Pages

Monday, December 29, 2008

Would I lie?

Feathering Truth
by GC SMITH

If I told
the truth
it would be
the truth of
the mockingbird,
filled with disdain

If I told
the truth
it might be
a fish tale
featuring a snowy egret
battling a blue heron

If I told
the truth
it might be bald, yet
in no way would it
carry the wisdom
of the old woodstork

Nor,
would my
version of
the truth
soar like
an eagle

So, I'll lie
while avoiding
eating crow
by masking mendacity
with the chatter
of the magpie

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Gator hide

On Lovemaking in Winter *
By GC SMITH

Winter brings on gator’s skin
antithesis to thoughts of sin
love is lost to dermis dry
so slather up, do it, emulsify

I wish to pet on a soft place
not rough sandpaper surface
your skin should be nice and slick
use a soothing balm to do the trick

Alligator hide I would not choose
when I can have you pink and smooth
to climb in bed with down-filled cover
where we can kiss and pet each other

Please baby, soften up that skin
encourage now my thoughts of sin
get rid of ‘gator hide so rough
and nasty patches in the buff

‘cause I hate dermis cracked and red
rough to the touch, a thing I dread
if you would have me as your lover
then lubricate your skin all over

Indeed, when winter makes you dry
slather up, dang-it, please, emulsify
remember that that dry gator skin
is antithesis to thoughts/dreams of sin



* alternate title: The Scourge Of Forced Hot Air

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Our Yesterdays

“On Days That Live In Infamy”
By GC SMITH

I was three
back then a world at war
didn’t mean
a lot to
me

Time moved on,
men and women
won the World’s war
that they kept from
our Nation’s shore

I grew from
child to man and watched
as we took precedence
on the world’s
stage

The years piled up
one upon one
and we Americans,
consumed by hubris,
almost lost our way

Post 9-11-2001
were the fateful days
when we went astray
in lockstep reaction
to barbarity

But now, as dawn renews,
it seems we may,
fools that we have been,
find freedom’s way
again

The way
of truth
of liberty
founded in our
beginnings

The way
of law
of honor
envisioned in our
charter

Stalwart men died
brave women sacrificed
for the dream
that is
America

Never forget
days that live
in infamy
be guided
by a higher light

There is more
than infamy;
so guard always
from horror
as legacy

Foremost,
to ourselves be true;
shine our beacon
for the world
to see

For then,
and only then,
can we be proud
of this our land of
LIBERTY

The Time Has Come for:

Workers
By GC SMITH

Today harks back
to yesteryear
when workers said
we’ve had enough

Enough of Fat cats
sitting on their asses
while workers
get the shaft

Enough of bailed out bankers
enough of parachuted executives
enough of those who screwed the system
leaving workers to hold the bag

Holding a bag that is now near empty
a bag where nothing much is left
except perhaps the awful misery
and scraps overlooked by hotshots

So what are you to ask?
What do you deserve?
And how are you to get the fruit?
of toil with brains and hands

I’d suggest the past as prolouge
so look back to the days gone by
it’s time again that workers band together
to demand all of what they must demand

A decent paycheck for their labor
that food will grace their table
that a roof secures their families sleep
last, not least, worker’s dignity

It isn’t much to ask
for their shoulders to the wheel
no, not much to ask at all
for work that builds, sustains a Nation

It ain’t all about the rich guy
it ain’t all about the privileged
it’s time to look toward Main Street
and the hands and minds of workers

Sunday, December 7, 2008

HO! HO! HO!









*
**
****

A Christmas Poem
By GC Smith


Christmas comes but once a year
So sit down, listen, be of good cheer
Ma’s nightie is off and so are my jams
We’re under the covers doing wham-bams
When up on the roof I hear a great bump
It sounds like round Santa fell on his rump
So Ma rolls from the bed, dons her robe -as I do
We’ll check out just what's interrupted our screw
We go out with flashlights to shine up on the roof
And there stuck in the chimney is that red suited goof
So we’ll call for some firemen to come and pull him out
And hope when he is free he’ll remember what Christmas is about


Cause he had a long hard evening stuck up there
And that could sour even Jolly Saint Nick


Fa lala la la lala la la.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Hear the cry

of the little guy, and his millions of brothers, millions of sisters.

They’re Fuckin’ With Us
By GC SMITH

They’re fuckin’ with us
on Wall Street
grabbin’ the bucks
wishin’ us luck

They’re fuckin’ with us
in Washington
flat out lies
ignoring plantive cries

They’re fuckin’ with us
in Detroit
still buildin’ mastedons
askin’ for billions

They’re fuckin’ with us
forgettin' mainstreet
hiding their gains
inflicting pains

Stop fuckin’ with us
you pricks
listen, we shout,
Goddammit, cut it out

Politicians and Plutocrats, hear, heed
we're 'muricans, once we tossed out the King
we just might toss you too
before we're through