Blog Home Agent of Chaos City Poetry Zine Buy Stuff!
...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 the ‘Poetry’ Category

life or lump?

Friday, November 27th, 2020

recent Smithverse
2020.11.24 – I light incense from the coffee fire
2020.11.25 – One from Column A
2020.11.26 – Not time but when

I light incense from the coffee fire
light joint from incense flame
lighten body with above
enlighten soul with the light

~ ~ ~

One from Column A

Small brown bulge in road —
once alive dead bump
or pile of horseshit?

Which’s better?
dump or pile?
life or lump?

or never alive?

~ ~ ~

Not time but when
Not where but why

Form is automatic
Function much less so


final notice(s)

Thursday, November 26th, 2020

Haiku masters were expected to write a final death poem; here are the big 3.

~ ~ ~

falling ill on a journey
my dreams go wandering
over withered fields

– Basho, 1644-1694

~ ~ ~

the night almost past
through the white plum blossoms
a glimpse of dawn

– Buson, 1716-1784

~ ~ ~

a bath when you’re born
a bath when you die
how stupid

– Issa, 1763-1828

~ ~ ~

then there’s

~ ~ ~

Death poems
are mere delusion —
death is death

– Toko, 1710–1795

~ ~ ~

and, while not haiku, still most excellent…

~ ~ ~
Bury me when I die
beneath a wine barrel
in a tavern.
With luck
the cask will leak.

Moriya Sen’an (d. 1838)


seven up

Wednesday, November 18th, 2020

Last few poems… this final year of Trump has slowed my flow, though pace does seems to be quickening.

Interesting how consecutive poems change shape.

2020.10.25 – The green leaves
2020.10.29 – 3-part Harmony
2020.10.31 – I am Wallace’s Steven
2020.11.2 – Between the step and the stair
2020.11.9 – We’re all just on a different laundry cycle
2020.11.11 – Last Summer Day
2020.11.17 – Treasure Chest

3rd poem plays with Wallace, Idaho, where I was born,
and Wallace Stevens mixed with me.

~ ~ ~

The green leaves
in their cold sleeves
wave goodbye to warm

~ ~ ~

3-part Harmony

Rain on roof
rain on deck
rain on leaves
thunder keeping time
underlit by lightning

~ ~ ~

I am Wallace’s Steven
Was Steven’s myth

Sometimes it is best
Not to reread your heroes

~ ~ ~

Between the step and the stair
the earth and the air

~ ~ ~

We’re all just on a different laundry cycle
your wash is my rinse
my cool your hot
the whole thing mostly moist and lukewarm
with different bleach for each
the lost sock extra
but shrink free
(of course)
nothing personal
as long as you got the quarters for it
and room for water run

~ ~ ~

Last Summer Day

Sun softens wax
sun hardens skin
sun soothes the soul
I sit in sun and soak

~ ~ ~

Treasure Chest

On my right, cat sleeps on soft rocker
to my left, dog sleeps on thick rug floor
in between, covered wife sleeps in stuffed chair

sunrise an hour away
lights off
civilization’s sounds distant

rain wind moans low
dog snores
gas fireplace dances in dark

I finish my coffee
gather the gold


Wendy/Smith collabs 1& 2

Sunday, November 15th, 2020

here are 2 fone text collab poems with Wendy Shaffer
(while we begin #3)

~ ~ ~

So It Goes

The fog moves soft on forgotten waters
no sun breaks on the stretched canvas of years

While shadows give birth in tidal pools,
the flickering guppy fins of new thought

From earth through bone and flesh to birth

– Steven B. Smith & Wendy Shaffer 10.8.2020

~ ~ ~

Wotta daze today is, what a strange begone
No yawn, no scat, unlearned, begat
Eye of old, tongue of new, redo

She pauses at the top of the stair
Drumbeat in her chest
Caught between the up and forward
And the going back
Mother to no one
Swallowed by lack

So we do our done of start to finish
This Sisyphus of sum
Climbing day through night to numb

– Steven B. Smith & Wendy Shaffer 11.12.2020



Friday, October 23rd, 2020

blipverse past 3 daze

~ ~ ~

Life is good –
look left at clock – 4:20
look right for pipe- already filled

~ ~ ~

30 year brother
dead 33 years
bullet to brain

~ ~ ~

Open road
Closed mind

~ ~ ~

Storm dark
sky starless
nightingale sings anyway

~ ~ ~

Negotiations —
not getting anything
demand more

~ ~ ~

Where’s it coming from?
Where’s it going?
What is it?

~ ~ ~

Are you food or fed?
Found or hid?
Kept or rid?


