoir
-Readings by Rick Marlatt and Smith & Lady
-Books available for purchase & signing
-FREE to attend

WHEN: Saturday, March 16, 2013 – 7:30 PM

WHERE: Last Exit Books (in back of bookstore)
124 E. Main St #3, Kent, Ohio 44240 – (330) 677-4499

CONTACT: Standing Rock Cultural Arts
257 N Water St / Kent OH 44240
330-673-4970 /


The Standing Rock Cultural Arts Rock in the River Literary Series is the press portion of our literary sector with a mission to promote literary arts in our general area and to promote local and national poets with publication. The series launched with the Premiere Standing Rock Open Poetry Chapbook Competition in July 2010 and our first title launched in February 2011.


The captain says feel free to move but I’m not going anywhere…

Rick Marlatt’s newest collection opens with this take on modern society in a multidimensional dreamlike void where myth meets math, theology meets technology, and spirituality meets the stagnation of a world saturated in electronic static. Like any intriguing and complex dream, Marlatt’s multi-layered collection is woven together through an impressive number of binding threads that lead the reader through a fascinating loop of reflections on everything from ancestral roots, spirituality, myth, and the natural world to the psyche, tension, and the fatigued technological hangover of a desolate decade of “connected” disconnect.

While readers feel as if smoke signals and spirit animals are leaving a web of warning and igniting the speaker’s anxieties at every turn, they will want to learn whether the speaker successfully navigates the mechanics of this over amped dimension where “the buffalo are all gone” and “pigeons are actuated by satellites,” where even “the microwave wants a little rest. / The light switch pines for solitude.” Subsequently, Desired Altitude will leave enlightened readers relieved to relocate the ability to find simple resolution within themselves. In a unique and subtle man-versus-machine missive, a constant bevy of new discoveries to consider both surprises and pleases with each subsequent read.


Rick Marlatt’s first book, How We Fall Apart, was chosen as the winner of the 2010 Seven Circle Press Poetry Award.

Rick is a graduate of the MFA program at the University of California, Riverside, where he served as poetry editor of the Coachella Review. Previously, he studied English and Philosophy at the University of Nebraska at Kearney, where he also earned a MA in Creative Writing, and he is currently a PhD student at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

A teacher, poet, screenwriter, and literary critic, Rick’s work has appeared widely in print and online publications. He lives in Nebraska with his wife and their two sons. His website is


The man Cool Cleveland labeled “everything your mother warned you about” (2003) has released an autobiography that continues his tradition of shock and awe.

The book, *Stations of the Lost & Found: A True Story of Armed Robbery, Stolen Cars, Outsider Art, Mutant Poetry, Underground Publishing, Robbing the Cradle and Leaving the Country* by Smith & Lady, is the story of Steven B. Smith, a Cleveland artist who pursued the outrageous and the good, finally finding meaning in art, poetry and odd life experiences.

The back book blurb sums it up:
Drug orgies, massive refindings of reality, the acceptance of interdimensions. Errant life scout, cultural adventurer, perception tester, court jester, inner seeker, reality adjuster, flow surfer, servant and searcher of Other.

Born in Bitterroot, raised on Paradise Prairie, farm boy, car thief, Naval Academy, expelled for dope, society marriage, armed robbery, jail, illegal loft dweller, Artcrimes, rat attacks, overdose, celibate, remarried, expat. Ran from the cops ten times, got away nine.


Kathy Ireland Smith, a.k.a. Lady K, is a poet, publisher, artist and surreal photographer from northeast Ohio. She and her husband Smith spent 31 months of traveling in 10 countries on 3 continents from 2006-9, and you can follow their ongoing adventures at Kathy is also founder and editor of The City Poetry (, a cutting edge art and poetry zine based in Cleveland.


Steven B. Smith was born, is living, will die. Smith has been a poet 49 years, artist 48 years, publisher of the Artcrimes journal 27 years, editor of, 10 years, blogger 7 years, singer & lyricist 2 years.. He and his wife Lady K just published a memoir of Smith’s life and crimes “Stations of the Lost & Found.”

Etch-a-Smith – foto Smith


mad sing u

Wednesday, March 6th, 2013

Mad Sing You, poster by Xela

In two weeks I get up in front of two musicians in front of a microfone in front of an audience and sing in public for my first time. I will have just turned 67.

This is amusing. When I was seven I was in the school Christmas play as part of the angelic chorus. When they heard me sing in rehearsal, they told me to try humming. When they heard me hum, they said lip sync instead.

The musical half of the band — Peter Ball — is trying to pre-record the basic music tracks, then have the DJ play that at the gig while Peter plays his synth.

We’ve hit a snag on the pre-record, so if that’s not resolved, we’ll scrap the soundtrack and just do Peter on his keyboard.

If for some reason that goes south, I’ll get up and tap my foot and clap my hands and growl/sing my three blues numbers solo.

Going to do “Bare Cat Blues,” “Blowhard Blues,” and “Booze Lose Blues,” (all 3 free listen & download at

This will be interesting.

Sleazy Weasel – foto Smith


corner of Random Avenue and Marginal Road

Monday, March 4th, 2013

crossload – foto Smith

I shot these on the corner of Random Avenue and Marginal Road . . . which is odd since those two Cleveland streets don’t meet.

no strings attached- foto Smith

feed? or flee?- foto Smith

out in- foto Smith

myth – foto Smith

flux zebra – foto Smith

upholstry zebra – foto Smith

garden gnome – foto Lady K


Animatopoeia – A Most Peculiar (Post Modern) Bestiary

Saturday, March 2nd, 2013

“Shelved Animals” – Deborah Simon, 2000 – foto Smith

Would love to tell you to see this show at the CSU Art Gallery, but it’s gone . . . we stumbled in on its last day.

Here’s it’s web-where: Animatopoeia – A Most Peculiar (Post Modern) Bestiary, and a taste of what we saw. There were 19 artists.

“Ceremony” – Kate Clark, 2011 – foto Smith

The show “is based on an obscure list of categories of animals that comes to us through Michel Foucault, the postmodern thinker, and social theorist, in a groundbreaking book on Postmodernist thought The Order of Things, by way of a quote by Jorge Luis Borges who claims that it came from a translation from an ancient Chinese encyclopedia”:

Those that belong to the emperor
Embalmed ones
Those that are trained
Suckling pigs
Fabulous ones
Stray dogs
Those that are included in this classification
Those that tremble as if they were mad
Innumerable ones
Those drawn with a very fine camel hair brush
Et cetera
Those that have just broken the flower vase
Those that, at a distance, resemble flies

“From A Ceremony” – Jim Leach, 2012 – foto Smith

“In Bocca Al Lupo” – Beth Cavener Stichter, 2012 – foto Smith

detail of Adrian Hatfield piece – foto Smith

“Medusa” – Roberto Osti, 2012 – foto Smith

“Pig” – Gamble Staempfli – foto Smith


red door yellow man

Friday, March 1st, 2013

Chiplis door – foto Smith


The man walks through the door
The door is red
The man is not
And neither has a hump

— Smith, 1971

Chiplis wall – foto Smith


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