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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 October, 2013

2 musics, same sexual innuendo

Thursday, October 31st, 2013

me at mic, Peter Ball on keybords, Dimitri van Puptent on laptop
performing at Mahall’s March 2013

This week’s recording session took a new tack — used same lyrics and did two totally different songs.

First take is semi-funky: Natural Geographic.

Second take is soft, sweeter: Natural Geo.

Both takes same sexual innuendo.

Thanks to 1950’s Sun Ra and The Crystals from whom I stole the first line.

Words sometimes difficult to discern, so here’s a cheat sheet.

Natural Geographic

Honey in the bee box
Raisins in the bread
Found my baby cooking
And took her back to bed

Asked her in the morning
How she liked my beats
Said I was a poet
But need to test more sheets

Kissing in the kitchen
Touching in the den
Baby gets me itchin’
To practice body Zen

Rode her to the mountain
Nestled in the cloud
Down to bushy plain
Where the field’s plowed

Played her wet in water
Held her high in air
Laughed like loonies liking
Then took her to the fair

Itchin’ in the kitchen
Doing in the den
Baby gets me missin’
Where I’ve often been

Climbed among the Tetons
Rubbed around the mill
Reaching each our reasons
Scrubbed a rub the grill

Not much more to mutter
Matters not at all
That we bit the apple
That led us to this fall

Smitten in the kitchen
Dabbling in the den
Baby gets me itchin’
Messin’ with my when

– Smith, 10.30.2013

74 Ball & Smith songs available for free listen, free download at

Music, mix, recording Peter Ball of Apartment One; lyrics, vocals me.

For 200 Peter Ball Apartment One musical collaborations with a multitude of folk, try

Ball, Smith, Dimitri performing at Mahall’s March 2013


The Not O.K. Corral

Thursday, October 31st, 2013

Warning – slippery surface

Did it!

Wrote 31 poems for October for the Crisis Chronicles Press project featuring Mary E. Weems, Shelley Chernin, Dawn Shepler Shimp, John Swain, Steve Brightman, John Burroughs, Lady K, and me. This is going to be an interesting book when it comes out since we’re all such different poets.

The Not O.K. Corral

If my name were Who
and I knocked at your door
and you called “Who’s there?”
and I replied “Right”
what would you do?

I mean the O.K. Corral might have been okay
for Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday say
but not so okay if you look
Claiborne, Clanton, McLaury’s way
(30 shots, 30 seconds, 6 feet apart, 3 guys gone)

I believe Guantanamo is male,
whereas Guantanamera is female . . .
though I’m too poor for a parasite,
can only afford a single site.

Our new lies are 17% more factual than our old lies.

The Princess had no pea
so I offered her my rumpled foreskin.

Whoa mama,
better get that skitter tied down
before it departs.

Coco Chanel never wore flannel.
Though women wear falsies, men wear false he’s.

Is the plural of men menses?

Lady was bargaining with me
so I called her a Berber woman
as did the Berber vendor in Morocco
when she bargained him below her original offer.
She told me, “No, I’m not cold at all,
but if you keep pummeling me with puns,
I’m going to need a punbrella.”

Life is hard, and then you climax.

Wanted for unrest – the Coffee Kid.
I’m serving time in the plenum-tentiary.
My odds are getting odder,
especially from the otters,
not to mention others.

I dye lemma, for I am my own lexeme.
All godz chillun gots problems.

Ah yes, the lesser of evils . . .
could be a business opportunity here
for if I had two evils
and rented them by the hour,
I’d be the leaser of two evils.

Hello weirdness my old friend
I’d welcome you back again,
but you never left.

The United Mutations of Smith now in session,
the Irreverend me presiding.

Take your time.
No hurry.
Be well.
Sorry bout the broken bits.

– Smith, 10.31.2013

hope u had a good time – fotosmith



Thursday, October 31st, 2013


Today is Samhain, the ancient Irish holiday
in which fairy folk (I’m part fairy)
and “dead” kin can connect
even more readily
with the living

Honoring relationships & valuing Reality
is what it’s about, as are most

I’m Lady
so I’m compelled
to do stuff for Reality,
help it work stuff out

I welcome this time to celebrate the harvest,
note the hastened shortening of daylight
& the bundling up of consciousness into
more introspection, the kitchen rituals
of domestic life

And of course this holiday is
for honoring ancestors who are
no longer in the flesh as we
commonly know it,

I address Grandma & Grandpa Ireland
every day in my morning letter
to the Universe

& they talk to me through the radio
of sound and signal that abounds around us

They give advice, say hello–mostly say hello
& don’t worry, be cheerful & Grandpa says,
“Hey, when are you going to work on
my memoir again?”

