Creative Writing – WALKING ON THIN ICE

Edna’s Employment Agency by Wred Fright

March 10, 2020 No Comments

I wrote a short review of Wred Fright’s new comic novel “Edna’s Employment Agency” cuz he seems like a nice guy.

~ ~ ~

I stopped by Edna’s Employment Agency.

Meeting their misfit employees and questionable clientele, I wondered how they all survived, what with the staff spending more time getting through their damaged lives than finding jobs for others, while the job seekers drag out the process as long as possible to collect unemployment – all this drenched in TV sit-comish humor (a lot of it rude and crude).

Wasn’t sure I wanted to spend time with these folk, but kept reading, and I’m glad because beneath this chaos lies a sweetness… by the time I was done, they were my misfits, whom I actually cared about.

At first the employees seem inept, shallow, selfish (and they are), but page by page their humanity surfaces, revealing an office family sort of looking after each other and their clients. Their often surreal and slapstick office adventures are interspersed with outside slices of the customers’ lives, so the job seekers slowly become someone to care about as well, rather than something to gawk at like cultural roadkill.

This comedic novel captures the acerbic humor that dominates most places I’ve been employed, as well as the tenuous friendships developed with co-workers you may not even like.

One blurb likens Edna’s Employment Agency to “The Office” and “Parks and Recreation” (which I’ve not seen, but feels right from what I’ve read).

The book is short, humane, gentle, absurd, and should put a smile on your face. By the end you might even like Edna.

~ ~ ~

He blogged it with some nice words about me:

https://www.wredfright.com/2020/02/steven-b-smith-on-ednas-employment.html

Yes, erumpent fireflies warmed hands

January 13, 2019 No Comments

Yes, erumpent fireflies warmed hands
on xanthous flames fireplaced in a
viperiform damascene hagioscope
gripping the reredos

Girandoled discoball constellations
yogiboogeyboarded swimming pool lights,
dog and ponied interstices of the ceiling joists
zoopraxiscoped herds of variegated animals,
the alopecoid and hares, all manners
of dazzling English animals

The nickle nutlets of teeth in
jellygraph gloss of a dead lamb’s grin,
closed eyelids, japan painted blunt nose
nuque broke, visceral ladled nup of bent innocent colliform
draped on a chair, the Inuit their kamiks

Corpulant agriculture was fecund
on plates we left for morning after Christmas,
wastive abundance, frapped humanity
in ruddy hardihood consecrated by
the rabbi we called in;
the comrade donned a biretta
the webster sat under the vesper
it was a mixed bag, fingers bewildered in
nodated whatevers, que sera sera-ing,
the cows munched their kerf
it was ok it was the weather

The validity of vermiculture,
of worksome insects typing logopedics,
rosining translucent violins withily weaving
wirewove niello of the organized whole

~ Lady

Friday Night

July 6, 2018 No Comments

A delirium of talk
from my head to my heart
tight burn hollows of shoulders
dog breath, a panicked cat
bird in the throat
bird in the ear
bird in the eyes
bird brain
Friday night

~ Lady

wee Audrey & Aidi and poemz aplenty

September 6, 2015 No Comments

We took the first hour of 4 and manned the SPACES Gallery poetry tent across from the West Side Market yesterday. Folk would walk up, we’d ask their name, a few questions, then write a free poem for them. We wrote 18 in an hour, so we each had 7 minutes max to question, write, fotograf, and give. Fascinating process . . . fast, fun, little time for depth, more a process of impressionistic reportage.

It was a blast, especially due to the two children who received poems — our 1st customer was Audrey, 4-yrs old, who also took our spaghetti squash I’d drawn a funny face on.

Our first 4 folk had names starting with A, as did numbers 6, 7, and 12 so the A’s, about 4% of the alphabet, took 39% of our output.

Thanks to SPACES staff Mimi Kato and Marilyn Ladd-Simmons for their prep work, hosting, direction, and encouragement. And thanks to our friend, teacher, ceramicist, and neighbor Angelica Pozo for asking Lady & I to participate in this.

Pedestrian Poetry by the People, Smith shift, 2015

SPACES Gallery hosted a bazaar tent where folk could sit,
tell us their name, a bit about themselves. and we’d write
a quick poem for them. Lady & I had first shift 10-11 in hot
sun under blue sky in open air square across from the West
Side Market. First of 18 seekers was 4 yr old Audrey who
took the free spaghetti squash with a crazed face I had
drawn, then asked me to write “Sally” across the front.

AUDREY

Audrey who loves spaghetti squash
She named her “Sally”
It’s a beautiful blue day
Just as beautiful as Audrey

APRIL

Bright as month
of river running
sun shining
birds winging

ANN

A beautiful day
Sky-high with potential

Fresh start at the
West Side market

Weekend like going to
a restaurant & sharing
a bunch of appetizers

What more of a great
Start to September
Could one want?

