Friday, May 13, 2016

Dung or Diamond

5-Eyes Smith
—Poems and Photography by Smith
(Steven B. Smith), Cleveland, OH


I like walks in the rain
I like licking pink stains
There’s good and bad things baby
Crawling through your hair
Old lumps of new grown gravy
Calling from your lair
You wanna bite me baby
I wanna bite me too
Bite me three times
You got a deal



I'm a man of bad bone
constant pain
occasional sorrow

Walk old shoes
in crooked path
to best guess possible

Trying hard
to keep heart open
and mouth closed

My path not your foot
your shoe not my road
yet same roam home

 Great Smith


Waiting in the reading room
reading of the wait that looms
in weight of wait white as bone
existing in the fading zone
more me's than I can hold in one
so into fiction fill the rest
to test with friction in the fray
whichever way I amble next



You know what time it is?
It’s pumpkin time.

No, not pumpin time
Pumpkin time

cuz at midnight
everything turns into
a pumpkin
and the mice run away

Now midnight you also might
be pumpin pie,
depends on what yer doin
at the time

you might be fuckin
might turn into a pumpkin

So you fuckin pumpin
pumpkin pie

 Butter Pan


I'm a psychopath with feelings
a sociopath with a conscience
a hermit with wife and friends
a teacher without a classroom
a monk without a collar
a path without a road
with & without lie

 Angel Wingman


What the word from there to here?
How the why that gets us there?
Where the walk to stalk the better?
Who the fool to choose this whether?

Bare tree stretches for the moon
Leaves across the land long strewn
Outside door my social tomb
Hope for favor future womb

I mean well but stumble fall
Try to walk but often crawl
But at least I give my all
Except the part of heart that's dull

I'm my own bad waking joke
Instead of winning rather toke
And way inside I'm often broke
But try to better me invoke

Words wobble well in wry delight
When one-on-one we lobby light
To bring to day some spark of night
And wrestle with our wrong to right  

hear this read as “Werewolf Zen” by "Mutant" Smith:

 Red Hand


Is moon half full
or empty?

She says
"They don't make old people like they used to."

Vintage run from vine to sage
in muck of wine and wage.

Younger blood make old mice young
so with me and Lady.

You must pent
before you repent.

Sentient life is wrinkle of time
small to big to small we climb.

Most of waste is was
cutting cost of used to be.

Am I getting older wiser
or just more weary in my way?

Beware the old
they slow and sly.

 White Hole


Gray gloom blooms
Over my head
Dims my dimmer
Breaks my bread
Hurts my heart
Aches my gut
Empties my bucket of luck

Mom’s dead
Dad died
The homework ate my dog
My money fled
My President lied
He's helping the rich instead
(what a big surprise)

Feeling blue what do I do to shake this Cleveland gray?

No home heart warmth
To keep me sane
Shadow sun forgotten same
Jams my brain
Makes hope a corpse
And life a pain
Over and over again

Maybe get some sleep
Or take a toke
Or shuck a sheep
Or shake a joke
Or just drown in downtown brown
Cuz I tell you true I’m feeling blue
Gotta shake these Cleveland grays


 Shadow Piano

Today’s LittleNip:


On my lack of fame and fortune
I keep baiting the stream
But nobody bites

As for peace and understanding
I chase the spirit
I follow the sprite


—Medusa, with thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for today’s fine poetry and pix!

 Winged Heart
—Photo by Smith
Celebrate poetry today by listening to 
Smith’s—or anybody else's—poems online. 
Ever record/post any of your own? 

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.