of winter discontent

Tomorrow’s December, winter whether. I’m more spring summer fall so will hold warm fotos, flower poems and thoughts of spring rebirth close through the coming months of snow and ice and blow.

Didn’t used to be this way. I was born in cold, raised the same. Wasn’t until we missed the winters of 2007-9 living in warmer wheres that brain realized there were options and now mind gnaws at winter’s rope.


The ubiquitous
hibiscus unfolding
in full flowing.

– Smith, 11.30.2014

Now I Get Me Up to Wake

Now I Get Me Up to Wake

Coffee going to getting me going
Coffee going to honing my get
Coffee pure liquid speed flowing
Caffeine bit of bounce in my bet
yip yap and YaHoo
zip zap and zone
Coffee is drug is all legal
brings me up to where fine flux is flown

– Smith, 11.28.2014

Down Line Time

Down Line Time

In bed awake
Bitterroot Rocky Mountain
mid Idaho panhandle
dark without within
unfit for tribe
trapped by family
imprisoned in flesh
the train wail rising up valley
muted mountain madness
promised elsewhere unnear
not now not here
not knowing when I grew up
and tried to get out
they’d demand a ticket.

Six decade down the line been done and seen
two-third cross country
three continents
ten countries
and the muted train wails from the Flats now rising
like midnight Miles magic
no longer soothe with promise
but pause with premise . . .
and reminisce.

– Smith, 11.24.2014

Hank’s Highway


Hank’s Highway

If the good Lord’s willin’ and the creek don’t rise
or the drugs don’t kill you in the back of your ride
I’ll catch you soon some Saturday night
hear Hey Good Lookin’ and I Saw the Light
but just in case you died 62 years ago
when I was 6 and too young to know
well, we’ll play a stack of your vinyl hits
ride the Lost Highway
dig down the do dips
get the chills the way you sang and played
man you were good and so soon gone
still eating rich off your song
told Minnie Pearl you were lost to night
but way you sing you bring the light
as should we
each our own
trying to reach in seed your sown.

Wear my soul through to follow your shoe
your old cold moan owning the blues
lay my heart at the beat of your feet
no matter the play, you’re a one-way street.

– Smith, 11.22.2014


Society for the Dissemination of Art tract #2

2.5 x 4 inches closed
SDA Tract #2, Winter, 2014, published & edited by Joanne Meincke
poems by Dianne Borsenik, fotos by Lady K

The second free Art Tract from Joanne Meincke’s Society for the Dissemination of Art has been published. It features poems by Dianne Borsenik and fotos by Lady K Smith.

This continuing project was started when Joanne was handed a religious tract on the street and thought “I should do this with art.”

You can submit art, fotos, and short poems to Joanne at FaceBook – Society for the Dissemination of Art.

The first art tract may be downloaded free here:

See blog fotos of Art Tract #1:

2.5 x 4 inches closed
5 x 4 inches 1st open
10 x 4 inches 2nd open
SDA Tract #2, Winter, 2014, published & edited by Joanne Meincke
poems by Dianne Borsenik, fotos by Lady K



Sunshine mind
in a dark house, thousands
of sisters, brothers
and my mom

Honey all winter long

~ Lady

bitz & piecez

Mary E. Weems

Poet, Professor, Playwright

Reading Mary Weems’
serial daily haiku
I grin, nod head yes.

– Smith, 11.18.2014

Mary E. Weems

We were outside this morning in 12° . . . Lady was going running but couldn’t see because her glasses fogged up, so I offered to take them upstairs and put them in my pocket. As she left, I took a couple fotos, walked less than 100 feet, moved the car, came upstairs. When she returned and asked for her glasses, they weren’t in my pocket.

Went out and closely searched my entire route. No glasses. I felt like a pile of do-doo. She was graciously forgiving. Still felt like crap. Took flashlight and broom back out, swept the leaves, looked in the shadows, and finally found them under a parked car. No logic for them being there. No logic for them falling out of my jacket pocket.