AMIE

Because she said
she would
as she walked
in the sun

we did

(she was wearing a t-shirt that said
I Said I Would So I Did)

MITZI

Mitzie & Amie on a
hot as balls day

Bright blue sky
without even a trace
of contrail

Hot – like summer
finally purchasing claim
on its season

Today we have not a
care in the world

Al & Amie & April
& Mitzi walking park
in sun with poem
people . . . .
may your flux be fine

ANGELA

While you’re in Cleveland
Catch the poetic wind by
chance
Like spiders strapping themselves
to a string of web
& leaping – wind carrying
them to a destination
Cool little city on a hot day
Bright blue promising sky
Like a present for everyone
– travel

TIPAKORN

Gorgeous name
carries wind of promise
adventure pure
in lands of sun
and shine
and light rain

(he mentioned after his name has to do with the sun)

BENJAPORN

It is a day
of special names,
beautiful names,
people flowers flowing
in market square . . .

sun rising

~
LILY

What a treasure to meet
an adventurer – Lily from
Thailand
Sky high in blue clarity
Crepes in hand, sweet-or-savory?
All I can do is draw from
my own memories of travel –
& of living in an unfamiliar
place
And then the pleasure of feeling
it slowly becoming my own

BLAKE

Blake from the up-down city of
Detroit – visiting the up=down
city of Cleveland

Both cities laden with urban
decay for urban explorers –
cities of salt, rust, and some
unmown grass

Promises in new construction,
kindled interest – monied interests –
we hold our own pockets open &
hope! For kinds of rain.

LYNN

For family & friends
and southeast side
excursion to the Market
and gathering of clan
circling the falling
to catch up with laughter
& learning in sum

AIDI

Eating bread from Market
in her stroller fair
blue eyes target
beneath golden hair

MEGAN

Artistic neighbors meet at
beloved community spot –
Market Square – food,
tents, people with a bit of
spare time

Megan & Aidi – sharing a
memory in the making Aidi
will remember the rest of
her life – these similar
moments – time with
Mom, the community of
female friends

STEVE

Steve to Steve
from Tampa to Cleveland
Welcome
may your flux flow
and feel be fine
cuz any friend of Rafeeq
is fine to find

JENNIFER

Welcome back, welcome back to
the puppy dog people of Cleveland
salt of the earth, prone to hellos
& self-deprecating answers
How familiarity is like a warm
bath, a kind of indulgence –
& maybe you are thinking, “Oh –
I can come home again – &
this is what it’s like!”
Cleveland-to-Tampa-to-Cleveland
again couple

LORETTA

From Toledo to the Market
with marriage down the road

Sun & sisters & folks
& friends
from art to food to friends
Welcome
to Cleveland

ELLIOTT

Familiar – from another northern
Ohio city – Toledo! So happy
to meet you, neighbors!

Like sausage gravy & biscuits –
Like where one is comfortable –
Sampling the degree of
separation from here to there –
Thinking – “We should do this
more again!”
Thinking – “So many places in
Ohio”
Taking life like seizing the day

– Smith & Lady, 9.5.2015

us with Amie & Mitzi – foto by Mimi Kato of SPACES Gallery

After our shift, Lady asked Mimi Kato to write a haiku in Japanese for Lady’s next online issue of TheCityPoetry.com. We are going to take time to test time to see how we find out what it means down the road.

Mimi Kato

BLACK HISTORY MONTH POEMS – 11

February 11, 2015 No Comments

King hailed angels
of the moral order
amaranthine beatitude
to our ears

Our keys
are launched by dream
like cacheted letters
carried on the stately talons
of a giant eagle
casting wings

A promise
of our conscience
has come due

~ Lady

BLACK HISTORY MONTH POEMS – 8

February 8, 2015 No Comments

Cupid flies on a zephyr
from Lagos, ruby lips homing in
to set things better

Collective psyche poses
modern dancer static fingers
splayed in stance, tender by the
velour waiting for the shape
of change, Leda and
her heat to shine

~ Lady

ELF LADY

October 29, 2013 1 Comment

ELF LADY

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

SOME WORK

August 7, 2013 No Comments

SOME WORK

They say
the grasshopper
didn’t do it

But I’ve seen
grasshopper industry

I’ve seen
insects of orchestras
folding, thrumming and vibing
grasshopper there with the rest of ’em,
singing his leg on forewing
sexy

How one can carry an instrument
with them

How voice can be like a leg
like an arm
for what you need to do

Voice
voice in void voids void

A fish splashing in itself

A satellite broadcasting
some kind of rain

An umbrella for a spot

Or an antenna

A key

Flash lightning

Opera

An opera singer
doesn’t have to carry
a suitcase
for her things,
just sing and sing

Like the grasshopper
zinging along its thing
on a string

Someone at home with
herself, in herself,
herself home

Carrying all her worldly
possessions zipped
in her own self world

Finding vast velvet
when convenient

She lets things open
fallow, fertile
future replete

Sung, sing, will dip
and sing again

~ Lady

what would Jack do?

August 5, 2013 1 Comment

detail Smith sculpture – foto Smith

What would Jack do?

Reading Jack Keroauc’s truth-disguised-as-fiction “Tristessa” (1960) which I hadn’t known about until I bought it used from Guide to Kulchur for $5.

