douglas brent smith

i said to you our shoes in the sand your hand in my hand in a trance of truth i said to you my best inner secrets as the sun set and a light breeze caught your brown hair remarkable i said to you touching your cheek with care like a leaf whispering what i should have said years ago there is love that may be delayed but not denied true then, true on that beach. true still. -- douglas brent smith

the left hand starts a bass line avoiding familiar notes, for accidentals the right hand takes a ride let me sing of your changes (andante) swell...swell...who can tell? let me glissando your joys (forte!) and then mid-transposition the two of us harmonize and bring all the mystery down to size,  -- douglas brent smith

white cloud blue sky sudden darkness odor from a distant unknown source bitter tasting, no permission chemicals drifted in a virgin course like a losing hand played to a devil's trick for no reason half the town is sick a stranger talking in a legal voice bottled water is the only choice dark days dry from a ruined well twenty square miles of obnoxious smell poison water makes a person think tainted life line not a drop to drink.  -- douglas brent smith

i found you before life left any dents before the form found flaws and with open wonderment alive and ready for more you found me ready for new forms fresh foundation sparks! light! early morning smiles receiving all the giving and living ready for more every past piece of effort faded as we created this new kind of kiss tighter and sweeter and slightly awkward youthfully extending our freely found arms around gladness hey you hey you we found each other ready for each other and did not let go. -- douglas brent smith

  i am not anonymous i am not a number you can push around so get off my back! do not pigeon-hole me or patronize me or i'll come unglued not the common man i get uncommon as often as i can so stop measuring me reassuringly i am not anonymous i am not a number you can push around so get off my back! -- douglas brent smith

he was cute and younger than me but not illegally younger and wearing a tight orange and purple  shirt that had written across the chest "are you gay?" and he smiled and i thought "isn't everyone?"  -- douglas brent smith

  she shared some details of the road trip with the teen in a van not too many intense infraction type details it was fill in the blanks with too much thinking heart wrenching imagination like why would two people in a van driving together sharing inside secrets and cheap road food not be more than she said playing a players game of silence and selective facts believable whether deceivable  or not who could know she met a native american guide entering the great grand canyon already ahead of her hiking below the entertainer chevy chase working up his best sweat "losing weight for a part," he told her he seemed nice she told me she, so sun tanned deeply in pain followed the guide's instructions scaling the canyon, seeking and finding her peace on her own in shorts and a shirt a weight loss plan of her own for that burn in her heart immune from her lotions medicines and potions yet falling away as she scaled deeper to release the one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of disappointm

  when the motion slips into another space explanations defy attempts to reconcile part of the magic lives in everything      that's ever been      and ever is like a wave all of our days are part of something more complex than we can see so the part of you in me and me in you goes on some of the energy conserved in all      that's ever drawn      from breath lives on -- douglas brent smith

  movements                    from a stranger blackouts from the center of the soul childlike prods                 to an undiscovered corner tripping, tipping                    into a hole movements                   as the stranger blackouts from the cage of ourselves liberating touches                 on the edge of frenzy seizing, freezing                  short of the goal where is the cutting edge? one of us is bleeding. -- douglas brent smith

pouring out along the edge squandered supplies piled used and high gaping pits spent expectations lost looming loops of pride booming need, aside one generation's dream passed to the next dented bent unrelenting doom brittle cellophane crisply cold outside molded within contents spoiled one way of living shot full of holes an empty sieve while the work flows thru turns bleeding weeping slow burns.  

selling out selling out selling out is so much fun you look at me and whisper you look at her and run look into the mirror and tell me who's the one selling out selling out selling out is so much fun you say all those decisions are driving you insane you've got a first level problem and a third rate brain selling out selling out selling out is so much fun the dollar signs are shining right before your eyes reach into the money bag and pull out a surprise selling out selling out selling out is so much fun.  