I ask them about Heaven, God
oft get some answer about Energy & Christ,
Buddha & Hindu mantras, Universal Mother
& a panoply of references,
spiritual smorgasbord

Lots about Energy
and lots of “I love yous”

(God is pretty OK)

~ Lady


Reading Room

Wednesday, October 30th, 2013

Reading Room

Reading Auden in the living room,
Stevens in the john.
Good to sit, good to go.

– Smith, 10.30.2013



Wednesday, October 30th, 2013


I will prophecize
and I encourage you to do so, too
but wait… before you do it

Let’s think about what we want to see
& let’s prophecize that…

I prophecize
flowers springing open
gentle velvet unfolding
sproinging normal seasons
budding ad infinitum
until the sun’s old age
this planet

I prophecize the return
of robust populations of bees
tending zest
from pistol to stamen
love nuggets
pollen accreting on
hairy working legs

I prophecize
restoration of habitat, species–
curating every grain and drop
via mind, lab, hand, even nanobot
connecting communities of roaming
fish, fowl, ruminant corridors ensured
wide open plains, too
deserts turned to prairie
fertilized to forest footfall
wolves making more tall growing
trimming just enough deer

I prophecize awareness
educated holds
securing true truth
the aggregate eye unblinding
empire will have to get dressed
saying will have to say what it
purports to be and be that–
the competition of the ego,
the striving to be seen best
transforming baser nature
to cooperation
relief, rest, all of us
heaved atop the true top:
the infinite plateau
for the most successful,
which is, innately,
the gentlest

~ Lady


Holy Martin Luther, Batman ! ! !

Tuesday, October 29th, 2013

sky lodge

Holy Martin Luther, Batman ! ! !
(quotes by Martin Luther, 1483-1546, father of the Protestant religion.)

You dear asses. You poisonous loudmouth. You are jugglers of imaginary sins. I would not smell the foul odor of your name. You are a bungling magpie, croaking loudly. All you say is sealed with the devil’s own dirt. Snot-nose! My soul, like Ezekiel’s, is nauseated at eating your bread covered with human dung. Do you know what this means? You are a little pious prancer. You have a perverted spirit that thinks only of murdering the conscience. You should rightly be called lawyers for asses. If you are furious, you can do something in your pants and hang it around your necks – that would be a musk apple and pacem for such gentle saints. You condemned the holy gospel and replaced it with the teaching of the dragon from hell. You reek of nothing but Lucian, and you breathe out on me the vast drunken folly of Epicurus. You vulgar boor, blockhead, and lout, you ass to cap all asses, screaming your heehaws. You are spiritual scarecrows and monk calves. I am tired of the pestilent voice of your sirens. Your Hellishness. You are one of those bloody and deceitful people who affect modesty in words and appearance, but who meanwhile breathe out threats and blood. Your home, once the holiest of all, has become the most licentious den of thieves, the most shameless of all brothels, the kingdom of sin, death, and hell. It is so bad that even Antichrist himself, if he should come, could think of nothing to add to its wickedness. You have set out to rub your scabby, scurvy head against honor. We should not only refuse to obey you, but consider you insane or criminals. I think that all the devils have at once entered into you. Take care, you evil and wrathful spirits. God may ordain that in swallowing you may choke to death. What else can one say here, except that these ideas originate in your own wanton concoctions, or in a drunken dream? A seven-year-old child, indeed, a silly fool, can figure it out on his fingers – although you, stupid ass, cannot understand anything. I am tired of the pestilent voice of your sirens. You are ignorant, stupid, godless blasphemers. You pant after the garlic and melons of Egypt and have already long suffered from perverted tastes. Phooey on you, you servant of idols! I must stop: I can no longer rummage in your blasphemous, hellish devil’s filth and stench.

