Modern poetry collection by contemporary Cleveland poets Lady & Steven B Smith
Smith - contemporary poet
reading room 31
Lady & Smith's City Poetry reading
Poetry Cafe London England 17 August 2007

lady tramp

Lady hosted a poetry reading at the Poetry Cafe for the London contributors to her online zine City Poetry.
She and I closed the reading by standing together at the mic reciting these 16 poems
back and forth one at a time - her first.

JUNE - Lady Grey - CHUCK - White Boy Blues - JESUS CAME BACK - Doing Time
HOW DO I KNOW IT'S THE FUTURE - Brother Grim - POP CULTURE ROMANCE - Grease Your Grill - SPECIAL CREATURES
Truth Truce - IT'S WONK - Now Zen - FRENCH KISS - Pumpkin Time -



JUNE

June, where were you
when Ward came home?
It is your time again

You were in the kitchen, chopping delicately
saying yes dear
and your lips were so gothic

June--I imagine you with
                        Lucy
on the chocolate line
instead of that fatty

or with the Beatles in India
swallowing swords
strings of pearls
coughed up from your stomach

or in some Edward Gorey Story

Or in some place
where            They
                      would worship
your breasts

build temples to them
twin towers
to capitalism
and the American Dream

and you and Lucy
(that kook)
could go to some other jazz club

cuz Ricky is so
dominating so
machismo

or maybe you just sit in a back
room on ďchintzĒ cushions
reading Ayn Rand
in Black Frame Glasses
which are back in style again
like noire, nukes, and intellectualism
and you would be in black
with black on black shadows
and the pearls?

I can imagine a lot of things for you
June

and it is much better than just
being
Beaver   Cleaverís
Mother.

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Lady Grey

Well I got a little lady
Maybe she a shady grey
But when I lap her lapidary
She the only way

She make me sweet begonia
She jolly up my jam
She make me sweat petunia
She amp my is with am

I want to be her front door man

O lady let me light your darkness
Won't you lead me late to sin
Let wicked lie be my harness
And my whip lip on lip

- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

CHUCK

She has one tooth
and cancer

a man's voice from her throat

and cancer

in her stomach
she eats careful things

and cancer

in her long hair where it is gray
from periods when she's more sick
than less sick.

She is amazed she has anyhair, says
"All the wires fell from my parts."

Her Man Dan was in Vietnam.
He's a gun man, for sure.
She says,

"The one good thing he
did was to teach our sons
howta handle guns."

Her Man Dan was home, she knows.
Another pound of burger
is gone from the freezer.
On Friday gravy drain
when her pay was docked,
she told me -- as she cried --

her Man Dan put a gun
to her head and she said,
"You'd better KILL ME DEAD."

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

White Boy Blues

Pain from one end to the other
Plagued by a black cloud of druther
Itís the ďI Ainít Got No White Boy BluesĒ

Though I got no honey for spreading
And there ainít no money attending
Yet I ainít got no White Boy Blues

For Iíve roof over rising
A warm bed abiding
Friends fond and affirming
And a past thatís worth hiding
So I canít get no White Boy Blues

Possessions donít taunt me
Though lessons theyíve taught me
Like inner, not outer be
And better to let be
The quicker to be free
The taught me do teach me
I ainít got no White Boy Blues

Yes, itís a sadness Iím lacking
Or, lifeís licking Iím liking
But thatís why I got those
ďI Ainít Got No White Boy BluesĒ

- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

JESUS CAME BACK

He was sick of all the shit--
the pyramid scheme where
144,000 angels cashed in
their pensions.
He's down here,
with me, on Earth.

God closed up the
retirement plan.

Jesus cooked me dinner,
the last fish
in our frying pan.
He performs minor
miracles in our bed
and it is all for me.

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Doing Time

Moon meat and Moses
Sucker song along
New lie highway
Old road alone

Need new lies
Old lie donít do
New supposes
For falling through

New excuses
And pretty parts
To hide abusive
Hollow hearts

Toys for boys
Swirls for girls
Swine to enjoy
Those hurled pears

For Babylon baby
Ainít another time
There ainít no maybe
Itís this lifeís the crime

And Iím doing time


- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

HOW DO I KNOW IT'S THE FUTURE

Because we are all complicit. I
Am a margin, better than 0, but
Not good enough for sacrifices. If
The woman of your dreams was
Walking by would you leave me?
Probably. I am not a yes woman.
I will not come to your astrology.
All the children are grown up.
All the holidays are sad.
All the pets are dead.

