Yellow Submarine
—Poetry and Visuals by Smith (Steven B. Smith), Cleveland, OH
GLOW GO MO-FO
My computer sound card died
the day Prince did
so I could sit in silence
and respect his sound.
That sexy mo-fo
could cream a kiss
blender bliss
excite this this
speed slo-mo
slow the go
and re-gender is.
My computer sound card died
the day Prince did
so I could sit in silence
and respect his sound.
That sexy mo-fo
could cream a kiss
blender bliss
excite this this
speed slo-mo
slow the go
and re-gender is.
Flight Plan
Womb-born
worm-worn
remnants of a while ago
worm-worn
remnants of a while ago
Sunspot
DOGWALK MORNING
Big creek
small stream
size matter
Wind whisper
leaf in tree
lullaby to low
Crow calls
order from high
unaware of higher
Train in distance
meadow middle
mellow me
Big creek
small stream
size matter
Wind whisper
leaf in tree
lullaby to low
Crow calls
order from high
unaware of higher
Train in distance
meadow middle
mellow me
Exaward
FLESH WORSHIP
She's walking the golden calf
struttin' her stuff
mything muff
Leave it to beaver
but life will cleave her
heart to heat to hurt
She's walking the golden calf
struttin' her stuff
mything muff
Leave it to beaver
but life will cleave her
heart to heat to hurt
Get Air
GOLDFINGER
My dead mom’s ring
on my live wife’s hand.
I’m wolfen to wifen
who keeps me off-grid and on the griddle.
We’re Potabella and the Beast,
she the pretty fungi, me a wary wild.
We are our only child,
walk the sunny side of the beat.
My dead mom’s ring
on my live wife’s hand.
I’m wolfen to wifen
who keeps me off-grid and on the griddle.
We’re Potabella and the Beast,
she the pretty fungi, me a wary wild.
We are our only child,
walk the sunny side of the beat.
God’s Eyes
PABLO PICASSO, DIED
It pays to heed occasional squirrel whiles
Poor castle cast-off
My heart does not knead for you
Your warped eye whispering
Spawns demon shadows only
Alone
Within your hairy benobbed frame
Need not be
Repeat
Need not be
Red-naped realities abound
Need not abide
Squirrels imply
Bad Road Ahead
OLD FAN NOTES ON 1962 WCW
Leafing through 58-year-old copy
of William Carlos Williams'
Pictures from Brueghel and other poems
I rearrange the previous owner's margin notes:
Only if Amy & me lost everything separately
could we be useful together again
A stutter step from an MD
required to be as invasive as a priest no matter what
Medical report: She died of death
cross horse mucilage
Dance is the measure
the Sisypuss of fuck
female spiritual hand-off from the pagans
(any with a tan Mexican Barbie doll?}
If you say one can't go to the country
it's because you say he can't go anywhere
Roads don't grow like trees
holy communion hamburger
force that thru the green fuss pothead poets
Pictures of beauty are beautiful pictures
and not beauty or beautiful
the wholeness integrity to me's
from the coordination of all the fractured facets of a life
Pure whole design in your art if unaccompanied by
a coordinated correlative correlated private privacy
is scattered
Art is a symbol and thus partial
fractured art + ? kind of privacy can = wholeness oneness beauty
More terrified of women & thus a lover of many
WCW wz a fixer & a watchman
& mean
Walkin’ in Memphis
You a Christian?
Baby I am tonight
Motherwell
Bone gettin' weary
worry gettin' woke
but at least I'm in on the joke
worry gettin' woke
but at least I'm in on the joke
USA Drugs
Today’s LittleNip:
Precious cargo
wife asleep
in passenger seat
—Smith
________________
The mighty Steven Smith is here today, clearing the smoke from our eyes and setting a few fires of his own. We’re mighty grateful for his visit to the Kitchen!
________________
—Medusa
Precious cargo
wife asleep
in passenger seat
—Smith
________________
The mighty Steven Smith is here today, clearing the smoke from our eyes and setting a few fires of his own. We’re mighty grateful for his visit to the Kitchen!
________________
—Medusa
Persephone's Dance
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
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Just remember:
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for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. 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!