Kerouac was my main driver of yearning for adventure and travel ever since my 17 yr-old self read “On the Road” in 1963 and it inspired a fire to go to Mexico and smoke dope.

Took me four years to find marijuana, two more months to put a needle in my arm, 44 years to hit Marrakech and six months more for Mexico.

Now I read his adventures and think, hmmm, getting drunk, done that . . . smoking grass, yup . . . joy riding, yes . . . mainlining, been there . . . smoking opium, of course . . . hash in Morocco mushrooms in Mexico, uh huh . . . walking Zen trail, still dabble.

But the one thing I did poor Jack didn’t was pass through the maelstrom of alcohol and needles and snorting and sniffing and popping.

I ended up drinking myself to death 22 years ago and haven’t imbibed since, stopped needles 14 years ago, quit cocaine three years later, and discovered a couple years ago during my hip replacement I no longer enjoy pills.

So I’m down to 2 cups strong coffee daily and grass anytime I have the chance. Last did LSD in 1985 and magic mushrooms down in Mexico 5 years ago, though I’ll do both again in ten years or so.

Find that Jack’s words which excited my 17 yr self now seem tame, shallow, but still the initial thrill that primed my adventure pump by showing there was more out there than suits, suburbs, TV.

What he did and wrote was important because he did it first and he did it well. He hopped the Beat train before it left the station, before it even had a destination. Unfortunately he drunkenly stumbled off part way thru the journey to go home, live with mom, drink himself to death, losing his mad holy light while railing at those still riding, especially the (to him) free loading hippies who hadn’t earned a ticket.

That’s the second thing I did Jack didn’t – I stayed on the train. There’s a third string we have in common . . . we both drank ourselves to a bleeding throat ulcer which killed us, except I rose the third day and walked home sober.

What he did isn’t lessened by later because we’re all weak and constantly stray quit fail walk away, so thanks Jack for the journey. You are my original light, and I cherish your burnt-out bulb. You turned America to the possibility of leaving the sheep pen and having exotic adventures. You also showed us failure.

Both are lessons to use.

2 from Guide to Kulchur – foto Smith

London, 2006 – foto Smith

Is it not Quest, but Story?

May 30, 2013 2 Comments

(I didn’t know my reality was in holding mode, initial conditions mode left to mold. It was waiting for me and I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know it.)

(And we left the country in 2006, and we initiated our big Quest even though we didn’t know we were on one… well, if only to make art and have adventures in a kind of artistic and for me, initially, mostly secular way. Zzzzzzzz…..)

(And I found crazy sane magic, non-secular magic. I found ghosts. I thought I was crazy and not. I am not crazy, OK? I am not. I am one of the most lucid narrators in this glob, this moshpit of whateverness that we’re making into i-care-for-it-ed-ness.)

Where is this going? The Quest.

We were invited to Minneapolis to participate in a reading last weekend about outlaw poetry–“Wanted.” It felt like kindling the Quest again to me–our combined part of the Quest.

(I plucked fistfuls of clover and distributed them to poets and passers-by. The men who go to work and eat at the pantry on our street, West 14th. I wrote letters and sent them to grieving folk and prisoners. I would rather write letters for the purpose of poetry and celebration because I don’t want anyone to be sad circumstance. An abundance of letters to help along happiness.)

(I helped with the production of Matter Ring. The reading being named “Wanted” and the book by friend on mattering topic jives.)

And we set out.

I drew a picture of myself, a version carrying the shield of clover, bees abuzz around me, Excalibur truth wielding. Me, fairy, part of God/Reality.

I found out stuff about clovers and the pernicious nature of the idea of dualism. Clover in Illinois saving the environment, Shamrock in Mentor not-so-much-saving-it. Businesses wielding the shield of clover. Clover itself always good.

And I forgot about the “we” part and thought about the “I” part, and on my BIG TO-DO LIST is to figure out the we part in this picture. I am thinking/have always thought that Smith is Merlin. And I am quester, and I am Lady-of-the-Lake.

I found out about clover lawns and am ever an enthusiast of permaculture.

Bees! The story!

The story is that in short, there were storytellers there, and this is kind of a detective story and a quest. Aren’t all? And isn’t the search for the Holy Grail a detective story? And isn’t it about the land, how we are the land, how we are royal?

I worship Your Royal Highnesses the Bee Queens. Who knew that people were at the mercy of bee queens and their workers? Is it a matter of pulling up the fabric and seeing the relationship at that point? Can all points worship all other points and be worshipped as well?

The story is a winding stream that we are helping be healthy with many habitats for wildnesses. Streams buttressed with living carpet, plant blanket. The outlaw part has something to do with the story… living in nature but following higher law, law of out-of-dooredness. Marijuana figuring prominently in so many outlaw poets’ tales.

What is the spirit of plants–what is the spirit of clover and what is the spirit of marijuana?

. . .

A bee inspected me yesterday when I went outside. It hovered there, and inspected me. It tried to come inside, too.

. . .

Is it then not Quest, but Story? Is writing Story the Quest? What is it, from what point do I pick it up this big gob, this kaleidoscope?

~ Lady