Friday, January 20, 2017


Earth Orbit
—Poems and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH


I take in the mourning moon
the fog moon
the snow moon
the beaver moon
after the blood moon
after the blue moon supermoon fool moon
prepping brain for winter
purging body for soul
service for the solstice
sacred for the sign
of shedding wayward potions
and the unkind mind

 Circuit Diver


It's an everyday thing
or less
this eating
this sleeping
this cleaning washing
going coming
the coming gone
up and down and down and up
even love is built day by day
then rebuilt
as hope is used
then recharged, re-fused, re-used

In every way
the circle eats itself
then excretes itself to re-eat
in endless repeat
day by day



So strange,
I'm sitting quiet in my chair
and this beautiful young woman walks by,
leans over, kisses me,
and walks on.
This has been happening for 11 years now.
I wonder who she is,
and how she got in?



We don't have much
Not enough for mouth to month
But wife gives of what we have
To others with less

The poor are more gracious than the rich
Who give bigger
From their greater
Yet matter less

There's pain in giving
There's pain in not giving
She's priming the pump
Betting on living



Going through 1500 poems
left from the untossed or lost past 53 years
I see a lot of dead Smiths
castoff skins
-- drunk Smith
-- mainline Smith
-- cocaine Smith
-- Nyquil Smith
-- celibate Smith
-- fat Smith
-- smash Smith
all true at time
but lost left outgrown
or simply re-known
yet those dead shed snake skin Smiths
often unworthy insensitive sly
selfish weak wandering
needed to be
to get me to me
further down the line
those thens to these nows
just as imperfect present be
grows better future me
cuz me now
know me ow
and wheres and whens need fixing.

Of course knowing ain't doing
and moving ain't done
but doing the pruning
lets in more sun.



Reading bad man news
when lone train moan
faint from the Flats
whispers in my ear
"There's a better way down the line
if only you would go."

Been hearing that same wail
since it crept up the mountain
of my youth.

"Come down the track
where you'll fit in
where they'll like you
where you'll like you
where life makes more sense."

Been saving for my ticket ever since.



"True light is in the funnel"
sang sweet Alice as she fell
on one too many mushrooms
in the darkroom of the dell
past the pourous tunnel
to the land of $uper$ell.

"Best not affect the cave,"
the Caterpillar coos
simper smile slipping
in dripping dollar drool
the latest of new lies
supplied from $uper$ly.

Instead I count my blessings
seek not their golden touch
no slum within my messing
my inner light's too much

There's money in the mountains
much more money in the sea
supposed to seep to seeker
in this land of money tree
not wise to be a meeker
in this game of $uperBe

Best bow to golden beacon
than hang amongst the meek
who know not what they beckon
as they walk these hungry streets
unbowed before the bacon
down here in $uper$eek

... with lots of echo - 5:54, 2012, Peter Ball music, Smith word&voice. Hear it at 



Today’s LittleNip(s):


I says’m as I sees’m
Seize not what sold as sum

Hadn’t done, wouldn’t be
Do what told be gone

~ ~ ~


I'm down to strong grass
and strong coffee
and I'm out of grass.

Time to sage the soul.


Our thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for his poems and visuals as he continues to recuperate from spinal surgery.

Sacramento Poet Susan Kelly-DeWitt writes to say that Mudlark publication just went live online with her
Tectonics, a group of eleven of her poems. Check it out at

 Oaxaca Mary by Smith

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.