sketch from journal #12, never doubt, 1978. This is a drawing of Peter Hoff (now known as Zeke Peterhoff, and me, wearing our Mustard Seed Theatre Company T-shirts and apparently juggling with our minds. Good times.
Notes: It was a lean time, surviving on peanut butter, pasta, and soup and enjoying the freedom that a wide-open schedule provided where even at work I could draw, write, compose. Ah, but I was young and my sense of humor perhaps more crude than good and cartoons like this resulted. It's silly, but there it is.
if you catch me counting stars some night when i should be gazing into your eyes or if a tear drop forms when we should be celebrating chalk it up to mystery or a muse chasing escaping vibrations but never blame your self and never doubt our love. -- douglas brent smith
Notes: I remember as a child being fascinating by the concept of Figures in text books. Illustrations were often labeled Figure 1, Figure 2, etc. I wondered, "why don't they just print the title of the picture?" but never found out. In fun and tribute, I named this doodle Figure 1. It appears in journal #12, never doubt, 1978.
someone found sparkly yellow stuff, indifferent deep in the ground wet in pebbles too thick to drink too heavy for wheels small quantities scattered "let's make it money" they said "because it's so pretty..." now everybody wants what was in fort knox as if every heavy clunk of gold held a genie inside with three wishes for riches and what do you do with them but wish for more gold -- douglas brent smith
can you still feel my cords? she said often after the heat had subsided and we were nearing sleep at first i said yes, even though i had no idea where they were or if they still were but like so many other lessons from you i learned after learning every square lovely inch of your warm body where your chords were cords there were other chords, also: lines from your soul to mine gullible at your will veins mixing sunbursts with rain notes from my guitar, chords calling your name after long walks with puppy dog after altercations over where each or both of us would live (tell me) can you still feel my chords a thousand miles away? -- douglas brent smith
I drew this cartoon in 1977 -- long before we carried around mobile phones. Every phone was attached in someway to a wall. The phones were heavy enough and strong enough to withstand an alien attack, a building collapse, or a major earthquake. You didn't own them, you rented them. Not exactly the good old days. Of course when the phones got dirty, we just hosed them down. -- doug smith
don't tense up on me now, all of my cards are marked scarred from handling bent at the edges i'm playing several suits at once none a perfect fit no aces up my sleeve don't quit don't leave read them and grieve i'm weary of your silence duplicity dulling our electricity whispers like screaming read your hand plead your hand bid or pass i'm faster than you think holding my queen of hearts with a secret message better play your hand and hurry now before the queen finds her jack and there's no turning back. -- douglas brent smith
if i were a hippopotamus i'd never wear a suit because one would never fit be chic or even cute if i were a hippopotamus apart from where the rest go sitting alone in my hippo home i'd chat on the phone with Ionesco. --- douglas brent smith
somewhere a special lady speaks my name smiling and remembering some soft magic moments that turned the world on wheels to a happy tune while someplace here this dreamer thinks of her grinning that glorious grin weaving that wonderful touch into a golden design of unmistakable beauty and caring. -- douglas brent smith
in the distance far beyond my reach sits a curious quizzical lady reflecting on near misses and wet kisses and tardy attempts to connect beat shaded under-rated near-miss exchanges sharing these changes as time slips from us while clouds, rain, thunder sweeps over keeping distances prim far turns trim blinking in the flash thinking we cannot know how to go now to hear one of our voices sing what only wisdom brings there's time enough for knowing. -- douglas brent smith
all of her goldfish died she bought one each day at the exotic pet shop filled with fish who eat fish she put the stranger in a bowl watched it swim around went to class came back finding the fish floating motionless at the top dead each day so she gave up fish for plants placed in her window they reached for the sun gracefully willing and as if pulled madly trembled, withered, wandered toward death as if strangled by some invisible plant canceler oblivious to all this she grasped my trusting hand and led me to her dormitory bed and in the morning wondered why i hadn't died. -- douglas brent smith