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Brother Grim

Scamper little bunny
Run for cover fast
Protect your carrots
Forget the nest
The fox is hungry
The wolf he wants
Bunny tummy
Plus all the rest
Of the critters
Of forest
Far larger than you
Are looking
For cooking
Material too
So run funny bunny
My moneyís on you
George Bush is too stupid
To ever catch you
Said the souls of the slaughtered
To the living few

Said the souls of the slaughtered
To the living few

- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

POP CULTURE ROMANCE

I used to love Bugs Bunny.
When I was little, I thought
I'd marry him.

My ex-husband wants to kill him.
Kill da wabbit...

And Fred from Scooby Doo.
I'd wrap myself in my blankets
and make little HURT noises
and wait for Fred to rescue me.

Freud was right, kids have instincts.

I couldn't *see* then,
but I didn't know this was a problem.
I'd unenvelope from my blankets and
try to *see* through my gauze of vision
in the mirror

who am i?
who would Fred kiss?

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Grease Your Grill

Iím an oven cleaner baby
Come to scrub your grill
Yes this oven loving man
Mean to steam your grill
Get the heat back baby
Flame and fire the thrill

Iíll rub your rust off lady
Get your grid to shine
Rid this mood of maybe baby
Lady let me lick your lime
Make much meat that might be
Moistened by munching lightly
Juicy, prime

Gonna grease your grill
Put the heat back baby
Then, send you the bill

- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

SPECIAL CREATURES

I had this fish,
of secretive eye and diaphanous fin.
Heíd lazily brush me,
then slight quick eyelid flip
to deep inside hook heartworm hurt.
He was in shallow waters
where all grew warm quickly
from the light of the sun
and heíd grown large
belly up bubble burst
in its generosity.

I had this toad
of jeweled eye and scaly bubble.
I picked him up to admire his pattern,
for I am an admirer of minutia.

He was a Classical/Medieval Studies scholastic toad.
He had difficulty
croaking out the hundred or so conjugations
of paidoo-oh.
I was ready for him
with the tutelage of my kiss.
I just wanted the texture of his bumps
and the sting of his salt on my tongue.

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Truth Truce

Get the truth
Get your red hot truths
Truths du jour
Truths of the day
Today's truth today
Your style of while
Your version emerginí
Too truths
Truce truths
Which truth you want
We got em all
Todayís truth at todayís price
For todayís people
Step right up
Step right in it
kleenex xtra

(remember,
we are the fine print)

- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

IT'S WONK

I know you are highly suspicious.
Now I have gone *past some boundary*
of common decency. But I

prefer to think of the self actualization
of the oompa loompas, and how I might
have had some responsibility

to help them

self actualize.

So I admit it. I had *sex*
with the oompa loompas. Yes.

All of them.

Their pricks are hot
and red
and normal sized, and *they*

are an enthusiastic lot.

They smell like garlic and chocolate.

I cradle my head on the little man
belly of an oompa loompa and he tells me
his little man dreams

how he's start his own business, get OUT
from under THE MAN who is so *falsely*
benevolent,

start his OWN chocolate factory cooperative,
which will be part owned

by the

oompa loompa proletariet brothers.

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Now Zen

It ainít age.
It ain't sex.
It ain't race, religion, height,
   gender, color, class or learning.

It's path, progress and position.
The road not not taken.
Be here now.
Hear now
   oh eyes unseeing
   oh ears unearned.

We're all perfect potential
   cept maybe republicans, lawyers,
   the true organized crime called police
   the true whores called priests.

You can walk on water IF water wants.
Just ask.
Walk willing.
There ain't no dark night's ungentle light.
Ain't nothing outside but lies.
But even lie true ain't for you.
Walk within.
Don't need no god.
No catholic pimp pushing blood feast.
My lie's mine.
Walk my own walk.
Fuck the talk.

Grasshoppers gone wrong become ants.
Bad ants cry uncle, cry wolf, cry baby.
Goats goad sacrifice to sun.
Ritual requires repetition, release.
Nothing stays river's run
   but drought's dry dirt
   (and river still runs).

Rub your ears together.
Start a fire.
Flesh alarm.
Let gone go.
Lock lip.

Listen.

- Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

FRENCH KISS

You know the French Kiss?
I don't think the French invented it,
do you?

I think it was that little snake
in the Garden of Eden,

that little slither tongue.

Oh, come hither,
come hither,

that little snake,
that little snake...

- Lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Pumpkin Time

You know what time it is?
It's pumpkin time.

No, not pumpin time
Pumpkin time

cuz at midnight
everything turns into
a pumpkin
and the mice run away

Now midnight you also might
be pumpin pie,
depends on what yer doin
at the time

Somethin
you might be fuckin
might turn into a pumpkin

So you fuckin pumpin
pumpkin pie

- Steven B. Smith
reading room 32

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