Modern poetry collection by the contemporary Cleveland poet Steven B. Smith
Smith - contemporary poet

reading room #8
15 titles added 7.9.2003

these are my remnants
uncivilized words which won't grow up and leave home
poems working neither well enough to live nor bad enough to die
they linger in hope of rewrite's salvation

Promise Land

Greyhound bound
To Tupperware City
Light like liquid Zen
Wars time tatter tight
As tight asses tie
Meat neat man to kine, kino
Contempt of course
Playing Plato's barn

Blue bloods
Stabilize fish at 7
Mime the ma'am
Bamboo cathedrals
In wondrous disarray
Just outside real
Where the fat
Flee frantic
Fleece feed the poor

Competing EXIT signs
Dance specific disease
  Rude crude
  Plus tax
Bouncing Betty's
Slouching Bethlehem belly
Slips on guilt
And splinters.

end    poetry

USA Today

Meat bags bound by fog and fury
Fear silence
Little horrors of swarming selves
God's flesh
But fallen water across the log

In service so sweaty warmth
Begotten in flesh and feast
Double cause
Crowing cock cracking dawn

Let doubt die
Mangled thread, legal mixture
Here be dragons
Slave state seared by vision
Decrees of silence

end    poetry


How weary do I journey on my way
Travel metered not by mile but by day
Seeing naught of moments signing each way's end
But instead the mending of my last way's wend

end    poetry


Into egg ovular
cut glass silence
rusted circle
metal round
eye yellow
not there
stone heart
boomerang would
underbelly red
with watercolor
woodsperm soft

end    poetry

Hair of the Dogma

Pussy willow's virgin burp
Soft centers assorted creams
As satin sins Satan sent
Well at will
Damn stencil pencil schedule
And the dead cat band police

Coming plague
Worse than mom's brain
Reweaves inner demon's freedom
Second cousin's kiss
Old notes' odd nots
Fire's ice and thee
But not me

end    poetry

No Usherettes

Marijuana, caffeine, and cookies race in vein
In pre-womb gloom before the films begin
Their win at any loss cross poo bare
Where wear's worthy but worn's not
And colons flame in Aspartame
As coffee colored caravans cross caramel colored seas
Off course, of course
For it's way too much for Charley's horse
Plug the nickel for his sister

The shorn are sharing their shearer
The shearers reshearing the shorn

end    poetry

Rebound Lounge

The week's cold ambiance
Awakes autumn equinox
Sorrow wide as joy

Seduction's gentlewant gristle
Wrestles face to face fancy
Pocket vein empty

Coward returns from hero's death
Lone penny production
Judas home in heart

end    poetry

Poor Self Traits

Fish flesh
Maybe a movie

Got habits I got to reinforce
Eat dry tuna out of a can
Cold pork and beans
Use Vitamin-E cream
To masturbate
To dominant anal fantasies

I could die daily
And maybe do

Let's find out how much wine
We have
Before we break out in jubilation
And greater relief

I'm going to quit drinking
And doing drugs - tomorrow
Which justifies today

end    poetry

Old Man's Lament / Sweet Little Sixteen

I want things which to you are wrong
But for which I yet long
I want to caress your breast
And when passions mounted manifest
Take my hate in hand
And caress you all the more
Make you writhe about in uncommon whore
Then kiss the taunt of your innocent thigh
And wrench from your lips a cry
Of pagan pleasure all your own
The low human female moan
Shattering your sacred hymeneal pride
Rampaging you full deep inside
So you feel my subfreudian lust
In each violent misogynous thrust
Of my hips against yours, dampened fire
Lashing within, exploding desire
For your certain no twists me inside
Till rape and respect, raging, collide

end    poetry


Carnivorous Chameleon
A miserable hunk of unfocused flesh
Cold bellied, no human parts
Excellent hero material, solid
Cherrys Mary
Marvelous flush of oft wanted flesh
Warm breasted, befurry human part
Foot crested beaut, bride
The honor of your Venereal Presence
At their
Matrimonial Genuflection and Hump
Roast $1.69
(all you can meat, one blow price)
On or upon
The 1st Dissemble Two Faced Church
Conception of 5 Octember A.D.
Bring your own
Rollings spats coffins cats
To be
Held at the convenience of the Ms
Situation pending
(a collection will be shaken)

end    poetry

The Rich Get Richer



The rich get Richard Nixon

end    poetry

Suck Cess

Amalgam of mind and matter
shutters self sells
sops reliance
and rolls royal shelf life.

Marriage of might over manner
magic mice at midnight.

end    poetry

Cleveland Prospect

Middle aged black man tried to ice-pick my stomach this afternoon
one block off Public Square at Ontario & Prospect.
"How do you want your prospect today sire, medium or serious damage?"
The bus had almost missed him in the rain
so he loudly abused the driver all the way to town.
I got off behind him and accidentally nudged his heel.
He snarled: Next time you step on my heel I'll hurt you.
Me: Why don't you shut the fuck up?
He: What did you say?
Excuse me sir, I said why don't you shut the fuck up.
A lot of sputtering (this is a man in a business suit)
muttering about shutting me up when suddenly
he's stabbing at my stomach with an ice-pick
well used, with a red handle, he'd taken from his briefcase.
I can't help myself as I automatically out dance his thrusts
(I was after all on the fencing team at Annapolis)
I laugh and say "you're something else".
This infuriates him more so he shoves his briefcase at his daughter
who's been trying to tug him away and starts slashing at me.
I was wrong.
I should have apologized when I nudged his heel
or at least kept silent when he snapped.
What I did was dance backwards across the street and call out
"You're one sick fuck, old boy"
heavy on the boy
and run down Ontario street, he & his ice-pick chasing me.
The man's going to explode with hate
and I fuel him further.
If I were black, I'd hate white.
Though he was an equal opportunity hater - the driver was black.
I've got to slow my tongue, fasten my brain
walk with compassion, cause less stress, not more.
I am happy. I should share.

end    poetry


The forgotten blindfold
Acts on obsession
Rides crooked trail
Sweet smells success
Hides blood money
Warriors pit

Lies' true speed colors night
Graphics violence

end    poetry

Yes No

I'm not to mind the never mine
Nor ego alter hue
Being but low opera monk mourning due

I've no thought of thinning winning with wine
Yielding to healing hereafter
Or divining the dark divide

room 9 - bead work
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e mail smith at smithcrimes @-sign yahoo dot com

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