Modern poetry collection by contemporary Cleveland poets Lady & Steven B Smith
Smith - contemporary poet
reading room 28
the Smith's Krakow, Poland, poetry reading 15 October 2006
Lady & Steven B. Smith poems read at the Massolit Book Store & Cafe

the smith's krakow poetry reading

i ain't got no white boy blues - lamentation 5 - the faithful bewail - grease your grill - june - in fall - french kiss
dada greybeard - brother grim - bye buye - pop culture romance - special creatures - numismatic
dear occupants, accident & occidentals - alone this train
jesus came back - hysteresis - life is not cinema - marriage proposal - now zen

I Ain't Got No White Boy Blues

Pain from one end to the other
Plagued by a black cloud of druther
It's the "I Ain't Got No White Boy Blues"

Though I got no honey for spreading
And there ain't no money attending
Yet I ain't got no White Boy Blues

For I've roof over rising
A warm bed abiding
Friends fond and affirming
And a past that's worth hiding
So I can't get no White Boy Blues

Possessions don't taunt me
Though lessons they've taught me
Like inner, not outer be
And better to let be
The quicker to be free
The taught me do teach me
I ain't got no White Boy Blues

Yes, it's a sadness I'm lacking
Or, life's licking I'm liking
But that's why I got those
"I Ain't Got No White Boy Blues"

                   Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Lamentation 5 - The Faithful Bewail

As Eye and I went walking
And Eye and I were talking
Eye on I was watching
So shake your booty Buddha boy
Won't you spare a paradigm?

For me wanna marijuana
And me wanna do the dog
Bow the wow to shady lady
Leap and lap her fire log
Oh let me be your poodle boy

All aboard the Cardboard Express
Fresh in fresh sin and absolution
You can keep your Hallelujahs
Let me have my Loch Ness Jesus
Nam myoho renge kyo

Oh yes
It's all tits and toothpaste
A test tease totality
In textbook time

But I am not bothered by grace
Why watch the dead rework the living
Embalm our worst in overtime
Famous faces in golden places
Never look to me
To see Zen flesh-less-ness to be

Serpent servant sorrows sire
Brags big broths in briny bowls
But aftermath of meat belief
Is math to meat retreat

So Eye and I still walking
Though Eye and I not talking
But Eye on I am watching
So do your duty Buddha buddy
Cue this cat to paradigm

                   Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Grease Your Grill

I'm an oven cleaner baby
Need to scrub your grill
Yes this oven loving man
Mean to steam your grill
Get the heat back baby
Flame 'n fire the thrill

I'll 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

the smith's krakow poetry reading
unknown / unknown / Kevin Vaughn / unknown / unknown

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos


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

You were chopping delicately
saying Yes, dear
and your lips were so gothic

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

or with the Beatles in

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

or maybe you just sit in a back
room on chintz 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

and it is much better than just
Beaver        Cleaver's


end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

In Fall

I have the golden future

The renaissance of trees
is Vivaldi
on a Sunday drive

I want the
of sitting behind
an old, wavy window,
in snoozy sunshine

the black cat Zeesa,

on my lap

The blessed absentmindness
of my fingers

parting her fur

her amber
retracted to something
jeweled alien,

violin whiskers
in slow air


end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

French Kiss

Remember 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.

Ohh, come hither
come hither

that little snake
that little snake

                   Lady & Steven B. Smith

the smith's krakow poetry reading
unknown / unknown / Blue Seven / Magda / Sharon Hannon / Cecelija (Thymn's lady)
Blue is lead singer/guitarist/leader of the Urban-Jellen Test & Magda is his lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Dada Greybeard

A lady poet followed me home
And asked if I could keep her
I replied
It must be denied
For I had no room in my freezer
She engineered her stay
Of relocation with play
Charm and elocution
Praised this and that
Allowed a wee pat
Counted on evolution
I may be cheap
And easy too
But for female I'm hard-wired
And too
It's sort of cool
This once being the one that's desired
Though I question her taste
Her need of rat's waste
A too hasty fade
Will shatter shades
I cannot replace
Best to see
What she reweaves
What treasure in her trundle
Though it fracture my plan
I am but man
And man is meant to bundle

                   Steven B. Smith

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 money's 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

Bye Buy

The Man keeps knocking
Down my front door
Wants to sell me some
Sorta social spore
Says grits & groceries
Ainít enough
In the modern life
You need much more stuff
Made me want to crow
And flap my thing
Chase the hole
Outside wedding ring
So I cut my hair
De-furred my face
Gave the Man a chance
To show a better place
Where the air was clear
The water free
The fair folk there
Accepting me
But when they pursed my lips
To kiss an ugly place
The Man above unzipped below
I said sorry sir I gotta go
Get out of my face
You can keep your fairs
Your free fatted Fraus
The lure of your lair
Is lacking in now
Iíll take the stair
Itís quicker somehow
Cleaner too
Thanks to no you
You can unstab my back
Cuz youíll need your knife
Rat back to the pack
That leads your life
Itís hit the road Jack
Be ass and back
Or tap taps brutal bell
I bye buyís black burden
I lay down your load
You ainít no at
For this gone cat
As for is
Youíre due your due
You can go to Hell
Be your own fondue
Drink dropping lake
Eat rising grape
Work rolling rock returning
Dirt burning

                   Steven B. Smith

the smith's krakow poetry reading
Cecelija (Thymn's lady) / Thymn Chase / Lady - Thymn is editor of Lost In Krakow,
keyboardist for Urban-Jellen Test & leader of the band Eluktrick

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Pop Culture Romance

I am in love with Henry Rollins.
New videos.
Superman, muscleman.
Neck terminating in block wrapped Clark Kent specs.

