Friday, June 15, 2018

Ghosts of Thyme

—Poems and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH


Waiting for eyes to un-unopen
in dark before sun
dream stuck thick to lid
mind scream why this again
but caffeine will lance these lies
hope and habit handle the rest
as I walk one foot in foot of one
head high humble
foot low slow
pocket empty
moving through misconstrue
till sleep and wake rerun this fool

But someday...
raindrops on roses
sunlight on glass

 Blueray Smith


Birds sing in the dark
before the sun they seek rerises.

Everyone is speeding somewhere
lights on, wallets out, minds off.

We worship repetition
become rock, are hill.

Get in starting block
ready, sit, go.

Before and after are lies
it is always now.

Ashes of roses
ghosts of thyme.



Kneeling on the floor
before the cat box
removing clayed clumps of piss
and dried shit
then smoothing the surface
I realize this is my Zen sand garden
the urine my sins against others
the shit my sins against myself
the baking soda confession and forgiveness
for past smell
so I start new day new
knowing I'll be on my knees again tomorrow
for same old shit

 Wpx5 for bird


Blue tastes of
Old copper soured with salt
Black in lack of sun for fun
Old time crackers
Blue-bound barrels
bloodhound bred
for bit and bitter bayou
And adieu

Blue tastes what blue wants
like blues in the night
and lack of light
God imbued
due you
for gluon muse
black hole blues
scoured screws
enduring clues

taste of blue
and blue of you



Grandma had this cocoa clock
each half hour a small cocoa cup
came out and steamed its whistle
while every hour a cocoa bean
popped the door
and piped "Cocoa Cocoa"
once each hour for hour it was.

I'd sit and watch in awe
sipping my hot cup of cuckoo.

Of course Mother Goo's other gruel
was soft paws, sharp claws,
in-laws, life cause,
and preposed pause.

Been there
where ain't no way to win
or even come out even.

I prefer the cocoa clock.



On an old school bus
filled with adults, kids,
dogs, chickens, pigs,
crying babies
stopped in the road
on the side of the mountain
in southern Mexico
a mile and a half up the Sierra Madre
part of the road washed away
driver checking if we can get by
me looking out the side window
down at the mist
rising from the clouds
above a river far below
seeing no road
just crumble
thinking this is a long way to go
to pick coffee beans from trees
beans we can't even drink
because they have to be dried
carried to town
but having picked before
seeing the vanilla vines
wrapped around the coffee trees
pineapples growing from the ground
banana trees all around
cinnamon bark
lizards fucking on the stump
as we eat our campfire lunch
sun up high
roar of river below
I think it might be worth the fall
for it all
as the scout gets out
walks backwards in front of the bus
slow motioning us forward
watching the tires
the broken road
easing us over the gap once again
around the corner
past the small shrines
for those who missed before

 No Exit


The panicked deer
dashes three westbound lanes
of 60 mile-per-hour expressway
that no one's obeying
and with quick wit luck
leaps triumphant the concrete divider
success surging through brain
eastbound truck paints partition red.

And yet
she dies in dance of joy
euphoric escape last taste of fate
which rebirth
reshapes as joy over hate.

Live on edge, die on edge,
happy way go round.

And then of course there's slo-mo-go,
the easier way to roll.

But is it?

 Flower Power America


I'll tell you a secret
if you've got the time
and promise not to spread it
to more than nine


Cream rises to the top
then is roughly taken
into butter churn dropped
and brutally beaten

so much for best brightest

Keep quiet, work hard, be faster
it'll mystify your bosses
collapse them into laughter
as they count their profits

and you your losses

Rot and roll loses soul
as age dims rage
cuz folk forget to flow
and turn the page

just ask Mister Jones

Know your place
keep your pace
don't try to rise
live on our lies

do say, not do

We're better than you
don't you forget it
we do what we do
then watch you step in it



Today’s LittleNip:


I been working in the quandary
wandering my weird wrong way

If you go when you're happy
take happy with you

If you go when you're sad
leave sad behind

Count sheep if you will,
just don't look in the mirror


Many thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for his fine poems and visuals today!

Tonight at 7:30pm, The Other Voice Poetry Series in Davis will present Sue Daly and Chris Olander (plus open mic) at the Unitarian Universalist Church library, 27074 Patwin Rd., Davis. 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.


 Oddeye Smith
Celebrate poetry!

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