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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 the ‘Lady’ Category
Monday, June 4th, 2018
Last posted a new poem April 7th… I’ve 40 poems since then unblogged. Think I’ll post 6 a day to catch up.
Hard to blog lately. The blatant evil rampant in the Republican party and the 62.96 million who voted for Trump and the egregious racism and greed shown since are getting to me. Never expected a lot from people, but I expected more decency than this.
Here’s Lady’s latest poem from June 2.
~ ~ ~
“You’re Prickly Pear’s Paramour.”
Remember when we were in Morocco?
Remember when you carried me on the
roof by the parapet?
“Were i Spider-Man I would whishhh my hands
over to you and tear your blouse off,
that’s what I’d do, touch the tips
of nipples where the milk used to be”
You have a serpent’s tongue slithering out
“We’re all innocent –
the serpent’s innocent, the mongoose
is innocent
but one of them’s going to win
I’m not even positive it’s nice
to eat vegetables. They might have
tiny little tomato screams. Rhubarb
might be begging for its life
lawnmower out there sounds like
big angry fly
looking for some shit”
You are just so many facets…
“Yeah, there’s the hot water facet,
the cold water facet”
~ ~ ~
and my most recent 6, from 5.15-6.4.2018.
~ ~ ~
Splice of Life
The panicked deer
desperate
dashes three westbound lanes
of 60 mile-per-hour expressway
that no one’s obeying
and with quick wit luck
leaps triumphant the concrete divider
success surging through brain
when SPLATTT
eastbound truck paints partition red.
And yet
she dies in dance of joy
euphoric escape last taste of fate
which rebirth
reshapes as joy over hate.
Live on edge, die on edge,
happy way go round.
And then of course there’s slo-mo-go,
the easier way to roll.
But is it?
~ ~ ~
Philosophy 172
I been working in the quandary
wandering my weird wrong way
If you go when you’re happy
take happy with you
If you go when you’re sad
leave sad behind
Count sheep if you will,
just don’t look in the mirror
~ ~ ~
Zen Box
Kneeling on the floor
before the cat box
removing clayed clumps of piss
and dried shit
then smoothing the surface
I realize this is my Zen sand garden
the urine my sins against others
the shit my sins against myself
the baking soda confession and forgiveness
for past’s smell
so I start new day new
clean
free
knowing I’ll be on my knees again tomorrow
for same old shit
~ ~ ~
Fork U
Washed the dishes
past 24 hours we used
3 tablespoons
1 teaspoon
3 knives
8 forks
one tablespoon and knife every 8 hours
one fork for 3
one teaspoon per 24
could be clue
I mean, 1 goes into 24 24 times
would make a good poem
if I knew where to go
all moments are interesting
not all poetic
and are
~ ~ ~
Conversation with Wife 41
I need to write a poem.
I feel better after writing a poem.
“Then write one.”
I don’t have any poem words.
I don’t have any poem pen.
I don’t have any poem paper.
I’ve got shit and toilet paper, that’s what I got.
There, there’s your poem.
~ ~ ~
Sisyphus Sum
It’s hot with strain of ache and pain
this pushing rock up hill
in another day of try and loss
no hope of less
so grasp what’s good
like chirp of bird
and glint of sun
or inchworm on my arm
sometimes a cloud will move just right
or drop of sweat catch the light
as lack brings laugh
and loss a like
such sips quench my worse
Posted in Art, Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Friday, March 30th, 2018
Discrete blades of crocus
gleam older lizard slivers against
Easter egg grass
Tree bird
coaxes sweet revolution
from the branches of marbled clouds
pearl in its warble telling of the oyster
at the garden gate
open maw honey tide
mellow rosin sun
Far away from lead and stained glass
Mulatu Astatke pops up on the radio
i faram i faram
permutations of rainbow cloth
carrying cross in coptic lands
warm feet on cold plateau
to the temple of the living rock
Posted in Lady, Poetry, spirituality | No Comments »
Wednesday, March 28th, 2018
It’s Going to Be a Beautiful Day
Cat’s hours crouching for a mouse
in the kitchen under the dishwasher
maybe most of night I think as
making coffee to Sun Ra
Miles Davis plays in a silent way
Our hanging crystals in the window
hint at the day’s sparkling potentialities
Sunday a.m. moment between here
and there’s doorway where
light glows from ebb of ember
“Every Sunday’s Easter,” I think
and God responds with a magnificent
spread of light on our dirty window
calling and responding
Husband sees it too, says oo
Then sun goes away, “How dare
that sun go away,” he says, and then
“but actually it didn’t go away
the clouds merely blocked it,
right?”
And they lived happily ever after’s
embroidered on our pillow I tell him
“OK, fair enough,” he says.
