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Showing posts with the label poetry

Make Waves

 Make Waves - collage by douglas brent smith, 19890601 Oddities Unexplained: This collage, created June 1, 1989, appears on page 249 (with the back-side of the page simply the title) of journal #25. Communication, and the following poem, "Waves" was written on June 30, 1990 (more than a year later) and appears on page 251 of the same journal. I think how something like that happens is that there was a time when I created collages in my journals deep within the pages, long before the journal writing caught up. Plus, this particular journal took longer than usual to write. Does it matter? Not much. But, there you have it. Here's the poem: Waves everything on the surface develops a skin of its own unexamined, unrevealed, unkissed by the sun and then something falls with the  unrelenting force of gravity and breaks that surface bearing a new moment which  makes waves ohmyohmyohmyohmyohmy holycowholycowholycowholycow... but then the waves dissipate and the skin of the surface

Your Face

 Your Face, sketch by douglas brent smith, 1983

notes from an out of tune piano

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

poison water

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

hey you

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

anonymous, take a number

  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

well?

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

grand canyon

  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

we share this

  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

where?

  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

balloons

any other night flecked with flashes small surprises notes bouncing: balloons circus light swoons balloons off the wall pop pop squeak and pop balls (mostly  red) sticking to you companions in your dance floating into the hundred watt bulb and bursting pop! pieces fall at your feet flightless balloons.  --------- NOTES: Andy Laties and his sister, during his Child's Play days My friend Andy Laties, author, bookseller, and musician extraordinaire, when he performed with me in Child's Play had an interesting practice of carrying black balloons in his pocket. He said that they were weather balloons because black is easier to see in the sky.  Andy carried these balloons and would randomly offer one to someone he'd just met. He'd pull it from his pocket, inflate it fast (a wind-instrument musician he has excellent breath control) and hand it to the stranger who would now be his friend. No conditions and no expectations, just a free black balloon. Charming. That has nothing t

bruises and band aids

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.  

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: 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