– Smith, 10.29.2013

All these lines are from a Martin Luther insulter site which harvests quotes from his writings — for example, the final line “I must stop: I can no longer rummage in your blasphemous, hellish devil’s filth and stench” comes from his 1545 tract titled “Against the Roman Papacy, an Institution of the Devil,” (page 332 of “Luther’s Works,” Vol. 41).

Doesn’t sound like someone I’d follow, were I a follower. Of course the Papal hierarchy he raged against wasn’t exactly pure what with their luxuriousness and booze and mistresses and bastard children. Toward the end of his life, Luther became an anti-Semite and turned against the Jews as well as the Catholics. Not a happy pappy by any means.

Try him on for size at . . . you get one insult per click.

hellhouse – fotosmith



Tuesday, October 29th, 2013


Peeling back the avalanche
the headache
the blizzard
the overflowing inbox
the incidents of the nuts & bolts
of dealing with life–
all those card hands

I’m putting all those card hands
in file drawers in their various positions
paperclipped in place
so I can come back to them
later, refreshed, so I can deal
with what’s been dealt better
more gently with myself
yet just kinda crunch
through it
or even let my fellow elves
go to work on it

(I am part elf)

When those cards are filed
or even just left in place
on the table
or left to compost
for the other elves to turn

I’m getting replenishing
I’m getting nourishment
I’m getting energy
I’m getting relief
I’m going to church
I’m going to meditate
I’m going to eat good food
I’m going to train my legs
on the trail

I’m growing more trees
on the watershed of me
to harbor life, livelihood
keep stock alive

The elves are sitting back
relaxed, too, after their workday

We’re investing in ourselves
We’re doing things in the present
that we are to do to value the now
and the future, me & the elves

~ Lady


By Sin of Reason Worship

Monday, October 28th, 2013

the crack between the now and then

By Sin of Reason Worship

Forgive me O Great Furthur
for I sin in seeking logic
in your willful whirl.

I prod cause for effect,
weigh the yea and nay of yes and no,
move for right unwrung from wrong
so sin in reason worship.

No selling sacrificial fire
with need, want, wish, won’t,
in burn of flower radish.

Instead weigh
the good and bad of ugly.

So tell you what
I let it go
you warp and woof your winning season
but I’m off this bended knee
to grieve my own weave.

We’ll pretend your random matters
but I plant my seed in fairer furrow.

– Smith, 10.28.2013

what in the world – fotosmith



Monday, October 28th, 2013


Being wild can be
being, civilized
or at least
appreciating the wild
can be being,

Young Father–native son–
running out of the bushes
to thrill his little kids
full of ideas

Mom doing stuff
in the tent

Parting leaf
in the dream
that is this reality

I look at young men
younger than me, now
and think about my fertility–
still here–and how I am childless
except I claim godmotherhood
on everyone, my solace
especially the bees–
they are my children

Young men with limbs
thriving, no wrinkles
or wrinkles just beginning
to crinkle their leather

Young men pushing strollers–
not only the affluent–
I wonder what everyone’s
lives are like

Young men I find at farmers markets,
at environmental events–
who were their parents?

What is it that got them here,
then, thank goodness

I see these young men
as examples of good
that can be witnessed
when men are not scorned

Young apple maidens at the tables
in their neo-hippie prints
and or pencil intellectuals
from universities, again,
at our community events
with shovels and
smart phones

Towheaded children
at the pow wows
hand in hand
with dark haired ones
learning about
honoring ancestors
the potential
for revitalization

Civilization that helps
us find the wild

You know me,

I am your native daughter
I am your native son
I am you

~ Lady


Tin Wouldman

Sunday, October 27th, 2013

Tin Woodman collage by Lady K

Tin Wouldman

Art heart thou art, Tin Woodman
thy empty space outfilling place you rest
in exo-tin softer than calloused skin
firm fondness felt for care to spare
beware the eye of other
their chitinous text
firm beating flesh bereft of heft
in immoral press of next for blood and turnip
spurn it and them Tin Wouldman
friend indeed
you are much heeded
though heartless thou art heart
and bleed for need when needed

– Smith, 10.26.2013

Tin Man hearts – fotosmith

Here’s a dusty musty from 2005, my stab at hipster cool, wandering a lost land between recitation and song – click to hear 8-Ball-Boogie


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