–
A silence presses my ear, which is startled
at the quick and subtle answer from
an unexpected calculator taking note
The vastness of roar and silence
leaves one to a soup of thought,
worked over flagellation
“How are you?” husband asks, and I’m
keen now to leaving myself a comfortable mote
in the torrent
Our guppy quivers in the tank, the male guppy
her ever-present satellite, the banner
of his hippie tail happy to be near her
–
On our early morning soundtrack choirboys sing
sober remnant whispers of vespers
Traffic splashes in the early morning spring dark
the aftermath of rain’s laid diamonds
on our storm window
–
When the deal goes down
gonna sit here, before dawn
fishtank light on, our ever-present
Christmas lights silently festive
no computer on my lap,
listen to Chet Atkins chirping
to our slowly twirling
window crystals
The muffled tick of husband’s recliner
he shifts position and crunches
his early a.m. cashews
Black cat wanders cheerful
in the dark
Posted in Being, Lady, Letters to the Universe, life, Music, Peace, Poetry | 2 Comments »
Saturday, March 24th, 2018
Sun Ra
1
My brother, a man of few words
goes across the street to pick up
a Mexican lunch and after he’s full
he gives me his bag of
leftover fresh tortilla chips
a kind of intimacy
2
Tetras – their movement’s squared off into binary digits
flicking 90 degrees like an object suddenly stimulated in a child’s mobile
half of them draw straight lines one tetra length long
various vectors and tangled orthogonalities
They cloud in their favorite spot, the hollow on the right side of the tank
between the lake rocks and the bookcase
The ones on the edge more quick, shooting long tangents,
unsure what they define
and when they thin they scatter
the cloud loses its mind
When a tetra’s alone, it’s adrift
without the ballast and balance
of its companions
The reflection
from the fishtank’s bubbler
goes up at the same rate
looping like contained
stars on a strip
of quicksilver
3
Lyle Lovette says
stars shine on water
sun burns on sand
4
Jupiter is rising
in the ring of Saturn
to celebrate the equivalence
of the days forthcoming
Polly want a polysaccharide?
5
Staircase at night
Low piano note
Comfortable noir
6
I’m going to get a beer
husband goes off to urinate
we’re a pair
The romance of
cyborg man and
atomic eye woman–
the title of our
next book
“When the rising sun
hits the army tents it’s a tent, son,”
he says, then, “s’n will be gone
before eight”
I say, “Astute observations for hire”
He says, “Call me Am….. Astute Man”
then “I was born on the border of
Tolerance and Intolerance,
Texas.”
7
Were my face an owl
thought not thought but
regard for thock of my
feeling, a mirror bent
down from a tree
undersea
being
8
I’d be a
calm caravan
plodding crucible of mothered feet,
shadow liquid in its shifting
under witnessing stars
Retiform filter
gold sifting loaded loam
easy, like a cold ripening apple
thinking about the sun
in the night
~ Lady
Tags: Music
Posted in Being, Lady, ladymemoir, Letters to the Universe, Music, On Writing, Peace, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, smith & Lady, spirituality | 1 Comment »
Saturday, March 10th, 2018
Tetras –
Their movement’s squared off into binary digits
flicking 90 degrees like an object suddenly stimulated in a child’s mobile
half of them draw straight lines one tetra length long
various vectors and tangled orthogonalities
They cloud in their favorite spot, the hollow on the right side of the tank
between the lake rocks and the bookcase
The ones on the edge more quick, shooting long tangents,
unsure what they define
and when they thin they scatter
the cloud loses its mind
When a tetra’s alone, it’s adrift
without the ballast and balance
of its companions
~ Lady
Posted in Being, Lady, Poetry | No Comments »
Tuesday, November 7th, 2017
Conversation with Wife 39
Wife comes in looking for scissors and twine.
What are you searching for?
“I need to truss the bird.”
You can’t trust birds, they’re foul.
What’s the controversy with Porgy & Bess?
“It’s seen as white guy condescendence.”
Is that where dew collects on flowers?
“No, that’s condensation.”
Like a person becoming famous?
“That’s sensation.”
Oh, original sensation! The Garden of Eden!
“You never stop, do you?”
– Smith, 11.7.2017
Posted in Humor, Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Sunday, October 22nd, 2017
When I walk, my right arm thumps against my side, large, hard, like a massive weight lifter’s appendage, but this hard and heavy isn’t from exercise but rather swollen flesh protesting the knives and saws and pryings screwings bruisings of my second shoulder replacement.
Major change in pain pill philosophy. My two days in the hospital they gave me three 5 mg oxycodone pills every 4 hours, sometimes tossing in an injection of dilaudid as well. So one day in hospital was 24 pills. They released me with a prescription for one pill every six hours, or 4 pills per day. Fortunately this time it’s all low level pain, so I can manage. Bit hypocritical of them though.
~
Conversation with Wife 38
“Is penultimate the power of the pen?”
she ponders.
