Thursday, November 21, 2024

Still Dancing After All These Years

 Scan Me
—Poetry and Visuals by Smith, Cleveland, OH
 
 
I push my rock up hill
watch as hill falls down

In empty want of will
I'm too stupid to go around

Dancing light distracts me
from my terror time

Shows a better be
a finer fine to find

I turn in search of lovely
leave lonely in the lurch

Seek some truths beyond me
weigh the man . . . and church

Both are judged and wanting
says the writing on the wall

Must be sort of daunting
God's middle finger and all

Rock and hill and finger
keep messing up the page

But as long as my luck lingers
I'll survive this culture cage
 
 
 
 Hang On
 

Sisyphus and I worship
at the cat box
we kneel
bow to clumped piss
and clayed shit
when done
we smooth the sand
with Zen
then
do it again
and again
and again

we are happy
we have a steady job

it reminds us of eternity
 
 
 
Run On


Drinking the talky coffee
in pre-dawn dark
by firelight
me jabbering away
ear-sore wife suffering
dog waiting impatiently at feet
for talk to end
morning walk's begin
me in caffeine-jacked now
and there ain't no not yet next
savoring the madness of moment
since minutes tend to the mundane

which is weird
since mundane ain't
simply can't be
in this miraculous whee of life
and lights
laughter
love

so leave me be
leave me
leave
be

and somehow pay the rent
(for you of the Capitalist bent)
 
 
 
 Heart and Soul


Sometimes I wear two shoes to write a poem
sometimes none
sometimes one shoe socks two
sometimes one'll do
depends on doing
poem coming
don't know where or why
they light on I
but grateful
adds glitter to gloom
lightens doom
swoons moons
fuels fumes
 
 
 
 Because the Night


I was beast man at my wedding

My first pun? Once a pun a time

I've got quite a few pieces
but missing some bits

Quantum creatures sneak my creases
eating what fits

Betting heart as feature
not fatal bug
 
Reality's creaky cum creature
one sum slog

Listening to bonging clock
grateful we agree

Inner silences in inner silence
carry the weight for me

Are figments baby figs?
Do they grow on trees like need on knees?

There is song in silence, song in noise
lesson in both

Steeple of day steeped in night
eat until eaten not very nice

We are mouth holding scream
 
 
 
Egg In...


Raise my face to sun
suck what source I can
closed lids peach red glow
and luminous yellows
knowing if I open them
I'll be damaged

flash to last year
staring at sun
eyes open
for four minutes
of total solar eclipse
it was alien
other
that burning thing up there
fuming fusion
everyday deadly

stare now eyes closed
letting the lid light warm
skin wrap my face
in shine

fine time
 
 
 
 No 
 
Old dog wants
but doesn't know what
so stands in existential angst
glancing at door
at kitchen
at me

I am an old man with an old dog
I don't know either
 
 
 
Try Me 
 

I may look empty
but fumes still fuel my quest

Seems like it's all Go Go Americana
these days down at the
All American Gas Station Beer Stops

I drank MD 20/20 once
and once was enough
but for pure power glory
a drug dealer in low-class high rise
who cut coke at my place
cuz wife didn't understand
once brought moonshine along
and WOW
stuff glowed all the way down
then smiled

Still smiling my 33 years sober
47 years later

Now follow full-spectrum flower
to ease hours
when wind on wrong side of strong

Going on a dope run
running with the wind
then after we're done
we'll do it again

There are silences in the silence
unsilences in the unsilences
lotus grows pure from muck
while I'm more dump truck

And yet
gotta believe good would in bad water

Tickle back of neck sweat
absentmindedly rubbed
killed bug
bug being bug
sweat being sweat
me being me
bug dead

My bad?
You've no idea
I was always outlaw
rogue
approaching scoundrel
wanting better

Push myself to edge with coffee
and stress of class less ness
you know what I mean
if not
you're part of the problem
and I've no solution
cuzs problem myself

Outside silence slows
to rush of wind and wheel
red thread of siren

Where's the punch line?
 
 
 
 Bible Box


Today’s LittleNip:

Awful slippery slidery
this thing called truth
it finally settles
then WHAM
it's gone again

But thanks
for the blue skies
the green leaves
the wind

Pleasures treasures


—Smith

___________________

Smith (Steven B. Smith) reminds me that this post brings his visits to the Kitchen to nine years—and we’re all the better for his rockin’ wordplay (and truthplay!), dancing along with us for almost a decade now. (And thanks to D.R. Wagner, sadly now deceased, for, on a trip to Cleveland, giving Smith the tip that Medusa’s Kitchen might not be such a bad place to hang out.) Here’s our thanks to Steven B., looking forward to another nine and another nine and another…

___________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
 I See You
—Visual by Smith



















 
 
 
 
 
A reminder that
Straight Out Scribes & Noa Sanaa
will read tonight in Sacramento.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

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 Sisyphus rocks and rolls~~
and rocks~~and rolls~~