the point on the edge that turns


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

Pipe Saga


Pipe Saga

Pipe Saga - sketches by douglas brent smith

with the flow

in form not constant

higher planes

people versus civilization


knowledge so much

wasted rain

seeping with the tide away

in visage not former

outer ken

struggles heaped on burdens when


flashes now and then

ghostlike disappearing


-- douglas brent smith

Panel for Panel


Panel for Panel

Panel for Panel - sketches by douglas brent smith

locker room

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


One Small Corner of an Ocean


One Small Corner of an Ocean

One Small Corner of an Ocean - sketch by douglas brent smith

clown show

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


  1. 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. 
  2. The hoops that we used were hand-made by Peter and covered in cloth tape. They were not completely round.
  3. 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 in the wind.


Not Another of Those Things


Not Another of Those Things

Not Another of Those Things - sketch by douglas brent smith

over cards

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

Nice Friendly Creatures


Nice Friendly Creatures

Nice Friendly Creatures, sketches by douglas brent smith

Go Deeper

Being absolutely sure of something means I've only explored one side.

No only is our individual perspective imperfect, it is also incomplete.

Go deeper -- that's where the treasure lives.

-- doug smith

ocean walk

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


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 the jangle of atlantic city

fading in the distance

your tales of dancing on the steel pier

hints, whispered non-sequiturs, double entendres 

glimpses ? wishes ? desires ? 

a circle of sand around your blanket

endless conversation smoke inside

my eyes around your eyes

(should we touch) (should we try ? )

we did not and

wondered why...

-- douglas brent smith


Making Tracks

Making Tracks - sketch by douglas brent smith

 Making Tracks - sketch by douglas brent smith


there were chance meetings

distributed miles and months

touching us taunting us

locking us into a long

tight wire of vibrating nuance

you knew this, and kept on dancing

i knew this, and...what? what 

did it mean? how would it turn?

oh how we would yearn...oh

how we would learn.


Enter Spring

Enter Spring


Enter Spring, sketch by douglas brent smith, 1979

the point on the edge that turns

  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...