Miniature

 i became aware of

the poetry of existance

     and of the artistry of

     her voice

     of her thin, gentle fingers and

     the honesty of her eyes

1973

Wordless

 when a friendship

                              grows deeper

and the desire for sharing

each and every moment

lasts

        behind the level of acquaintance

the need to touch    

                            grows stronger

tastefully (if allowed) space

                 to hold (carefully) emotions

silently

             when words are not enough 

. . .                                                       because

   . . .   words are never enough . . . 

12/73

       

Give Me Your Brain

Note: I once wrote a play called "The Great Brain Robbery." This poem is from that period of time, in 1973, when I thought some things were much funnier than I do now. And, the basic premise of the play, that we are unconsciously surrendering our brains, still holds up.

Give Me Your Brain

you're certainly a silly one

afraid to give a brain

the whole world's grabbing for it

release it while you're sane

we need a brain like yours to use

in service to our cause

it won't help you once you're crazy

filled with riddles and with flaws

you're no Einstein nor a Curie

just a normal filled with fury

you're no Jesus why not please us

give that brain away

such a silly greedy one

clutching to your head

all your brain cells added up

won't matter when you're dead

give me your brain

it's not so much

a sibling cerebral skunk crutch

let it go now in this exchange

give me oh give me hey give me your brain

sensible

if a circle is

   really a series of

      triangles

         how can we ever

            expect to

               make any sense

                  out of any

                     thing at all?

3 January 2023

 

Bottle Rocket

 "Is that what I think it is?"

(she slams the oven door and grabs the bottle rocket out of the boys hand. She throws it toward the window but it bounces off the screen and lands amid the other fireworks.)

"Is that cherry pie?"

(she opens the oven and grabs the pie. It's hot and she nearly drops it but manages to set it on the floor.)

"Yes. That was a close one."

(a chain reaction of fire work sparklers light up the kitchen. Small popping sounds and Gilles. She grabs the boys hand and leads him in a gallop out of the kitchen. They both narrowly miss stepping in the pie on the way out. As soon as they are gone the whole kitchen explodes.)

"Shhhhh."

(She returns with a fire extinguisher and gets the exploding fireworks out. It's a mess. She picks up the miraculously in tact pie and carries it out. Wisps of smoke float gently around the kitchen. Pause.)

"Delicious."

-- douglas brent smith

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Context: 

Written from a scene prompt, page 337 from "The Playwright's Handbook" by Stuart Spencer.

Dealing with it

 

We just have to deal with it. It's not new. It's not going to change. The people who are younger than you feel the need to rebel against you. The people who are older than you care so much about their own generation that yours seems insignificant. It doesn't make any of it true, just present.

We might as well deal with it by staying calm, mindful, and attentive to our own approach to multiple-generations. Eventually, if you live long enough, you get to be every generation cliche available.

-- doug smith

Raw Emotions

Rough drafts lead to raw emotions.

Raw emotions lead to truth.

Truth leads to change.

-- doug smith