My husband is very suspicious of this.

I used to love Bugs Bunny
When was little,
I thought I'd marry him
Derrik wants to kill him
Kill da wabbit

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

Freud was right,
Kids have these instincts

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


end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Special Creatures

I had this fish,
of secretive eye and diaphanous fin.
He'd 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 he'd 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'd piss pool poison in my hand.
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.


end    top    poetry    agent of chaos


He showed me the coin
wrapped in sterile plastic

and I thought
that were I a coin,
I'd rather
be held in the hand.

Things must be spent,
edges must be bent
in the fertile hands of man.


the smith's krakow poetry reading
unknown / unknown / Blue Seven / Magda / Sharon Hannon
Blue is lead singer/guitarist/leader of the Urban-Jellen Test & Magda is his lady

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Dear Occupants, Accidents & Occidentals

Just yesterday it was yesterday
Now it's already today

Confuse not mercy with weakness
Confuse weakness not with an upset liver
And confuse not an upset liver with love
It is the shape of the silence
Which defines the sound
Like winter rubbing against summer
Each refines the other

Only certain curtains can be drawn
The rest must be endured
The souring sermons
The centered self serving
The lion den Christians in Coliseum stands
Twixt ape and angel wandering
Torn between the knowledge
And the need

Do I worship the moon or sun
Or yet the blooded one?
I bloat and smell
Decay in age
The focus runs

                   Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Alone This Train

I look to pain to gain
Sleep devoid of sheep
And master's muster walk
Or talk of tinkers' conforming will

Alone this train
I see you born
To breed
To die
Infected meat
To teach to cheat
Your fly from famine
Shallow matter
Decayed in safety's slumber

You briefcased fellows
Bellow farts to follow
Hollow smells
Of high topped fashion
Passion fish not flesh
But flounder

Hurried waters sleek in sinning
Shower lies and cry forgetting
Licking compulsion's flesh

This land is long, and lost in shadow
Her sweets succinctly sour

                   Steven B. Smith

the smith's krakow poetry reading
Sharon Hannon / Thymn Chase / Lady - Thymn is editor of Lost In Krakow,
keyboardist for Urban-Jellen Test & leader of the band Eluktrick

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.


end    top    poetry    agent of chaos


I had a dream I was writing the best poem
& in the dream I woke up and wrote
something not quite as good & then
I really woke up and I cannot remember
the poem. If I am a careful listener
I can tell you something new. If I came
to this new I would be a new person.
Everything is stale compared to
my best memory. A new person is
free to affect speech and ideas. You all
have the record of what I've done
against which I am compared.
We expect something new but we
have to come back to the same room.
Remember the last election! We
expect reincarnations of our friends
in other circles, other chances
but it is used up! Our best memory.
I remember the best peach
each time I eat a peach. Sometimes
against what I expect I am
pleasantly startled, but I have to watch the
now. I'm always unknitting and
reknitting these but the thread
remembers. If I say what is
on my mind I am not contrived
in this context. This was all given
to me in a dream.


end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Life Is Not Cinema

Life is not cinema, but if it were--
if I had been cast for the lead actress in your movie--
I'd give you the moon and the stars,
I'd find shelter in your arms,
and we would eat popcorn
as the closing credits roll by the top of the sky.


the smith's krakow poetry reading
too many unknowns - will find out

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Marriage Proposal

December of 68 I was lying on LSD on my bed downtown Baltimore.
Walls, floor, ceiling, doors all painted flat black.
Metallic mobiles and assorted assemblages hung from the ceiling
turning at will in low green and blue light.
My future wife walked in and sat so she could see me in the mirror.
So and so just got married she said.
That's nice.
Watch her reflection watching me.
So and somebody else also married.
More silence.
Watch her reflection evaluate my reflection's reflection.
Even through the LSD I could see she wasn't talking what she was saying
so asked.
I just want to know what's going to happen she screams
stalking into the living room.
I lie there amid my hallucinations and resentfully realize
I'm too weak not to marry her.
Another's strong needs always overrode my indifferent apprenticeship.
20 minutes later she skulks back to the bedroom.
OK I snap.
OK what? she snaps back.
We'll get married.
Six months I finalize
feeling sure the artist within will wither once reduced to marriage,
suburban boxes, the upperclass hypocrisy rampant in her family and friends.
We had a rich wedding in a high Episcopal-cum-Catholic cathedral.
Reception held of course at the country club.
None of my freak friends came.
The day of the wedding
I put all the trash left from moving in the middle of the floor
smoked the last of my grass
took off all my clothes
and slowly danced naked about the trash
sprinkling it with my box of monosodium glutamate
and chanting unknown chants of sorrow.

                   Steven B. Smith

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Now Zen

It aint 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
    o eyes unseeing
    o 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.


                   Steven B. Smith

the smith's krakow poetry reading
reading room 29, the 1st Smokey Grey Private Eye short story

Lady assemblages & photographs - gallery 1

Lady fotos & assemblages - gallery 2

Lady's Lost Collages - gallery 3

selected Lady poems 2005 - 2006

selected older Lady poems

Lady / Steven B. Smith poetry collaborations


10 top poems | 10 top collages | 10 top illustrations | 10 top fotos

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e mail smith at smithcrimes @-sign yahoo dot com

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