The Book of Poetry
—Poems and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH
JUNKY LUV
My eyes slither open, shut
In golum time my tongue
Rasps brown lizards
As I hiss my want of you
In careful solitude
O my preciousss
Sleep whispers soft leavings
On my lids my head nods
Nods my precious
These fingers numb in spite
The clash of needle
And the floor
My eyes slither open, shut
In golum time my tongue
Rasps brown lizards
As I hiss my want of you
In careful solitude
O my preciousss
Sleep whispers soft leavings
On my lids my head nods
Nods my precious
These fingers numb in spite
The clash of needle
And the floor
Hobbit Hole
IS HAPPENS
The walls between is and is are thin
as are isn't and isn't
and don't even mention maybe
I'm not doing my best
I'm not doing my worst
I'm just getting through the day
Sun is growing dim
loosening the connecting line
binding excrement and time
Shadows hug each imperfection
deception, exception
snag sin of skin within
Time blinds
life abounds
abides
Peter Rabbit
INNER ANIMAL
My spirit animal?
Well I'm sleazy as a weasel
sly like the fox
tricky as coyote
brave like a chicken
straight as a snake
hungry like the wolf
cuddly as a porcupine
sneaky like raccoon
pretty as a platypus
lively like the possum
melodious as a raven
sweet like the skunk
rich as a church mouse
complex like spider's web
sane as a loon
tame like tiger
the cart before the horse
the straw that broke the camel
china shop bull
swine before pearl
compliant as a mule
but bottom line deep inside
I'm Bugs Bunny
(though most see Pepé Le Pew).
Fire Down Below
TEMPUS FUCKIT
Bit of a dust-up
what with the brownshirts
browning their noses
and the goosesteppers stepping on
So I do my do
be my be
you fool you
I fake me
It's the bone woe
the flesh fear
the liquid pain weep of tear
from yessir gaze ago
Hard rain falling
clock ticking time
Help 5 Cents
ISLAND OF LOST SOULS
Rule sez publish or perish
but rubbish more fairish
considering the shift we're in
We done stepped in it
and steeped in fact
the toxins are costin'
our am and our ain't
Poison in air
and water and earth
from our continuous body squirt
and it's too late to change
cuz we're swishin' down life's drain
Most of us anyway
but as flesh dies the adept adapt
Like cockroaches
we learn to live in dark
run the cracks
eat the crumbs
swim in pus of us
I am mutant
and in these cockroach times
I will survive
Hear me hiss
Bluzeyez
SOCIAL ISOLATION
She wants to go
but there's no reason for going
except the going
which I can appreciate
If you can't go
then eat
or buy
If you're a guy
grow a beard
or cut one off in stages
If you're a gal
cut a guy
Don't ask why
Going Down 3 Times
I’M FOR FALLING
Whining want weeps
Its winning way
From fool tool TV
Via too much tit
And botoxed brain
Showing shallow twits
In xeroxed pain
Damn little give
Whole lotta take
Turning from sun
To burning lake
I’m for falling
Falling down
Falling through air
Calling cloud
Free from err
Free from want
From wanting more
Free of lust
Of money whore
Free to trust
The ever more
Precious
IN THE TEMPLE OF THE ECHO
In the Temple of the Echo
in the moment of the mind
in the error of the airwaves
in the arrows of the kind
lies a hurting healing
taking pleasure from the tried
to forgotten shadows
on the ladders of the blind
Oh take me to your leader
to the maker of this slime
and at their feet I’ll wallow
worshiping the awful
waste their shallow taste
brings life’s kine
Sheep sadly settled
graze government gray
cheap and badly saddled
approved payments pay
in first-born chattel
less than cattle
while TV mentals
televise mime
breaking elemental
rights of mine
mind to mind
Hey in there . . .
anybody home?
Clown Death
Today’s LittleNip:
KUNDALINI WHEELIE
—Smith
Thistle me, mama
rasp my asp from toke to turn,
shake this poor thorn tree.
____________________
Smith (Steven B. Smith) joins us this morning with his acrobatic wordplay and visuals, and we’re grateful and thankful for that! “Thistle me, mama/rasp my asp…”
____________________
—Medusa
Lizard-Eye 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.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com.
The snakes of Medusa are always hungry!
