sold

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.

 

waiting

 

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

the nowhere machine strikes gold

 

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

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

with the flow

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

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

 

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

NOTES:

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.

 

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

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

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 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

 

intermittant

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.

 

tone for the dance

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 

like glue

in the land of collage

the parts of the whole

are not merely parts

of the whole

touching convincingly

embracing connection

they ARE the whole

picture

functioning as one.

                                the vision

                                amounts

                                to

                                everything.

-- douglas brent smith

mist or sleep

sleepless resting

scattered flecks, invisible

wisdom floating

sending encoded messages

in slumberland tones

nearly imperceptable

the white noise of

unknown visitors

walking as ghosts

spirits in disguise

inside pulsing

faces in the mist

in the midst

of

eval

or

a

ion...

-- douglas brent smith

  

acceptance of collage land

she watched me

repeatedly

cutting random pictures from

stacks of magazines, old books,

catalogues, yearbooks, newspapers, and

never questioned

why

and

gave secret smiles and

all

was

right

whatever else we've done

you did make it more fun.

-- douglas brent smith

The Green Kiss of Departure - collage by douglas brent smith

 

in collageland

the cityscape

skyline triggers

figures certain

wild untamed

sophistication gathered

neon electric smoky fast

gathered 

                forces

forces our focus

beyond the eye's 

tries

for unity

into the scattered

invitation to collage.

-- douglas brent smith

 

could be

maybe the cosmic

scheme of things

looks like a

jigsaw puzzle to

you because you

have a box

full of missing

pieces but they

could easily have

been found falling

from another puzzle

and together (if you

can picture this)

could be.

-- douglas brent smith

 

perfect

 

she sits writing

notations thoughts reflections

in her journal and

i am filled with stillness she

is really here and

happy

quietly unassuming

as traffic on parkway pours

by with a steady flow

and she goes on

radiant, content, perfect.

-- douglas brent smith

crime

stealing's a way of life

in the city

if you've got it hold on

someone else wants it

and will take it

looking or not you'll lose it

classic redistribution of

property (not Marx but marks)

here and gone drug money means

no limits no fear no more here

here

and hey

robin hood you ain't, and

neither am i rockefeller

fella.

-- douglas brent smith, May 1978 

naive

seriously she said do you know

that some people are so poor they

have to watch black and white TV?

as if evidence enough of suffering

and i replied (later to the clown

who stretched my hoops to balance

the laughs) hell

there are people who would 

eat a black and white TV

if they had one.

-- douglas brent smith, 1978

 

mayan tribute to a once great civilization

 

we split

totally quit

                    took off took a cab went

                    to lunch

detours paramours (here no more)

                    we're gone (so long)

other places golden traces burned

by the self-appointed authoritative

church

                    (who's church not mayan)

snuck off cleared out no trumpets

shout no plain fair

                    (fairly drawn

                    we're gone)

take it, embrace it, grab your maze

crazy whites

tonight's our flight

                    (alright a flash

                    no sight)

cashed in, to the wind

where we've been

will not be where we'll be

see?

-- douglas brent smith