Time Flies Like A Rotting Banana~

 Soul Fuel
—Poetry and Visuals by Steven Smith,
Cleveland, OH 

Dog is walked
pets are fed
did the dishes
made the bed
laundered clothes
cleaned cat box
pay what I owes
oiled the locks
got rid of the grease
wound-up the hours
put wife at ease
smoked some flower
watered my weed
emptied the trash
if more in need
you've only to ask

 

 

 

 Pre-Dawn Traffic

 

As the coffee slowly creeps
toward the surface
through no of go
and lie of why
we continue
new day
way

There's 8-fold path
there's foot in foot of foot

life is
as always
rent

and the check ain't in the mail

 

 

 

 If I Dood It

Beauty in gray rainy day
you can wear sadness walking wet
streets alone
just rain
no tear
not here
not there

many masks for sadness
madness too

 

 

 

 Earaid

I'm losing some male-ness
thank goodness
woman walked by in tight slacks
lizard brain looked
saw she was walking a dog
brain shifted to dog
and she was gone
doggone

I analyze folk by their kids
art, books, music, pets, worry wrinkles
dog was happy
tight slacks might be okay

She judged me by not seeing me
happens when you're old
and don't look dangerous

Little do they know

 

 

 

Life

Wife's out with gal pal
me home, hole in head

Went to clean 4 teeth
came back with 3
hole in one less one
soon leaves none
fortunately for me
they're on my right side
so when I hit those prison lights
and the brown suits scream
I'll yell
"No worry, see my teeth?
They're all right-winged!"
and they'll cheer
wave me on
anon

I hear if you kiss their ring
they'll let you do anything

 

 

 

 Lineform

I'm sorry
you're in the system
you have a number
things go in lines
slow lines
long lines
forever lines perhaps
but lines are lines

numbers are numbers
and sequence my friend is sequence

time flies like a rotting banana
is relative
and you are not related

 

 

 

 Clue

Beams of glass tend to crash
unless inspired under

Old ran out
here is now
always here
always now
there's no mother where
or other when to be

I am counter of the countless
token toker on the board

Page is blank
ink is dry
as am I

And not
for never

Too much moisture on my mind

 

 

 

Water

 

Laying back in bath
in the sweat and the wet
the steady sigh of silence
that's never silent
whispering
hiss now play later
payment due on demand
I know sum of life:

some eat
some are eaten
some starve in between

and yet . . .

this dance from shadow to shadow
makes the motion music
marks it magic

there's always a silver lining

unless you're feed

and who knows
that could be the silverest lining of all

the party may start on the other side

 

 

 

 Night Air

Today’s LittleNip:

Sit down
out at in-laws
glance at jukebox
"My God Has A Telephone"
is playing

curious

what's God's phone number?
is it long distance?
there Angelic Muzak on Hold?
must be some serious Call Waiting
I’d guess you best not spam

and just imagine the phone bill

_________________

What IS God’s phone number, anyway? Is there an app? Do I have to leave a message and She/He'll get back to me? Down here, one is sorely judged for not having a phone; is it the same in God-land?

Anyway, Smith (Steven B. Smith) is in the house today with his long white beard, bringing us holiday cheer in the form of fine poetry and visuals. Best of 2025 to you and Lady and critters, Steven B., and thanks for hanging out with us in this timeless Kitchen—no rotting bananas here!

_________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Me by Lady

 

 

 

 

For 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.

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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!