Wednesday, January 25, 2017

photo: annapolis fence


There is much to see while walking around Annapolis. I found this fenced yard fascinating.

(c) 2017 douglas brent smith

You are free to use this image. Please cite: photo: douglas brent smith 2016

Monday, January 23, 2017

photo: bernie on the fan


Bernie on the fan. Just because.


(c) 2017 douglas brent smith
permission granted to use this photo, with the attribution: photo by douglas brent smith


poem: patiently

i want to read every book
touch every flower,
breathe in every mint aired aroma,
laugh at all of your jokes
     over again

see all of your faces
trace the years between us and
smoothes the bumpy gaps

i want to bake a cake so big
it takes a lifetime to eat
and create a life so long
that all the cake is gone

i will have it, i will eat it.
     i will treat it as your appetizer
for better (much better) days to come

and what you can't see now
in you in me in us in eternity
eternally waits,
     patiently

for your discovery.




(c) 2017 douglas brent smith

photo: 2065 pennington road kitchen



Not sure when this was. It could have been 1978 but it could have been sooner. That's Tom's TV. He always sat close enough to frequently change the channel (except when Star Trek was on but even then, during the commercials) before most of us had a remote control. I don't think any of the kitchen chairs matched. It was, after all, basically a college place. Some of us just had a tough time leaving.

Not shown: a likely stack of dirty dishes and a very outdated small refrigerator.


poem: now

Tomorrow. Today. Yesterday.
Now.
Here we are. Right Now.
Now is the time
to move, to act, to play, to love, to discover
beyond previous intentions, expanded &
free
       above invisible ceilings &
       true to a dream
Now is the time for you.
       and me

What will we do with it?



(c) 2014 douglas brent smith


Poem: who we are

who we really are is a frustrating secret
locked in chambers dark. filled with echoes
repeating what we've been told, taught, and sold
clicking away - vibrating in a pulse of rainfall
that we do not feel. Sopping, sobbing, wet.

who we really are eludes us every corner
ghostlike, shadow shrouded wispy drawn
sketched on page prepared but torn, tearful, and faded
dropping away - ringing in tones of tools
we can not carry. We touch nothing uninvited, withheld.

who we are is right there in front of us.
don't you see it?



(c) 2017 douglas brent smith

Friday, January 20, 2017

Poem: hole / under

she doesn't understand
my depression
              hell,
i don't understand my
              depression
do you understand
              my depression?
does anyone understand
any
depression?

you grip you hold you bear you
              breathe
and lurking with no trace of
              humor
ready to pull relentlessly yet
teasingly provocative invitingly
suspenseful (oh my what is 
this about maybe just LOOK at
it a little bit)
              a little
is too much to digest

at once at all

i don't understand why she
doesn't understand isn't this
her kiss?





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(c) douglas brent smith