my tongue once tense relaxes prodding a voice grown resonant when seeking to impress you standing there hiding from my nuance from those hints of what might be for you and me a new way of singing reveal yourself your will your firm resolve not tempted beyond but pulled from within go ahead and hide yourself those firm breasts those long legs those changeable strange eyes those deeply thought sighs save it, turn away, i do not care any more my wooden voice speaks perfect platitudes of logic aloof alone independent calm even though if your no became oh...yes we could discover what our tongues do best. -- douglas brent smith
the kids don't care they say strap them down with boulders place flames upon their shoulders cause the kids don't care the code has faded somewhere all the punitive measures tied to worthless treasures when the kids don't care the kids don't care we see when we fill them up with pap who's the queen and who's the sap? when the kids don't care. -- douglas brent smith
Temporary love teaches us to survive the temporary and to thrive in the moment. Given that, we may find that it's not temporary after all... -- doug smith
the prospect of dreams dwindling idly so much smoke gladly burned spent offerings proffered to spirits unseen uncaring shaking sudden hours of time loose changing loose change to dreams of its own so dance this way dear with your reflection in my glasses and your breath on my lips secrets shared are no less lasting and no more distant than the sweet soft sound of yes. douglas brent smith
your heart sheds tears to me never for me as if i were your psychiatrist of love wise in the ways of your wanting though absent from the joys you feel lost listen... i once chased a butterfly for an hour hoping it would remain free dancing there with me letting it land in my hand and know me because the moon knows and the stars know and this butterfly knows that though free and skittish and uncommitted our love is never lost but aloft on butterfly wings. douglas brent smith
of course there were thousands of rational even dramatic reasons why we would never work out or remain together like gravity i keep falling for you like fate untested and irresistible because that voice those eyes that nonstop dancing and because you could tie a cherry stem with your tongue. douglas brent smith
your soft kisses danced across my face your agile fingers found my heart stars and planets shuddered underneath the stark, darkness hinted with each breath your eyes with tiny tears smile up at me pleading, asking begging (gleefully) though your voice said firmly "no." douglas brent smith
precisely because i can not tame you or hold you to promises you'll never keep for the fumbling from friction and tension weeping in the night wondering where you are incredibly over the constant terrors you touch me with a velvet glove over fondness lost losing with the lies from eyes once true now gazing on weakness crushed under your strength i wonder why i want you more than before. douglas brent smith
Can you tell when you're holding back? Or, are your senses dulled when things get dull and the sparkling shine fades away? Creativity can act like water: sometimes we need to prime the pump to get it flowing. Let it flow. Move it forward. There will be surprises. There will be storms. I really do believe that the best thing you will ever create has not yet been created. It awaits your initiative, your verve, your motion. You can't help but be creative -- no need to hold back. -- doug smith
thru five years we've danced daringly with many diverse partners crept thru bedroom windows of a few starched spirits and spilled a few tears of our own after five years kids become searching adults, your face remains soft and warm and my hands remain calloused but curious (a learning, yearning, burning process breathing Spring, simmering Summer fearless Fall) in five years it appears: some dreams last longer than others and life's road turns faster with eyes open as it rolls on revealing (with a wink) that some cycles and hearts remain synchronized, and that dance steps echo softly and that i love you still. douglas brent smith
pacing thru the time tripped delicately on edges of faceless fancies freed from the rushing resentment of relentless realities battering upon a daring door of dancing chances taken and rebuttals received answers mistaken and desire deceived. douglas brent smith
so what if your hair style is three years ahead of the trends and you will not regard fashion because we are above and beyond all that caught between generations and secret dreams "your mustache tickles," she said. -- doug smith
soaring up here on a colombian vacation looking up to find you straight ahead looking down eyes narrow ears open for sounds lending a touch of thin but absolute meaning strong enough to stand wearing someone else's shirt. douglas brent smith