sketch from journal #12, never doubt, 1978.
This is a drawing of Peter Hoff (now known as Zeke Peterhoff, and me, wearing our Mustard Seed Theatre Company T-shirts and apparently juggling with our minds.
Good times.
and the radio played
sunlight shimmers in
her eyes her
breasts dance with
each tiny breath
whispering
my name
-- doug smith
Making Ends Meet
Notes:
It was a lean time, surviving on peanut butter, pasta, and soup and enjoying the freedom that a wide-open schedule provided where even at work I could draw, write, compose. Ah, but I was young and my sense of humor perhaps more crude than good and cartoons like this resulted.
It's silly, but there it is.
caught
if you catch me
counting stars
some night
when i should be
gazing into your eyes
or if a tear drop
forms when we
should be
celebrating
chalk it up
to mystery
or a muse chasing
escaping vibrations
but never blame your
self and never doubt
our love.
-- douglas brent smith
Mysterious Towers
Notes:
I remember as a child being fascinating by the concept of Figures in text books. Illustrations were often labeled Figure 1, Figure 2, etc. I wondered, "why don't they just print the title of the picture?" but never found out.
In fun and tribute, I named this doodle Figure 1. It appears in journal #12, never doubt, 1978.
the gold standard
someone found sparkly yellow
stuff, indifferent deep in the ground
wet in pebbles too thick to drink
too heavy for wheels
small quantities scattered
"let's make it money"
they said "because it's so pretty..."
now everybody wants what was
in fort knox as if
every heavy clunk of gold
held a genie inside
with three wishes for riches
and what do you
do with them
but
wish for more gold
-- douglas brent smith
chords
can you still feel my cords? she
said often after the heat had subsided
and we were nearing sleep
at first i said yes, even though
i had no idea where they were
or if they still were
but like so many other lessons
from you i learned
after learning every square lovely
inch of your warm body
where your chords were
cords
there were other chords, also: lines
from your soul to mine
gullible at your will
veins
mixing sunbursts with rain
notes from my guitar, chords
calling your name
after long walks with puppy dog
after altercations over where
each or both of us would live (tell me)
can you still feel my chords
a thousand miles away?
-- douglas brent smith
Washing Down The Phone
I drew this cartoon in 1977 -- long before we carried around mobile phones. Every phone was attached in someway to a wall. The phones were heavy enough and strong enough to withstand an alien attack, a building collapse, or a major earthquake. You didn't own them, you rented them. Not exactly the good old days.
Of course when the phones got dirty, we just hosed them down.
-- doug smith
play your hand
don't tense up on me now,
all of my cards are marked
scarred from handling bent
at the edges
i'm playing several suits at once
none a perfect fit
no aces up my sleeve
don't quit don't leave
read them and grieve
i'm weary of your silence
duplicity dulling our electricity
whispers like screaming
read your hand plead your hand
bid or pass i'm faster than you think
holding my queen of hearts
with a secret message
better play your hand and hurry
now
before the queen finds her jack
and there's no turning back.
-- douglas brent smith
hippo
if i were a hippopotamus
i'd never wear a suit
because one would never fit
be chic or even cute
if i were a hippopotamus
apart from where the rest go
sitting alone in my hippo home
i'd chat on the phone with Ionesco.
--- douglas brent smith
could this be love?
somewhere a special lady
speaks my name
smiling and remembering some
soft magic moments
that turned the world on wheels
to a happy tune
while
someplace here this dreamer
thinks of her
grinning that glorious grin
weaving that wonderful touch
into a golden design
of unmistakable beauty
and caring.
-- douglas brent smith
which one?
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
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