Friday, March 15, 2019

Becoming One With One

—Poems and Photos by Smith, Cleveland, OH


Down and basic
bird wants to eat live worm
worm wants to eat dead bird
ebb and flow
eat and go
gone before you're done
down the throat
through the gut
becoming one with one

 Red Tailed Hawk


Wake 4:30 every morn
to the sound of music
the programmed A.I. turns on
because wife is Star Trek weird
and thinks this is the way of would.

Get up, pop two Tylenol
give wife her morning pills
whack the cat with the cloth carrot
she loves as she claws the couch
and purrs.

Drink coffee wife made
feed fish
and go out every morning at 7
whatever weather
to feed the little dinosaurs
waiting in the trees.

If it gets below 15 degrees
we feed them twice
cuz life is hard.

The flying dinosaurs
often thank us with song
multitudes of movement
and flashes of red and blue
amidst swallow brown.

And I check for signs of our wild turkey hen
her tracks in the snow
her roosting on our car roof out back
or lately sitting on the front porch
watching the bird feeder.

Recently saw her eating the seed
I pour on the ground
and said "Well hello, good to see you"
she looked at me and went
"Chirrup, chirrup"
which I heard as thank you.

She's been around since August,
chased up from the industrial Flats
by bike path construction.

Last summer she had a hawk companion
who folk thought was hunting her
but I don't think so...
he never attacked,
just stayed nearby, stared.

We three were on the sidewalk out front
by busy West 14th Street
with the turkey 8 feet from me
at one angle
the hawk on the fence 8 feet away
at another angle
hawk and turkey 8 feet apart
at a third
watching each other.

Turkey started into the street traffic
and hawk flew up and chased her back
to the sidewalk

Later looked out back window
and saw her eating a pigeon
the hawk had caught and decapitated
and dropped for her.

Strange that a pigeon I'd fed
had been killed and fed
to a turkey I fed.

I think he was in love with her.

6 months later hawk's gone
turkey remains
and the little flying dinosaurs
still chirp from the trees
waiting for me
to fill their feeder with seed.

We all bleed in need.


Black ice, white ice
color don't matter
just balance

Back of night
requires bone of day
to dream



A trio of wails
—cop siren
—ambulance siren
—fire engine squawk
trail near in night
an angry need and heed of haste
in horror of going there
the horror there
and horror coming back
yet maybe later will be better
who's to judge?
not me

Siren sounds could be
TV, movie, outside under tree
all three
or none
who's to judge?
not me

Someone's broken
some place in flame
blood is token
pain remains aim
in this whale of a wailing game
who's to judge?
not me

I can't live your life
you wouldn't want mine
this whole kit's gone caboodle
we're all dying on the vine
can't stop the avalanche 
nor budge current's grudge
but who's to judge?
not me

 My Inner Clown


Driving Cleveland grey
around Dead Man's Curve
in old old cold
the windshield blurs
so I give it a couple sprinkles
and hit the wipers
and vision smears gone
in freeze

Sometimes you do do right
still get done wrong

 This Section Closed

Sitting in pre-dawn diner
staring at the SECTION CLOSED sign
hoping I'm on the right side



A lot of life
there's what I want
and what I get

safe to say
they're seldom the same

but then there's what I didn't want—
a relationship
and what I got—a wife

with a whole nuther life
running around
behind old iron curtains
and Mexican nights

she makes interesting more so
banal cast away
as her surreal floor show holds sway
with camels
coffee mountains
and magic mushrooms if I may

she slipped from the Elf-Woods
stole cross my warning gate
to lick my wounds
and wait

now night is not as long
nor day as loud
in crowd or throng
we sing song
for my green-eyed Lady
lies golden on my mind  



I lie on my back
in the dead grass dried and wilted
looking for shapes
in the atomic clouds roiling overhead

There—a 3-pointed frog
slowly boiling in its own broth

Here—a cow giving curdled milk
to partial piglets, and Pooh

All around money torn from its treasure
burns slow, and alone

Flesh, formerly firm, flows unfixed

And there, right there
there's a radioactive cloud fish
swimming in the radioactive cloud sea
off the radioactive cloud Fukushima

Bon appetit

 Fog-Eye Smith

Today’s LittleNip:

Wife asleep on couch
Cat asleep on wife
Me awake in wonder



A whopping’ big thank-you to the lively Smith (Steven B. Smith), who sends us his fine poems and artwork today on these Ides of March!

Today at noon, join writers at Cafe Bernardo, 234 D St., Davis, for Lunch w/Writers, Poets, and Literature & Language Instructors from 11:45am-1:15pm. Then stay in Davis exploring all day, and at 7:30pm attend The Other Voice (Brad Buchanan and Stuart Canton plus open mic) at the Unitarian Universalist Church on Patwin Rd., hosted by James Lee Jobe. 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.

—Medusa (Celebrate Poetry!)

 Car Hood Turkey
—Photo by Smith

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.