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BeatStreet Cleveland 2015 National Beat Poetry Festival

Thursday, September 17th, 2015

Smith again posting from Lady’s account because my laptop fan died and won’t be fixed until next Wednesday . . . find I’m addicted both to internet access and computer access because I write constantly and feel unreal when I can’t.

So anyone asking me stuff via email or Facebook, I won’t be accessing that for another 6 days.

This is exceptionally bad timing because I have an interesting reading coming up and need access to my poetry files . . . as it is I’m cutting and pasting previously printed material for :::: Saturday Sept 19 at the Barking Spider 3-7pm — the BeatStreet Cleveland 2015 National Beat Poetry Festival featuring all kinds of Beat related poets. Check it out, It’s an amazing lineup.

I’ll be reading shortly after 3pm.

BeatStreet Cleveland 2015


oh for ten thousand cats

Friday, July 31st, 2015


Status Report 48

In twitching her tail
she swishes my ankle.
Oh for ten thousand cats.

– Smith, 7.31.2015



bring on the sun

Tuesday, July 21st, 2015


Status Report 43

Food in my belly.
Coffee in my blood.
Smoke in mind.

Bring on the sun.

– Smith, 7.21.2015



acoustic werewolves

Tuesday, July 7th, 2015


Status Report 35

Acoustic werewolves more talk than walk,
balk at blood, barely bay at moon,
stink of silver spoon.

– Smith, 7.7.2014



visual editor test

Saturday, May 30th, 2015


star warp

(drilled holes in a rubber garbage can for compost, held can bottom up to sun, put camera inside, shot fotos . . . they all turned out.


longest short term memory gap in town

Tuesday, April 21st, 2015

stiff drink

Our first box of bees has arrived. We’ll pick them up this morning and begin being beekeepers.

And now back to our regularly scheduled blog.

Sober 24

April fools day plus 20
makes me sober 24.

Two dozen years living after death,
a score more than thought before.

Beat the booze, oozed the odds,
now fighting bedeviled ego.

– Smith, 4.21.2015

24 years without alcohol. I drank 26 years, but it was the last ten I really poured it in until I bled to death from an ulcer.

So I rose from the dead, quit drink, lost 100 pounds, and became a hermit.

Booze Lose Blues, 2012, 4:42, music Peter Ball, words & vocal me.


Poetry Month Poems – Lady #18

Saturday, April 18th, 2015


We saw elaborate ruffs
as necessary accoutrements
puff pastry crenelations banked
on the rebar of our labor like the
capacitance of shelves for sundries
on sepia of sadirons in
Sears ads

~ Lady



Hank’s Highway

Saturday, November 22nd, 2014


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



status report 3

Friday, August 22nd, 2014

me is

Status Report 3

Most like who I am,
few like who I’ve been.

– Smith, 8.22.2014

me was



Tuesday, July 22nd, 2014


She’s under starlight on a park bench
Lincoln park in Cleveland

Head down in her chest, she dreams
a magic hour, dreams

She wakes a magic hour world

Queen Maab on a park bench

Dream blinking from her eyelashes
meets dream under starlight

Fairies’ve laid a jam and butter sandwich
on a blanket by her side

Milk and honey
sweet cold water
fruit and nuts

A bite like a kiss into white bread
delicious provisions and memories
of her childhood

Holy feral night in her little church
in the park under the stars

Moon her sun

She picks her lyre
up out of her bag lady disguise bags

She plucks and wakes up sparrows
who adjust in roosts with nips
and muffled chirps for hours
waiting for daybreak

When lucid light of suntime comes
she visits Civilization
for coffee

~ Lady


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