Drawing Down

 

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

 

MY CHILDREN OF THE ME

Trapped in a bad B-movie
no director, no screen writer
no dressing room, paycheck or release date
bad actors frothing self-referential dialogue
each a gigantic star in their small whorl
the rest of us understudies, go-fers
stepping stones, fluffers
support, flotsam, filler
and worse, no heroes
plot, or story arc
but worser
no end

Who do I have to flux
to get out of this film?

 

 

 

Fracture

 

 

Night not long enough
sleep not deep enough
to stop tomorrow

Do
recharge
redo

 

 

 

Moonbat

 

HIGH NOON

Not to jest
but many more-so years ago
way out west in a troubled town
I drew down and had to reach my best.
I looked within and saw such thin
dark dank dim
but said so what it's just a shuck
I will not fail this test
and went for luck or mess
in win.

 

 

 

Ice Age

 

Race—
what a waste
of time and space

 

 

 

Oblique

 

MENTOR LAGOON

My eye half-catches the highway sign:
Mentor Lagoon

Processing Lagoon
my mind reads Mentor as Monster

Monster Lagoon!
Yes!

My spirits lift
this is MY exit

Second later recognition
so sadly continue on

No need of mentoring

 

 

 

Shadowlight

 

ONE FROM COLUMN A

May more with less
have more
and more with more less

Shouldn't be
but is
deal with it

 

 

 

Ulysses Void

 

 

LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY

I tell my younger wife
in my Jungian daze
long ago before the moon was full
before pen pals
before pencil pals
in the goose quill days
we had to go out in dark of night
for black to grind
and trek to oughter water
to make liquid ink to write
on the cut-down clarinet reeds
we slowly beat to pulp
and dried for paper and envelope
hoping the snail express came that year
to take our letter
and communication was soooooo slow
it took seven years to get an answer
from one who lived just down the street
but it was two miles uphill to their house
and three miles uphill back to ours
before the TV worked
this box that just sat there
next to the dinosaur egg
doing nothing
jack squat
and we said what is that box?
why do we have it?
so we had no commercials
no reality shows
no faux-haired orange-skinned men
who tried to grab pussies
with their hands so small
they couldn't clutch logic
so lied a lot
and whined in their cheesy suits
and we were happy

 

 

 

Zygote

 

 

 

LIFE WITH WIFE 13

After asking the dog
"What do you think Marlowe
is Poppa caraaaaaaazzzy?"
she looks at me, sez
"So far today I've called you a fly . . .
a worm . . .
a maggot . . .
and a mosquito . . .
how are you with that?"

You sweet talker you, I reply

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Park path
hard gravel
one dragonfly wing

—Smith

____________________

Sweet talker Steven B. Smith has strolled into the Kitchen again today, bringing his six-guns and his silver tongue to cheer us up. Thanks, Steven, for spreading your silver again to brighten the days.

Tonight from 6-8pm: A reading in Placerville by participants in the first Firehouse Sessions workshop: poems inspired by the MARKING THEIR TRAIL exhibition of Basque arborglyphs in the Sierra. Poets include Taylor Graham, Beatrice Pizer, Jacob Sandigo, Sue Crisp, Rina Wakefield. Confidence Firehouse Gallery, 487 Main St., Placerville. Host: Lara Gularte. Bring your masks, of course.

Also tonight (Thurs., 9/16), 7pm: Poetry Night in Davis presents James Lee Jobe and Tamer Mostafa plus open mic (4 min. or 2 items). Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis. Host: Andy Jones. Masks required.

____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Excaliber

—Photo by Smith

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

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