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Saturday, January 24, 2015

Musing

A-muse-ing Pals
by GC. Smith

I am surrounded with my pals
They help me think to write
They silently encourage me
And help me find the words

First is my Teddy bear
With lotsa soft brown hair
And a great big pink tongue
With which to lick the honey

Then there’s Spike, my doggy
Spotted black and white
You better treat him nice
Or he will bite your ass

Then there is my gargoyle
Who sits atop my desk
Watches carefully over me
My humpback friend for sure

My raven he is made of tin
But I know he’s alive
That raven does inspire
Amusing muse is he

They are all my good pals
Who help me when I write
And if I didn’t have them
It would be a sadder life

When I finish with writing
I go and whirl in the tub
With yellow rubber ducky
Who’s been with me forever


Sunday, January 18, 2015

Consumed

The Fire 
By GC 

"Caliente  ...ohhhhh...laaaaa..." 


Our fires burn. 
consuming, 
and she is hot 
my summer gal, 
au natural 

Wantin' all, 
but she cannot know 
if my flame is more than show 
if I might or might not stay long with her 
enamoured with her fevered emanation 

Then, chill comes on 
with winter moon 
harsh winds
freeze and forstall 
the consummation 
and the knowing

Wind chills out 
all of summer’s fire 
banking flames; 
there becomes hiatus of touch 
til chill is done 

Starved now for warmth, 
immobile, near death, 
when suddenly
daffodil poke up 
their yellow blossoms cheering 
telling what will come 
teasing, 
playing, 
summoning 
our lost touches 

know now that she is hot 
and reincarnate
her fingers now caress 
my enflamed skin,
oh joy, 
summer's come again 
--it's time for fun 
and sin

Afire
we are consumed

...ohhhhh...laaaaa..."

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Been here; been there

A Sagittarian 
By GC Smith

I've been round and round;
had many ups and downs.
Still, life's been
my pleasure ground; 
so I think
I'll stick around.

Cause I'm hooked.

On?

Life.  And all of its good things.

Like?

o My lover, MiMi.  We go back to 1962.  And, she's my best friend too.

o Our kids.  Jerry and Lisa.  Both married, one living in Maryland; the other living in California.  They're each good friends of mine.

o Grand children:  Emmett 8, Liam 7.  Two fine boys.

0 The South Carolina Lowcountry where I live.  Boating in the vast estuarine system.  Fishing, shrimping, crabbing.

o Waking up every morning.  Looking out the window at sunup and the tides at various stages in the estuarine marshlands.

o Alligators.  And deer and fox and otter and mink and bunnies.  Even the squirrels

o Birds.  The big blue herons and great white egrets and the storks.  Diving pelicans.  Ducks of all sorts.  Ospreys, hawks, and eagles.  Little Carolina wrens (I petted one once) and painted buntings.  All sorts of birds.

o My old, dinged pickup truck with its tape deck and Willie and Waylon and the Boys.

o Fine guitar music.  Les Paul, Chet Atkins, Willie, Andre Segovia.

o Blues.  John Lee and B.B.

o Johnny Winter, the Texas tornado.  "I'm a road runner baby, an' you can't keep up with me."

o My tools.  Both automotive and woodworking.

o Roast beef and potatoes, with gravy.

o Chili dogs.

o Huevos Rancheros, beans with chili gravy, flour tortillas; washed down with steaming coffee laced with great gouts of heavy cream.

o All sorts of other comestibles.

o My friends.  Some leathernecks.  Some rednecks.  Some pretty ladies with jewels draped from their lovely necks.

o My golf clubs.  Too bad I don't know how to swing them well.  But, there's too much else going on in life so I'm content as a hacker.

o Zoetrope and the wonderful writers there, whose work and words  I enjoy.

o Writing.

o The library down town.  Good books.

o My bookshelves.

o The four Novels I've written, my book of poetry.

o All sorts of other stuff.

Born: 12/17/38
Not Dead Yet


I'm runnin' up on seventy-seven.  I'm hooked on life.  Havin' a hell of a time.  Maybe it's because I'm a lucky man.  Maybe it's because I'm a Sagittarian.  Maybe just because I get to shoot the arrow.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Golfin'

Flogging the Feathery
By GC

Steel, titanium, carbon fiber sticks
none have the satisfying clicks
of my old persimmon woody woods

Driver, three wood, five wood
don't match the poetics of the old
Play Wood, Brassie, and Spoon

We need the old names and old ways
for that wonderful walk in the afternoon; 
that commune with the Gods we call Golf

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Losing it

The Fallacy of Aphorism
By GC

It's said that most women
who go mad 
go mad in kitchens,
but me, I dunno about that

Now, I haven't
taken a poll nor have I
conducted a survey
and I'm not Doctor Kinsey

But I'd think
more women 
who go mad
go mad in bedrooms

Coupled with
fumble fingered
short tongued guys
those women's essence is certainly missed

Kitchen madness --I think a rarity
bedroom madness --I think so commonplace
in bedrooms getting to essense is essential
where a kitchen needs just pots and pans

I'm near certain a woman for whom
the essence of her essence is missed
must, without doubt, go mad, whereas 
feigned kitchen madness might be simply revenge

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Of Time and Tide

Hurtling Cycles
By GC 

Marshland grasses brown as winter approaches. Waters cool. Shrimp, crabs, fingerling fish abandon flats for deeper warmer water. Summer birds have flown replaced by wood duck, bufflehead merganser, canvasback, and green teal. Pelicans dive bomb tidal creeks.

But now, again, pale nascent greening
harbinger of the eternal cycle
hints of spring's return

Ducks flee northward as temperatures inch upward and as crane, heron, ibis, egret come on home. Sea life finds shallows once more. Otters frolic in warming currents. Raccoon babies investigate this new world. Cotton mouth, coral, rattlesnake, indigo, hog-nose, garter snakes slither.

Seventy-five years cycled, gone
passed on like scudding cloud wisps
cycles may slow now, hopefully

Tuesday, July 29, 2014