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  

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  

 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  

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

magic never mattered much spells and incantations are punchlines pounding air barely worth a chuckle and lately most of life stacks a natural order and predictable placid piecemeal wave but a breath and a sigh ago in the warm night air somewhere between the pause of the sunset and the promise of dawn you touched me gently recklessly upsetting all mystery a promise no proper landing dancing between knowing and  hiding in a never-land of  grins and giggles shakes and surprises dreams and desire say, maybe there is magic after all. douglas brent smith  

she held back her tears as she told me the reason she just could not hold me tonight "i'm in need of a doctor who does not ask questions can you tell me a place to go? and my body is trembling from a night past remembering and i don't want the family to know "why does it happen it's my cross to bear? i hear thru your silence -- you weren't even there but i do need some help some how "i know it's not unusual it happens all the time but it's so devastating when the choice is mine..." she refused to cry as she ended the call "i will find a way to overcome it all..." and never spoke of this again. douglas brent smith   

come to me as the person you know as the one who will go softly in silence from you slowly and close feel the most we can offer all of this flesh thru the mess of our parting there. you see? the magic the warmth still willingly there all we have shared has formed a bond not to tie us or hold us captive but to wrap our walk thru this passage peacefully gentle compassionately free. douglas brent smith Note: This is at least the third version of this poem. I'll never get it exactly right, just as I never figured out how to get breaking up exactly right. Much has changed since 1977 when the first bits of this poem appeared, and yet...much remains a mystery -- like the mystery of how does someone fall out of love? To me it feels the same as if you said you'd decided to stop breathing. How do you do that? 

the only fire that inflames me now crackles constantly your name white hot and furious over the ashes of your unwritten melody and my unwanted soul the only air flowing thru me now tastes bitter and smoky colored in resins i've never learned in pigments past understanding you say i may not see you now though i still hear you when you sigh you declare there's no love there but ashes swept aside. douglas brent smith  

i guess the postal service died no other cause will do it's been more than a month since i've heard a word from you the phone company has gone on strike or else my phone is broken it's been too long a time it seems since your sweet voice has spoken it could not be dark apathy or mystery ignoring me that would not do it's not like you to leave me so neglected and somehow soon it must be true you'll treat me as expected to sit alone by my dumb phone reveals a hope gone rotten and it's much worse to live the curse of someone who's forgotten. douglas brent smith  

what Jane needs to paint fuel from foolish adventures folly from feeling alive swirling her flashy flesh filled shape as metaphors a warm blanket around her naked frame what Jane needs lately to feel hip in her new age is company, coolness shared some touchable one who cares what she paints more than about  what's under her blanket. douglas brent smith  

Once an angel                              fell from her warm but insecure perch in an artificial sky damaged and breathless afraid and in tears i ran to her soft side more than anxious to help her to heal her and hear her words of love mending her wings and sealing her strength hoping she'd fly over worlds that were also mine and love me for something that angels don't have but...once healed on the wing she took flight from my sight not willing to waste her freedom on fools so i wait with tears streaming waiting and dreaming and hoping that when that angel falls again she remembers these steady hands. douglas brent smith

i left my typewriter in new jersey as if some  bloodied murder weapon trying to hide the crimes or forget the posturing of the scene of all my passion and pathos for these seven quite odd years where manhood came and with it the twisting torture of passion's pain distressed and then daring darling and then distressing messing with alternatives though the people traded places sliding parade-like suddenly my massive wooden desk i called the aircraft carrier (covered with unfinished scripts, snatches of poems, and doctors' bills) half my soul (it seems) was spilled poured and splattered into these gold, black, red walls onto the dusty floor filled with cat hair, beard hair, auburn hair too precious to sweep away no, it was not a castle or a page from Architecture Digest but it gave me all I ever needed to become an artist they say we become completely new every seven years we'll see i suppose we will see i left my typewriter in new jersey i guess i'll need to return for it