douglas brent smith

Sketch: Alaskan Pipe Line, from journal #10, cry Wolf, 1977 Note: My dad smoked a pipe for years. He favored two flavors of tobacco , one was Old Hickory and the other I do not remember. It's a filthy habit of course but I did enjoy the smell and he did seem so peaceful whenever he had a pipe in his mouth. It was no good for his teeth of course, which he lost and wore dentures for years but that was also probably because of the gallons of heavily sugared iced tea that he drank. We all drank too much iced tea. I haven't been to Alaska yet as of this date but it is one of only three states that I have not been to, the others being Hawaii and Montana. Funny, two of them were not states when I was born -- as I often say "that's how OLD I am..." I did contemplate traveling to work the Alaskan pipe line -- the actual oil line and not the cartoon -- but correctly determined that it was all probably too rugged for me. Life certainly would have changed in a different path,...

magic never mattered much spells and incantations are punchlines pounding air barely worth a chuckle and lately most of life stacks a natural order and predictable placid piecemeal wave but a breath and a sigh ago in the warm night air somewhere between the pause of the sunset and the promise of dawn you touched me gently recklessly upsetting all mystery a promise no proper landing dancing between knowing and  hiding in a never-land of  grins and giggles shakes and surprises dreams and desire say, maybe there is magic after all. douglas brent smith  

she held back her tears as she told me the reason she just could not hold me tonight "i'm in need of a doctor who does not ask questions can you tell me a place to go? and my body is trembling from a night past remembering and i don't want the family to know "why does it happen it's my cross to bear? i hear thru your silence -- you weren't even there but i do need some help some how "i know it's not unusual it happens all the time but it's so devastating when the choice is mine..." she refused to cry as she ended the call "i will find a way to overcome it all..." and never spoke of this again. douglas brent smith   

universal bang it was a universal bang it was a universal bang it was a big bang got to thinking about the nature of existance and with a certain degree of persistence i proceeded to untangle all the angles that approach us from the cosmic cloud encroaching us all leading to the theory that a weary sort of human needs awakening acumen to make sense of any reasoning and weather all the seasoning that's bound to blow right thru you no matter what you do you come up a little short and then it slips right thru your hands again it hasn't changed much to the aliens deciding if we're enemies or friends still hoping that we finally get the joke universal bank it was a universal bang it was a universal bang it was a big bang. douglas brent smith Note: from journal #10, cry Wolf (1977)

here and gone and here again the most peculiar fleeing friend you stay you go you tell me so i know it's sure it's what you name it's all in how you play the game but oh i wait here for your kiss there's something that you should not miss: cry wolf my dear and see what shows the wolf will come and i will go. douglas brent smith  

  Pie Out-Moded - sketch by douglas brent smith, from journal #10 cry Wolf (1977) Note: Another silly cartoon, drawn with a flair pen in a spiral bound notebook. That is a lot of ice cream.

come to me as the person you know as the one who will go softly in silence from you slowly and close feel the most we can offer all of this flesh thru the mess of our parting there. you see? the magic the warmth still willingly there all we have shared has formed a bond not to tie us or hold us captive but to wrap our walk thru this passage peacefully gentle compassionately free. douglas brent smith Note: This is at least the third version of this poem. I'll never get it exactly right, just as I never figured out how to get breaking up exactly right. Much has changed since 1977 when the first bits of this poem appeared, and yet...much remains a mystery -- like the mystery of how does someone fall out of love? To me it feels the same as if you said you'd decided to stop breathing. How do you do that?