  converging urges pull power plays pull lost switches pull shades thru the blades hanging pendulously; sharp edges dulled fast focus slowed merging dervishes sing in the distance youth grabs a number and waits in line. -- douglas brent smith

  a mask or so ago we felt the river flow an endless rippling wave eternal moments saved within its ceaseless motion the river meets the ocean absorbed in all its glory it learns another story of larger issues when the flowing never ends a cycle set for spinning eternally and winning loud and rich and bold producing newfound gold a nudge a mighty mod of prayer offered to God (listen. when the answer comes let's be ready to write down exactly what we hear...) -- douglas brent smith

  when it isn't enough to be weird when it isn't enough to be funny reality gathering speed pleads for shelter and just enough money when the middle class values scream what! ever happened to all that we've got? the air in the chamber starts moving in sounds that the masses can hear so the forces of wealth weave and hide oblivious to working day pride until with a shock wave a change the power is all re-arranged don't grab it or stab it, remain the journey discovering new plains the mountains are there for the climbing and the essence is all in the timing. -- douglas brent smith

in form not constant higher planes people versus civilization drains knowledge so much wasted rain seeping with the tide away in visage not former outer ken struggles heaped on burdens when awareness flashes now and then ghostlike disappearing end. -- douglas brent smith

are you looking for secrets? shortcuts and delight? perhaps someone's questions whose answers are right? is the sport in the victory but not in defeat? or does struggle with strength in itself seem complete? when the game hits conclusion and one side has won does your playing with passion surrender to fun? let's gather again when the tournament ends. -- douglas brent smith  

do you think the hoops'll play? no, we'd better go with fire they just eat it up when i swallow the flame bit but it's too windy we might set each other on fire (how's that for a big finish?) no, the balls, we'll do the juggling steals maybe some magic (slight of  hand) hey! did you bring the accordion? the guitars will never carry in this wind and yes it's cold but we're down to our last dollar and Quick! here comes some kids put on the big red shoes we are on! -- douglas brent smith NOTES: When Peter and I did these types of shows (not sure if this one was sponsored or if we were busking) our hair (yes, we once had hair!) was so long that catching on fire was a legitimate concern. At times, we could smell hair burning.  The hoops that we used were hand-made by Peter and covered in cloth tape. They were not completely round. If we had more money in our pockets then maybe we could have put fresh strings on our guitars so that they would resonate louder, even

there must have been three or four reasons why the cards in your hand shook waiting on the meld smoke swirling around your lip (swollen from the mouthpiece of a stubborn trumpet) sky writing secret indecipherable signals playing your hand against your partner's  lack of bullets "nothing but clothes" you said a handful of jacks and queens powerless in the endgame of tricks but that's not what you were thinking of i could tell with the gin nearly empty and the ashtray full of roaches some sweet lucid larceny was taking place and for a moment eyes meeting eyes you pick-pocketed a parcel of unsung refrains from within me and never cracked a smile. -- douglas brent smith

the cold wind blew uncut as ocean waves kicked stone gray jetties large gaping cracks between the rocks long suggestive pauses in our dialogue steps away a homasote haunted castle beyond a secret mist two blocks in the distance a single block between what we said and what pooled below the surface moist light beach sand crisp night air a buoy on the horizon this is your turf your haunting ground the smells salt sweet gulls and mussels and popcorn blended inseparable from that late summer visit our individual yet tethered travels returning each of us again to us in our own ocean so deep we may not swim beyond the mystery of the tingling unhinging phrases unstrung broken guitar strings a chipped boardwalk recollection stunning afternoon thru evening tones incidental sublimations consequential quirks of fate probing endless questions colored by scattered sighs barely audible experience unsaid unconsummated ties that clouds cover us and the moon that night one of our full moons stalking us

you dance to any number of different melodies counterpoint included shadows and obscure warnings aside what matters is the moment of decision the direction (the action) the tree limb that bends in the wind never curses the rain it takes many different notes to complete a symphony and the twelve tones of reason serve as aids not limitations the only lies we tell (whispered to shadows) as rests in the measure (the measure of our beat) the heat from growing pressure cuts the tension with release. -- douglas brent smith