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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 )
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Archive for September, 2016
Sunday, September 25th, 2016
Autumn Equinox
The earth turns
the sky slants
the sun recedes
cold comes
the cycle of recycle proceeds
as old dies into new
air conditioners are turned off
fans stored away
sweaters put on
day lessens
night exceeds
six months of spring summer fall
become six month winter
trees shed leaves to scratch the sky
mind’s mood broods on warmth
skin disappears
breath billows
the cold air crisp, clean, alive
fallen leaves crackle
as night eats day
to this music of migration
– Smith, 9.24.2016
Posted in Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Friday, September 23rd, 2016
Empty Bottle Blues
Wife wine bottle sick
yesterday’s happy tossed in toilet
Two glasses does her in
and she did four or five or more
Wine bought for guest
who didn’t drink
She goes overboard
once every ten years
Both pain of birth and hangover hell
fade in time
Otherwise no night toilet worship
and no babies born
– Smith, 9.23.2016
Posted in Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Thursday, September 22nd, 2016
Shit Sandwich
Told to always see the bright side
I’m looking around
this pile of shit I’m under
thinking it’s heavy
and moist
and smelly
lovely for plants
lousy for human
but there is one bright spot
the shit on top is thinner
dryer, lighter
doesn’t weigh
or smell
as much
– Smith, 9.22.2016
Posted in Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Wednesday, September 21st, 2016
Mist of Sisyphus
Life weighs life’s way
so gotta learn a few tricks
like keeping our thumbs off the scale
It’s a convoluted weave of wove
this these and those
with inner rules undisclosed
There ain’t no moral sales
we gotta pick up our own sticks
keep play in pay
I’m more less is more
but more usually runs store
so guess I don’t know the score
Each morning I rise to play
new day and rush to its thick
trying to heal ail
But always trip my own step
place wrong bet
and yet
Get up again to set next day’s sail
stumbling through my thick
mismumbled say
Like sun I rise
through dark of lies
to work these weary whys
– Smith, 9.21.2016
Posted in Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Tuesday, September 20th, 2016
Conversation with Wife 28
“I’m going to make some pasta.”
That’s so old fashioned,
Why not make some presenta, or futura?
When you relieve your water, it’s urine,
when I do it it’s myine.
“Jupiter’s south pole looks like a mandala,
I want it on a t-shirt.”
Well, since it looks like a painted breast
I’d call it a womandala
and you don’t need a t-shirt, just go topless.
What’s this pneumonia everyone has?
oldmonia was good enough in my day.
“Why do you go on like this?”
I was a mouth man in Word War One
we had word rationing back then
could only use two verbs and one gerund a day.
– Smith, 9.20.2016
bottom spaghetti squash face by Lady K,. top face by Smith
Posted in Art, Food, Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Monday, September 19th, 2016
Recorded new song with Billy Clarksville – my move into lounge lizard singing (think my vocal must have at least a 2 or 3 note range on this one). . . Billy Clarksville music, Smith word&voice
Samba Song
I do my samba dance in song / fumble feet in sweet retreat
Tangle-tongued I try to slog / slow and awkward beneath her feet
Look up her dress at fresh abound / hear Ray Charles’ Mess Around
Inside my head where I always run / look for ways to sway fun bun
She keeps it hidden in the dark / yet still I feel her sensual quark
It waits for touch of magic rub / but who and when, aye there’s the nub
She twirls on air above the beat / in between melody’s line
Shakes her hips in rising heat / tapping toes in tempting time
She belongs to spheres above / for she’s my long time love
She fits my me like we’re a prime / completes my ending rhyme
Inside her dress flesh abounds / pulsing sweet in cotton surround
she swirls the air above the beat / shakes her hips to raise the heat
Dance the samba dance tonight . . . Dance in samba’s sweet delight
Dance my samba all the day . . . Dancing samba watch me sway
– Smith, 9.15.2016
Two new pieces, collaborations with poet/artist Kevin Eberhardt . . . both pieces 23″ x 19″.
Red one = The Future Is Closer Than It Appears, blue one = Kind Of Blue.
        
Posted in Art, Music, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Sunday, September 18th, 2016
Status Report 235
Weary cynic me
wakes with rested hopeful me
and both get out of bed
and start to fight
Wife’s singing bowl
struck then rubbed
rings hope
News sez nope
I carry both to day
bed
– Smith, 9.18.2016
Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Saturday, September 17th, 2016
Day Drip
The Tower of Babel
6 miles and more runs its hideous shadow
That’s why there’s
babble tongue in river rush
silence in day fade
Why water walkers double in reflection
This wind in trees
sounds like river running
rain falling
There’s purr, there’s child laugh
there’s water run and train moan
This water falls from the river
liquid running
licking lips, laps, lumbars, Lotharios
So easy to sleep when it rains
– Smith, 9.17.2016
Posted in Nature, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Thursday, September 15th, 2016
Burned Out, Beat Up, and Broke
Sweating in the humid heat
air conditioner off
trying to save a penny
Sitting alone, unstoned
wife all work low pay
no way to pitch a penny
Reading through broken glasses
wearing worn-out shoes
saving couple pennies
Keep cavities extra month
put off neck operation
keep a few more cents
Drinking less coffee
without any cookies
save a dollar
Thinking gravy while eating gruel
ignoring good scents
makes cents
It’s not all bad
this going in cycles
cuz brass ring’ll come round again
Then we can laugh
how little the penny
bought any
– Smith, 9.15.2016
(got the title from Lady K)
Posted in Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Wednesday, September 14th, 2016
Don’t Baby the Bath Water
A rose grows
in foul smelling muck
yet nose knows both
Light gleams
off some nasty junk
and sparks the mind
Before a winter fire
back ass cold
but front right fine
Dripping summer sweat
degrading your set
while standing in lilac’s soft scent
Take the best
and pay down the rest
until you learn to jettison test
– Smith, 9.14.2016
Posted in Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
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