Friday, October 28, 2016

Those Ghosts In Between

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


Remember the French Kiss?
I don’t think the French
invented it, do you?

I think it was that
little snake
in the Garden of Eden,
that little
slither tongue.

Ohh, come hither
come hither

that little snake
that little snake

 Particle Wave


The banker says,
Okay let's get this show on the road.
I've got places to do, people to screw.

The politician replies,
There's lies to tell, votes to sell, before I go to hell.

The priest smacks his lips at the little boyships.



The capitalist in the hatcheck bar
suggested to the coatroom girl insofar
as tips were concerned she could go far,
for flirting brought her twenty-five cents,
while cleavage shown was a dollar,
and sharing her tits would pay the rent
and get her a fox-fur collar,
while I think if she had any sense
his nuts with her knee she should clobber.

 Blue-eyed She-squash


Somewhere down the mountain
in the narrow valley of night
truck tires whine
train whistle moans
while up here
nine years old in grandma's bed
rain stains on ancient wallpaper
show shapes of never was
places of never will

There's the here
there's the getting here
and there's the ghosts in between



The high-water rustle of wind
in palm tree leaves
hanging in pre-rain sky
soothe as I walk
toward cloud shroud mountain
mañana and morrow
mixing in my mind



I follow smoke signals to higher ground
sit on mesa long and alone
eat the sky
learn valley below holds healing
peaks plunge
lights cry night
might never right
I look to Coyote within



Burros in streets tied up outside houses.
Live chickens on seat next to me.
Small pig farther up, by the dog.
Back of bus bouncing.
Seats hard.
Wife sick.
Pregnant woman vomits out window again.
Same overwrought CD plays for five hours.
Baby wails.
Children on road in rain hold up bags of fruit for sale.
Rest stops are asking the driver to stop to piss on road.
Waterfalls cascade down mountain.
Mist rises from clouds below.
Road half-washed away.
Passing on blind curves.
At each curve a shrine for those who missed.

 Log Divide


On roof in shade
under blue sky
sun hot
wife asleep in chair
with empty beer
me buzzed
white rose petals
once pink
slip from bud
fall to floor
woodsmoke in air
mountains surround
clouds in between
opium seem

 Op Art


Well, I got a small brain, no social skill
frequently off aim, caused a lot of ill
dog's in the pound, my gal with better fella
I totter around trying not to teeter
but the one thing I can claim as my crown
I got the longest short-term memory gap in town

The liquor cuts a hole in my pocket
while packing pounds on my frame
people whispering I've lost it
chasing high instead of game
and they're right, I'm going down
on the longest short-term memory gap in town

Oh I’ve mastered the stumble in tumble and fall
and I’m extra expert at messing it all
but to tell you true I ain't got no clue
‘bout these back-breaking booze lose blues

That thing I said that I can't remember
came back to haunt my future en masse
my misses I cover, the rest reassemble
I stink of self and resemble an ass
my sins replicate clones of their own
in long-term short memory grasp of the groan

Got holes in my knees from concrete crawling
weepy cheeks from tear-beer crying
it's hard to walk cuz I keep falling
if I said this was fun I'd be lying
but I keep losing truth like a clown
living in long-time short-term memory gap town

... here's some troll roll (wife says I sound like an old troll coming up from the basement after eating the kids), with music by Peter Ball (1949-2015), and words & voices by Smith:


Today’s LittleNip:—Smith

Someone's in the kitchen with Medusa
Someone's in the kitchen I know
Someone's in the kitchen with Medusa
Strumming on the old get-go


—Medusa, with thanks and lots of get-go to Smith for today’s fine poetry and pix (from one old troll to another)!

One Way Wrong
Celebrate poetry—and watch which way you’re going! 
If you’re in the mood for a road trip, drive down to 
Angels Camp for Scary Story and Poem Night at 
Manzanita Arts Emporium. The action starts at 5:30pm, 
and I hear there will be cool refreshments. Scroll down to 
the blue column (under the green column at the right) for 
info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—
and note that more may be added at the last minute.

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.