Dogwalkmorning
—Poetry and Visuals by Smith (Steven B. Smith), Cleveland, OH
Mom put us in a perp line
5-yr-old sister 9-yr me straight and stiff
in front of the refrigerator
"We won't be going on the picnic
until whoever stole the cupcake confesses"
she glared, She-Hulk angry
I stood firm, cool, innocent
sis squirmed
after 10 minutes of stare
mom told me to go outside
When I came back in
my crying sister had confessed
and we were heading out
I felt triumphant
the cupcake I'd stolen even more delicious
5-yr-old sister 9-yr me straight and stiff
in front of the refrigerator
"We won't be going on the picnic
until whoever stole the cupcake confesses"
she glared, She-Hulk angry
I stood firm, cool, innocent
sis squirmed
after 10 minutes of stare
mom told me to go outside
When I came back in
my crying sister had confessed
and we were heading out
I felt triumphant
the cupcake I'd stolen even more delicious
Momart
We creep from dark
sneeking peeks for sabertooths
mastadons, dire wolves
to huddle round the tribal fire
chanting myths and misses
want and need
how much blood we're willing to grieve
for the laughing light before us
the hard cold teeth behind
as we pound bone
blow flute
sing
glancing back for the fiery eyes
and dripping drool
of life's school
sneeking peeks for sabertooths
mastadons, dire wolves
to huddle round the tribal fire
chanting myths and misses
want and need
how much blood we're willing to grieve
for the laughing light before us
the hard cold teeth behind
as we pound bone
blow flute
sing
glancing back for the fiery eyes
and dripping drool
of life's school
The Journey
From Pappy
honesty and endurance
from Mom
love and kindness
from both
laughter
rich
at the bottom of the poverty well
One Fish
Last time I felt safe
I was 5
half-asleep in backseat
of 1940's car
on 1951 highway
drone of primitive rubber
running crude concrete
and rattle wreck of entropy
lullaby sublime
parents dark shape in front
me safe behind
no worry
no time
no trouble mind
I was 5
half-asleep in backseat
of 1940's car
on 1951 highway
drone of primitive rubber
running crude concrete
and rattle wreck of entropy
lullaby sublime
parents dark shape in front
me safe behind
no worry
no time
no trouble mind
Shadow of the Yeti
Mom, dad, bro 1, bro 2, maybe sis
so many dead, burned, buried
and that's not counting the cats
or the eventual dog
Oldest friend still living
snuck in 50 years ago 376 miles away
now 2,129 miles off
donno if that's progress or escape
But they’re all with me
dead, alive
inside and out
now and never forever
This here and gone makes me me
for my only her—
wife, partner-in-crime, friend
in yes and no of if and when
Enlightenment
There you go
yet . . .
here you are still
(and your shadow beat you to it)
You can't step out of the picture
of reference
and expectation
(the father and mother of suffering
sez long-gone Buddha)
You can only shed your leave
if you shed the going too
In parked car in cold
sun toasty through warm glass
The road do get rocky
the vehicle creaky
the body tired
the mind weary
the soul cranky
the map fades
the route lost
In other words
business as usual
As rock rolls on
one continues the show
with nary a me or you in the know
Quantum Imposition
Politician-infested waters
I enter anyway
cast my vote
thinking
Here comes snow again
cold ice wind blow
another run for sun
thinking
Freight train
low heavy slow rumble
pulling night
thinking
Cemeteries
what a waste
of grace and space
thinking
Power corrupts
the corrupt seek power
we choose our Gods
till finally
Cold room
hot bath
aahhh
Quantum State
Today’s LittleNip:
If I sit in the dark
still, quiet, eyes closed
trouble can't see me
—Smith
___________________
Smith writes to us of family today; maybe he’s been touched by the holidays! Our gratitude to him for more of his fine poetry and artwork, kicking our holidays up a notch as we rumble-tumble into another year.
•••Tonight (12/16), 7-9pm: Poetry Night in Davis presents a fundraiser for Yolo Food Bank, as Lucas Frerichs and Andy Jones read two holiday classics (“A Child’s Christmas in Wales” by Dylan Thomas (1952) and “A Visit from St. Nicholas”—also known as “The Night Before Christmas”—by Clement Clarke Moore). Open mic will follow (4 min. or 2 items, and if you play on your flute, you can read for 5 min.). John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis. Host: Andy Davis. Info: www.facebook.com/events/595585191730084?acontext={"event_action_history"%3A[{"mechanism"%3A"your_upcoming_events_unit"%2C"surface"%3A"bookmark"}]%2C"ref_notif_type"%3Anull}/.
___________________
—Medusa
Skullsmith
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.
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!
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!
(the father and mother of suffering
sez long-gone Buddha)
