Nude Behind a Tree, sketch from Journal #9, Midwest Blue (1976-1977)-- douglas brent smith
coffee table
ashes, roaches, tweezers, matches
our hands a foot apart
not touching until
you pass the heavy book of
Picasso paintings
tapping the cover telling me
without telling me
the days grow shorter
a candle burns slowly
security in its perch
atop the bottle of cheap wine
(a pair of feline eyes stare
through the glass top sharing
perfect secrets knowing what is real)
"who believes in love anymore?" you
say, a provocation? an invitation?
"maybe," i reply, "maybe!"
if it is you
who is of
love and secrets perfected by scars
but!
you feel untouchable heavier than
this table carrying
questions that burn, that smoke
that penetrate us, but
why?
i'm alive enough to know i'm
near you
not near enough to you to
know i'm alive
douglas brent smith
Tom
the words you want
most to write
never come
until
they (you can't find them) find you
unprepared: unaware
and they laugh fast and run
the people who all mean the most
you take for granted
as their memories become
lingering ghosts
of lines you never chanted
songs you never sang
but i refuse to let that slide
because it boldly matters
and honestly, without you
i'd be forever sadder
douglas brent smith
Filling the spaces
Filling the spaces, sketch by douglas brent smith, 1976
The doodle sketches of a busy time, from Journal#9, Midwest Blue, 1976-1977. Letting go, moving on, trying on Chicago for size, while also re-inventing in New Jersey. The notes on this page span a wide amount of time with notes for plays in Chicago and rehearsal with -- DD -- in NJ and a Polaroid picture of Annie herself, standing outside 2065 Pennington Road. Not sure that any of this is noteworthy much less art worthy but here it is anyway. History.
you should have never
you should have never set me free
for now i'm flying recklessly
and weave new roads from symetry
a tangled dark geometry
you should have never sewn me wings
for i have stolen sacred things
and crossed the paths of clumsy kings
who yield their crowns to hear me sing
you must have known that i was wild
a reckless feckless freckled child
when tossed among the ranks and files
of royalty and scarlet styles
you should have never set me free
for i have bargained honesty
and released all modesty
consuming generosity
douglas brent smith
She Didn't Believe It
i tried to tell her hell i
try to tell all of them
but she didn't believe it
when i said to expect
the unexpected
and to deal with
puzzling deals nothing
to be dealt with normally
there being nothing normal there
so i should not be held responsible
naturally
for twisting a phrase,
opening the horizon
or breaking her heart
i tried to tell her that
might happen but
she didn't believe it but
being pro-active and smarter than me
broke mine first
douglas brent smith
on and on again
when the page turn
burns
the writer's hand
a grimace grows
surfacing the strands
of captured particles too bland
to turn the twisted
trip again
as the sunlight
fights
against the night
the struggle of
forgotten sights
resumes its earnest empty plight
even when the product's
trite
it falls apart and leaves a scar
while forgetting who you are.
douglas brent smith
my father's house
my father's house bears change
these days
the voices bouncing
off the walls
are not those of my family
but
of strangers
taking the space
i once knew so well
they speak with West Virginia accents
strangely
and treat me as a stranger
there are few things left
in my father's house
to remind me of familial love
to comfort me in shared history
something has been transplanted
and another thing supplanted
my father's house which
once was also mine
is no longer even
my father's house.
douglas brent smith
the numbers
you're living (it's truly
amazing) i'm crazy
though windows to open
will never close doors
you're giving (i'm
living)
much more than before
together we wonder
while skies shall surrender
when life lends us love
the threes become fours
but what matters
above all
when people may choose
is magic in making
the ones become twos.
douglas brent smith
envy
he smoked a pipe
that would make any author
drool with envy
which (by the way) need not be green
but it's also available in
red, blue, and occasionally paisley
although perhaps best
invisible.
douglas brent smith
What the Lemmings Must Know
Stars stream madly
across the frozen sky
sending drops of passion
into the pathways of
our wings
unmasked unfolded
we yearn
for the mystery
painted on the faces
of leaping lovers
of circus grips
and tunesmiths
sing, push, and pull
the lever
once pulled
overrides all the rules
the camera
once flashed
disappears with a crash
the secret
once known
leaves the lover alone.
douglas brent smith
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