Friday, March 16, 2018

In The Beginnings

Mona by Lady K
—Poems and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH


The Void rose in the unrisen
and after creating black and grey
and fog and slow and fuzzy
and endless
and sad
"Let there be coffee"
and life began

 Night Mood


Start and stop
is most of what we got

I mean
there's direction or speed
want and need
hole in bleed
you know
the knot in not

Which leaves the cat dead
or alive
and we here
or there
(but only if someone's looking)

Best guess less is more more or less
and all illusion anyway
weighted dice from the bones of the dead

 Skull Light


Early 1950's mom gave birth
to child three
a continuous squawl
who cried 9 months and died.
Next morning before school
I looked in on him
saw a live baby unknown dead.
When I got home and was told
I tried to re-see with new eyes
but it was after fact
dead baby gone
no goodbye.

33 years later 30-year-old child four
blows his brains out over
too much speed and alcohol
woman trouble
and having to carry his work partner
our failing father
whose polio-shriveled leg is crumbling
from 50 years of brick, block, and stone.
Pappy's call wakes me.
"Vince shot himself."
"He's okay isn't he?"

Two years on Pappy died
wasted from missing his suicide son.
I flew out before he went
to see a 1/3 smaller once proud man
carried to the toilet
wiped when done.
He was good, kind, patient.
I loved him but left home at 17
so didn't know him.
Mom called two weeks later
with he's dead don't come out
nothing to be done.

Moved her in with me
for final 16 years of her life.
When she went
she was home holding my hand
slipping in and out of consciousness
stopping breath
again and again for hours.

One unseen disappeared dead baby,
two long distance phone calls,
and one holding hand
slow taking her through passage...

Take door 4 every time.

 Dream Rose


Walked the sand,
water washed my steps away.

Went on hightop dirt,
wind erased my strode.

Climb to mountain top,
rock won’t take my print.



I'm zero, not one
off, not on
I live in dis topia
I live in dat topia
hoping for a topiary
or a top hat
to top this
top that
while you go round the block
reverse your path
forget the underground
cuz you're above that
stick right foot in
speak with forked tongue
and whatever you do
dumb down the young
because they're seeing truth
you don't want known
your money tricks
hating skin not your own
and barefoot women
are starting to wear shoes
staying out of the bedroom
with empty wombs
so I gotta find a way
to live happy in sad
gotta go good
as the rich run bad
mean little pricks
with hands roaming wrong
hiding accounting tricks
far too long
time for the tar
and feathers too
pitchforks and torches
under full moon
ride em on rails
to the edge of town
tie em to ant hills
and never look back
better the gene pool
by removing the scum
for the core of conservative
is con damn dumb

 America 666


Bullet in chamber
finger on trigger
child in ground

 Plot to Get Whitey


The slo-mos go slothful, slow,
the greeders grind in endless gruel,
the stealers stack their stolen deck,
the bullies bruise below.

Heading down the professional line
it's Entropy by a stretch.

I put my foot in the sock,
the sock in the shoe,
the shoe on the ground,
and take a step...
to where?
Or why?

It's one hasty constructed lie
from me for you,
from you to them,
for them from them.

Do you read my lie and believe?
Should I return the favor?
Or at least pretend?

It's worse than Plato's cave.
We are our shadows
on walls not there
in light unlit.

I ache from wake,
work for woke,
rather roll joints than rock,
and Tantalus can keep his sour grapes.

Every day I seek a seed
to bleed into a koan,
direct roam to unbuild day,
and look for the me I don't see
in the mirror.

Sacred lies keep lives alive
for the sucker minute born.

 Style and Structure


I got the blues
Baby needs new shoes
Old shoe won’t do
Tired of this fool
Gonna find new drool

She's looking to see
What’s left of me
Saw she made her mark
I’m cold and dark
Baby spanks new spark

Oh I been to school
And I paid some dues
I know who fool
Whose who using who
Baby seeks new tool

Part and partial pain
Part hurting again
Part hurting as end
Never making amend
Never saying her sin

And she'll never stop
Doing her dirty bop
Till sagging flesh drops
Or someone calls the cops
Messes up her ops

Nothing I can do
Too too her fool
Apply my own eye wool
I’m be gone butt drool
Dead dried toad tool

She's moving too fast
Her next piece of ass
Her house made of glass
And her empty past
I'm yesterday's grass

I'm old going slow
No goosing my glow
Ain't got enough dough
Ain't cool guy to know
She needs be I go

She’s seeking new beats
New trickings to treat
New sauces to heat
New meat to repeat
Old dick to delete

So I got me these blues
Baby needs new shoes
Old shoe won’t do
She’s tired of this fool
Gonna find her new drool

For a music/mix/recording/sound collage by Peter Ball, word&voice by Smith, go to

 Serial Sunrise

Today’s LittleNip:

Winter's discontent
assassinates summer
seeds spring


Our thanks to Smith today (Steven B. Smith) for some lively Friday poems and pix, and to wife “Lady K” for her contribution, too! Serendipitously, Smith mentions curiosity and cats, our Seed of the Week.

Tonight, Sac. Poetry Center presents Angela James, Charles H. Halsted and special guess Mary Zeppa at the “Random Friday Series”, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento, 6pm. Then at 7:30pm, Linda Schiller and Beth Suter (plus open mic) will read at The Other Voice in Davis, Unitarian Universalist Church. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.


 Other Door
Celebrate Poetry!

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