“Our salad was good,
the goat cheese, red onions and apples had synergy.”
Original synergy?
What’s choux?
“I think it’s an eggy dough.”
Didn’t Eggy Dough record with Iggy Pop?
“OK, you know what…” she starts.
I used to know What,
I dated his daughter, young Why.
She was a handful.
“What are we going to do about these hurricanes?”
Change the name to himicanes, let em go impotant.
“You know who drove the Doors? – Van Morrison.”
Where’d the fun go?
“Down the funnel.”
– Smith, 10.22.2017
Posted in health, Humor, Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Monday, October 16th, 2017
my 7 day old right shoulder replacement w/ 24 staples
A recent poem by Lady K.
~
Dry yellow pages and cool glossy lithographs
sheep, pastoral scenes, assembled figures in stately robes
blood like wine from years like vines
a finger of oil poured on the head and similar pastimes
of ancient lamps, mirrors and perfections
or the confused castings of blank arrows
side glances of Rubenesque faces
noble lips that pick at berries
Almonds from rods
nocturnes, starlight, sand and the purity of a concept of water
just trickles slacken thirst
God takes respite low in a cave, cool dirt clean feet
listens to Mother Earth sing fecundity’s forgiveness
speak low thunder
wild pagan violin
– Lady, 10.14.2017
Posted in health, Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Monday, October 9th, 2017
Life with Wife 6
My wife’s out with two lesbian friends
while I’m at home.
Am I worried?
No.
For though I am a lousy lover,
I still make her laugh.
– Smith, 10.8.2017
~ ~ ~
Chopped & Channeled
I.
Back into the body shop
tomorrow
this time to slice open right shoulder,
cut a few muscles,
pry aside others,
screw a ball joint to my cup joint,
cut ball joint off arm bone
and jam a cup joint in its hollow
so shoulder’s upside down,
release some muscles,
sew others,
close up surface,
keep me overnight,
send me home
with new cobalt and chrome shoulder
to go with
my other cobalt chrome shouder,
cobalt rods in neck,
and titanium ceramic hip.
Maybe get a job testing metal detectors
flor Homeland Thuggery
since I’ve already set some off
with just the hip
so I’d be neck and shoulders above the rest.
II.
Ir’s said
if you hurt, you’re alive.
I must be right lively then
considering my years and tears.
Though too much joy along the way
for sad to add to much.
– Smith, 10.9.2017
Posted in health, Lady, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
Friday, September 29th, 2017
Been in a bit of a funk due to health, finances, a general existential ennui – haven’t even posted my new poems.
The health is Lady’s battle with eye cancer (successful it seems) and my right shoulder replacement in 11 days. Already have a metal hip, a metal left shoulder, two metal rods in my neck, and a 2-year unhealed broken kneecap, and set off metal detectors.
The finances are like Sisyphus – eternal. Born poor, live poor, looks as if I’ll die poor.
In spite of all this I am a rich and lucky man – have Lady’s love, a fine cat, cool friends, decent in-laws, and a past fully lived. Plus I had a fine poetry reading at Mac’s Backs last week.
Here’re my two most recent poems, plus a few news updates.
~ ~ ~
Conversation with Wife 37
“Sweat’s so weird,
I woke last night in a cold sweat.”
That’s a James brown song.
“Think it’s menopause.”
How long’s that last?
“10 years.”
10 years?!?!
You mean you bleed for 30 years
then spend another 10 getting over it?
“Yes, aren’t women wonderful?
All to make more of us.”
Why can’t we just order babies from catalogues?
“Are catalogues how we get cats?
Dogs from dogalogues?”
Captains from the Captain’s log.
“Humans from humanalogs.””
I used to belog to a club,
but they wooden let me stay.
– Smith, 9.28.2017
~ ~ ~
Lady K’s cat scan came back negative for cancer, which implies her eye cancer has not spread. They’ll check again in 6 months. Doc says her eye tumor is shrinking, and she has only a 2% chance of it spreading.
~ ~ ~
Status Report 259
I hunger within
for the things without,
yet the things without
cannot feed me
for they lack substance.
– Smith, 9.29.2017
~ ~ ~
Electricity was out 14 hours. Our neighbor saw the pole go down. Said a man cut across the traffic circle half a block away, blew his tire on the curb, gunned the gas, raced through the red light, lost control, hit the electric pole half a block the other way and knocked it over. Our neighbor is a male nurse. His first thought was stroke, so he ran over to see if he could help, saw no signs of stroke, smelled no alcohol, so his best guess based on the way the guy was acting is heroin. 12 hours later as we watch the repair, we hear an explosive KEERACK right across the street and see a massive tree branch as large as a medium tree fall, missing a man’s house by a few inches. He comes out, sees there’s no house damage, and says “Looks like I have some firewood.”
Posted in Humor, Lady, Philosophy, Photography, Poetry | No Comments »
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