Friday, November 15, 2019

Bluebird of Happenstance

Fire Down Below
—Poems and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH


Gimme that TV I.V.
for vain in vein insane
gimme booze, sex, gambling
highline fashion
low blows
gimme local lobotomy
drill my lobal monstrosities
gimme gone
gimme go
gimme fast cars in red glow
neon no one’s run low
jazz jumped slow
gimme want and went and wan
night in sight of sun
anything to numb
this shit world dumb
to doom due profits sons
in never pure
ever slippin' strip stream whirl
gimme never when
back then
but get me gone
I don't belong
nor do

 Wittgenstein's Chair


a temporary leaf
on a temporary tree
on a temporary earth
sucking sun
from a slightly less temporary star

for a season

this moment
being leaf
waving in breeze
licking light
dancing with wind
bounce of branch
wet of rain

is it not worth death
for such life

 Evening Star


Night runs its westward way
dragging day behind.

Not thought but thrum of ought
tugging at my mind.

It's mostly Garden/Apple mess
with unoriginal sin staining rest.

Snake or Sky Weasel?
Both lessen my legal.

In hard highway heave or Dead Man's Curve
we swerve from lost to learn.

Tomorrow never comes
yesterday never leaves.

I do what I can I do what I can't
but it's mostly in-between.

We are all Sisyphus
the rock we roll within.

I am not now.
I was not when.

Cat in lap reminds it's all a trap
best take pleasure where it's at.

 Happy Yet?


In broken note of wrongful song
heading for sky and empty branches
your little rat dog quivering in my lap
I court bluebird of happenstance
empty highway going my way
though some say road is rotten
and dead cat down the line

so I tighten my wig
knowing known darkness
and darkness not yet known
the dark within
the dark without
dark that sparks revere
and dark that arcs from heart
darkness at the edge of town
darkness all around

but still

is and isn't run the sphere
for farce and fear's new-made here
has inbred threads
rat bound out from always in
the bitter sin
buttered up from battered bin


(late-winter letter to sister Sue who's disowned me twice)

Thousands of icicles hanging from tree branches outside window.
Snow falling from sky.
Electric heat eating up money.
First day without coffee, voluntarily.
Fourth day without grass, voluntarily.
Bad sleep last night.
Life goes on.
Waiting for spring and sun and some money from somewhere somehow.
How you?



Alone in my youth
first-wave baby boomer
younger than adults
older than kids
amusing myself
walked out to train track
in wheat field
and put a penny on the metal
to be flattened

Train came
penny gone

I greased the next penny with lard
thinking it wouldn't stick to the wheel

Train came
Penny gone

So went to barn
drilled hole in penny
tied copper wire through hole
to heavy rock

Train came
penny stayed

But misshapened slug
was graceless

Expected more

 Interstellar Overdrive


Long time lone
leaves room to weed loam
maybe even atone
for the lie

Bellied worm wanting sky
ancient answer ever sly
though I fail I still must try
for the never known

I-am is not is
I-is am not am
not quite human
no clear clan

Here on the Entropy Express



The light fades
but it's still light
the leaves dim and thin
still green
the sky grey and low
today dying so tomorrow may live

 Sorry, Dave, I Can't Do That

Today’s LittleNip:


He's gone, gone
chairs are in
lights are off
coffee man is not around
gone to ground


Four years, forty features! Many, many thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for his monthly sizzling poems and visuals over—wow!—four years, dating from when SnakePal D.R. Wagner returned to his hometown of Cleveland, and then encouraged a Smith/Medusa team-up when he got back. The world of poetry is full of many blessings and the possibility of wonderful friendships, even across the country and across the sea!

The Other Voice in Davis presents Dr. Charles Halsted tonight with his new book,
Excruciating Circumstances, plus open mic, at Unitarian Universalist Church on Patwin Road in Davis, 8pm. 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.


It’s time for another contribution from a Form Fiddler. Today we have a tritina from Taylor Graham: 

—Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

A ghost moves through forest picking up
what trees let fall. She’s in trousers wood-green
and a worn denim shirt—lavender ash—

color of mist on pond, or hearth turned ash.
She moves as breeze to wind that’s picking up
the news: wildfire burning trees once green.

She haunts her autumn woods still living green,
tidying as a ghost can, knowing ash
and need for saving, bending, picking up—

picking up twigs once green, this ghost of ash.


Thanks, Taylor! Each Friday for awhile, there will be a poem posted here from one of you using a form—either one which was mentioned on Medusa during the previous week, or whatever else floats through the Kitchen and the perpetually stoned mind of Medusa. If these instructions are vague, it's because they're meant to be. Just fiddle around with some form and get it posted in the Kitchen. 

There’s a link at the top of Medusa’s Kitchen called, “Medusa Mulls/Forms, Etc.” which expresses some of my (take ‘em or leave 'em) opinions about the use of forms in poetry. Anyway, give ‘em a shot! Whaddaya got to lose….? If you send ‘em, I’ll post ‘em.

For more about the tritina form, go to It’s not as easy as it looks to find new ways to use those same words at the end of lines.

—Medusa, scratching her snakes, trying to find words that rhyme with medusa….  Colusa? redus-a? abus-a??

 Far-Eye Smith
—Photo by Four-Years-Forty-Features 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.