Lady / Book Boy / Cat / Smile

Saturday, October 17th, 2020

detail Book Boy by Lady

2 from Lady this morning, her 1st lines after 5 days in new old house.

~ ~ ~

Early Morning Cat Magic

The immediate beckons –
The cat is not watching me
She’s watching the food bowl
down to the floor

We are not alone
in this universe

~ ~ ~

Early Morning Particles

I caught myself in bed –
just smiling –
and then I realized it —

“That’s OK, I’ll be grouchy
enough for the two of us,”
says my husband.

bad foto of Book Boy by Lady 17″ x 9″ x 8″


Creeping Peepers & Other Seekers

Friday, September 25th, 2020

foto of Lady taken & manipulated by Lady

Creeping Peepers & Other Seekers – my latest feature of 10 fotos and 9 poems let loose in the snake-haired lady’s Kitchen…..

sez Medusa’s Kitchen publisher/editor Kathy Kieth:

Would you like to be a SnakePal? All you have to do is send poetry and/or photos and artwork to We post work from all over the world, including that which was previously-published. Just remember: the snakes of Medusa are always hungry— for poetry, of course!


the USA ~ 10th deadliest plague country

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2020

Wheee – World Population Milestones
(currently 7,800,000,000 humans)

10 Billion (2057 projected)
9 Billion (2037 projected)
8 Billion (2023 – projected)
7 Billion 2011… took 12 years
6 Billion 1999… took 12 years
5 Billion: 1987… took 13 years
4 Billion: 1974… took 14 years
3 Billion: 1960… took 30 years
2 Billion: 1930… took 126 years
1 Billion: 1804… took 315,000 years

are we dying faster, or borning less?
or both?

Out of 215 countries, the US is the 10th deadliest for Covid-19 deaths per million… we’re way down in 3rd world territory here.

10 worst Covid-19 national death rates per million population
10 – 617 – USA
09 – 627 – Equador
08 – 642 – Chile
07 – 645 – Brazil
06 – 654 – Bolivia
05 – 656 – Spain
04 – 686 – Andorra
03 – 858 – Belgium
02 – 952 – Peru
01 – 1,237 – San Marino

World-wide average is 124.5 deaths per million population,
with South Korea at 8 deaths per million, and Japan at 12.

US has 4.2% of the world population, yet 21% of it’s almost 1 million reported plague deaths

One scientist estimated 94% of American deaths are due to Trump’s incompetence and corruption, and could have been prevented… this would mean 192,000 American deaths could have been prevented by competent, honest leadership.

Are you a Chump for Trump?
If so, why?

(of course, most or all are under-reporting their death rates, while many – like Florida – have been caught outright lying)


Lady poem 9.12.2020 – Niello

Tuesday, September 15th, 2020

latest Lady poem


The flush
tapestry of thinking leaves
hung just so by Henri Rousseau.
The acorn peeks through its
foreskin in peopled prosperity.
The sparrow, aplumb in hormones
slings its song, nourishing rosin
message in sunlight.
The sparrow waddleshakes and bathes
in padded static on the driveway,
a shrine of shallow ripples
on a pointillist radio.
I’m ever on the halfway stretch,
the exigency of a foothold purchase,
pulling fruit through the shadow shape
that floods its faithful containment field,
the torch forwards the apple in its
swaddled pillow of tunnel.
A purring car rafts a bough of freeway
through the whump whump of analog.
The backseat baby’s sated gaze
regards the niello of roadlights streaming
in the liquid night.
Be the light of every flying, bend the knee
on the now of the heart, expect good.
Be baby reaching for the mobile of stars
turning from the ceiling night.

– Lady, 9.12.2020


sieze ya on the downsize

Thursday, September 10th, 2020

Last year thru this date I had 217 poems.
This year 41.

recent 3:

2020.9.3 – Got gas
2020.9.4 – How to Read my Poetry
2020.9.7 – End the Beginning

~ ~ ~

Got gas
got road
got wheels
going somewhere nowhere fast

I get my pleasures where I finds them
in this bowl of pus

Vrooman Rd
vroom vroom vroom

no hole in my howl

~ ~ ~

How to Read my Poetry

Read if and when and where you will
cuz it’s all true
and none of it matters

There was a crooked man
who walked about my poems…
now I wear his bones

~ ~ ~

End the Beginning

You can tell the lay of the nest
by the smell of the eggs,
the rot of the tree
by the fall of the apple,
the way of wend
by gin of end.

I’m but a young man in an old skin
of fogged and fire furred past.


Copyright (c) 2009 Smith & Lady
Designed by Lady K