Friday, November 25, 2016

Bring Back the Snake

—Poems and Visuals by Smith (Steven B. Smith)
Cleveland, OH


Standing with the Cleveland Native Americans
who are standing with Standing Rock
the sage smoke circle ends
with Blossom saying
"Give your thanks your way"

I nod to the green of the trees
the blue of the sky
then down to the clover on the ground
and the honey bee caressing it.

I am thankful.

Hours later the sage smoke
is replaced by a bee smoker
fired with cedar chips
small twigs
and a sumac seed cluster
as we inspect our hive.

Again, I am thankful.

 Smith Upgrade


"Not at all," I tell the Devil
as he offers money, power, fame,
access, and adulation.
"That's so yesterday.
Try inner peace, patience,
fond heart, friends with flair,
right thought right path right action.
Gimme something good.
I'm tired of your candy."

 Gold Stamp Cohen


The lotus flower blooms unblemished
from muck of mud and dirt

I was born drenched in filth
rich in original sin

My petals wilt from want of sun
as I watch empowered orb

Seems I'm more like maybe moon
stark in cold and dim

I wanted so to grow to star
bright in distant am

But star too far beyond my reach
so worm crawl inch by inch

Eating dirt while dreaming sky
no arms to scratch this itch

 Neon Coffee


Moroi, Moroi
We meet where
The cuckoo does not sing
The dog does not bark
The sacred yew my flesh
The warming gone

Though hidden behind
Paths in the park
I in my city
Am amphetamine hot
And see
Clean Grecian face
In crumpled wrap
Of excrement
On flesh

None descending the stair
Dare call patrons
Matrons of questionable ease
Strip tease
Sand not withstanding
For each beach is the same
Same lame game
Where neither retribution
Nor love of institution
Dare descend dissembled day
Or this garbage of Eden

Bring back the snake

 The Shadow Knows


Cat sits on chair arm
fast swats my bicep with her tail
swat swat, swat swat
I close my eyes
listen to the outside
the wind sounding like water
the water sounding like wind
the slow traffic below like both
and feel one with one
as swat by swat by swat
my go glows



Late January
coming back from Snoetry 5
a 12-hour reading in Erie
three lady poets in the car
me driving
sun down
liquid ice falling from the sky
we enter 90 West to Cleveland
going 45 in a 70 zone
see two-car crash
and flashing lights ahead
I hit the brakes
the tires stop
the car doesn't
we slide at same speed
silent on black ice
straight for crashed car
two backseat poets screaming
front seat poet talking serious
me thinking it's simply too cold
and too far from Cleveland to crash
I slow turn the wheel to the right
and we gently slide right
just past the rear of the crash car
the screaming stops in amazement
but now we're heading for the cop car
its top lights flashing NO NO
I gently turn the wheel left
and we slow slide left
between the front of the crashed car
and the rear of the police car
and go on down the road
in complete silence

 Hunter Moon


Open window, night beyond
raindrops sluice the tree leaves
in soothing sound of sleep



Prince Valium rides my valley of naught
Soothing inside my insidious thought

He eases the reins of vicious jerks
Smoothing the pain and obnoxious quirks

   High low Diazepam, seize me into slow
   Mow my mental diagram, make my innards glow

With head getting lighter comes bits of laughter
Larger and tighter encouraging after

My dragging is slain, slow slowing down
Much less to explain and a lot more clowns

   High ho Diazepam riding to the rescue
   Skewering social sham, remaking inner stew

I'm sorry you're sad, though not really
I've goodened my bad, made serious silly

I know going up means coming back down
But temporary yup way worth next frown

   Doing dat Diazepam, dancing with the devil
   Being me is as I am knowing I'm not evil

Sometimes it's best to just blow out your pipes
It serves as a test for the rest of your gripes

But this this ain't now, and that now won't when
So to my body I bow and get on Zen ken

   So goodbye Prince Valium, thanks for the ride
   I appreciate the value of the lessons inside

(... this tune is as laidback as one can get: 5:28, 2011, Peter Ball (1949-2015) music, Smith word&voice


Today’s LittleNip:


There's right
there's wrong
and there's is


—Medusa, thanking Smith (Steven B. Smith) of Cleveland, OH for today’s fine sights and sounds in the Kitchen, celebrating the twelfth of his monthly posts with us. And may he post many more “12s” to the Kitchen table from the Land of Cleve…

 Celebrate the word, and all the places it comes from!

Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column 
at the right) for info about upcoming poetry events in 
our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

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