Panel for Panel - sketches by 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 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
Go Deeper
Being absolutely sure of something means I've only explored one side.
No only is our individual perspective imperfect, it is also incomplete.
Go deeper -- that's where the treasure lives.
-- doug 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
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