But for once logic ruled. I had a finite path from the front of the house to the back. If second search hadn’t succeeded, I was going to crawl the route sifting everything with my frozen fingers. I am so grateful for the amazing luck I’ve been gifted my entire life. No fame, no money, but good friends, good adventures (and bad), good parents, good luck.

foto I took before I lost her glasses

Last night I got sick, probably food poisoning. Lost my inner ear balance so as I walked, I fell to the left, had to hang onto items to walk. Got a little scared, researched things like stroke symptoms (not even close) and the closest I could come was inner ear damage.

Suspected food poisoning though because it happened once before when we lived in Mexico — the room was spinning so badly I leaned left holding myself up by the wall as I walked . . . in between walls, I had to crawl. That episode was way worse than this one.

Woke up this morning with minor vertigo, but as soon as I ate, It was gone.


morning window

inner animal

Inner Animal

My spirit animal?
Well I’m sleazy as a weasel
sly like the fox
tricky as coyote
brave like a chicken
straight as a snake
hungry like the wolf
cuddly as a porcupine
sneaky like raccoon
pretty as a platypus
lively like the possum
melodious as a raven
sweet like the skunk
rich as a church mouse
complex like spider’s web
sane as a loon
tame like tiger
the cart before the horse
the straw that broke the camel
china shop bull
swine before pearl
compliant as a mule
but bottom line deep inside
I’m Bugs Bunny
(though most see Pepé Le Pew).

– Smith, 11.17.2014

church of not quite so much pain & suffering

Our calling card says:

Go thee, and suffer less
The Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering
the irreverend Smith & his beloved Lady presiding

The church popped into existence in a stream of consciousness letter 17 years ago.

First 8 years it was just me and Mother Dwarf. Then mom died and Lady came and we were it for 4 years until MandyCat joined 5 years ago and upped our count to three.

Here’s the church segment of the letter.

Creation Myth

I had bad ant blood within
but nurtured my grasshopper core more
these 30 yrs past Mother Mary coming with me
multiple orgasmicly in the green green grassijuana.
And old rabbit dead died in vain in vein when I became
the central sum son n sun tent tenet n tenant
The Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering
where I sing the song Six Sins Assorted
sporting pearl for spine.
Swineless. Spartan. Shrine.
But, my me mine.
Up in the why…
Vaster than a greedy gullet!
Stranger than local motives!
Able to leap sheep in a single bound!
It’s…. just Smith
at all your loco malls petit mals seizures xtra
bogus points for mass deception
for the iniquitous are ubiquitous
and that is entirely too many vowels for me.

– Smith, excerpt from Letter 1997, 4.25.1997

Creation Mist

Creation Mist

Whole bunch of what-if maybe theories
on the how what why where when
of us, this, that, everything, nothing,
imaginary numbers, what’s normal,
what’s warm, what’s real, what’s what.

Such as we’re all holograms
pre-programmed and pre-tuned
and proof lies in the low rumble static
left over from the enchantment.

Or we crawled from mud to sea to land
to be one in evolution
to which I say
“Are we not men?” “We are Devo.”

Then there’s the six day magic act
creating questionable design
which in the beginning was word
but now’s just plain weird
and really not working all that well.

Of course there’s the no-causers
with their no beginning
and no end in explanation.

Some say we fell from the sun
as we reached for the moon
slowly eaten month by month
then regurgitated into three kingdoms
each with its own bell
which oozes into sometimes heaven
sometimes hell.

Raven talks one tale,
coyote cons another,
trickster and night ever close
with one swallowing the other.

Add in the earth divers,
chaos creation,
the black hole spark stars,
random adaption,
the purposeful fade,
the ever expanding or soon to collapse,
men as birds and women as water,
plus the endless mirror worlds,
parallel dimensions,
alternate escalations,
the mobius becomes Sisyphus bound,
and zounds we go round again.

Yet what the why don’t matter fly
cuz we still gotta try
to pay the rent
change the diaper
see what’s spent
avoid the crapper
take next step
and next and next and nexter
until final chapter.

Blood still drips
tears still fall
babies always stumble
adults often appall.

So background screed matters
not at all.

– Smith, 11.15.2014