Saturday, November 28, 2015

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Rednecks and Hardcases

Sale:  $1.99.  Last chance today.

Monday, July 20, 2015

Geezer poem

Sonnet for An Old Goat

A boat is what a man must have by Gol
to float him out upon the salty brine
where he can fish for fishes with a line
to devour gustily with chilled white wine

Then there’s the racy Targa Porsche
with which to race up hill and then down dale
with tires squealing loudly in the corners
truly a hot rod with a canvas top

With tools and guns and stuff like fishing rods
I will round out my big boy box of toys
you know, I need all of these great toy treats
to recompense myself for dues I’ve paid

Now I have time to become unwired
‘cause from the rat race I have long retired 

Wednesday, July 1, 2015


For Independence Day
July 4, 2015

America, America
we once were
proud of you;
you shined
a beacon
for the world
to see,
to you

Your light was
that of liberty,
of opportunity,
of embracing
disparate peoples;
you looked for truth
for better ways
for all of us
to live

Oh yeah.
there were the warts
the stops and starts
the imperfections
the injustices,
through the years
from founding days
till recently
you always
tried to
do much

But now,
You’re sadly,
badly worn,
you seem to have
lost your way;
but I still hope
it’s temporary,
and will we
soon see born
a new and better

we will.
I hope
we do.

Do you?

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

At Zoetrope: The Day the Poetry Died

by GC

 It's goodbye 
to Sunday poetry 
almost as if there's 
no more American Pie 
no Chevvy 
no Levee 
we cry 
because yesterday 
was the sad day 
that Sunday poetry 
 was to die 

 R.I.P. Sunday Flash Poetry 
A Zoetrope Tradition 


Monday, June 15, 2015

Live it!

It's A Hungry Life

Life can be a rib eye steak,
bloody red and waiting
to be devoured by a
gluttonous world

Life can be a petit four,
pink and white, sugar coated,
ever ready to assuage
a hungry world

Life can be a Hershey kiss,
brightly wrapped in foil,
waiting to be tasted
to be savored

Life can be moonshine whiskey,
distilled through an old auto radiator;
fiery raw and poisonous,
tearing guts, blinding us.

Life can be a jug
of heavy cream
to sooth the wild beasts
who roam our worlds

That's life, the good and the bad of it,
the smooth and the rough of it,
the tranquil and the wild of it;
life, she's a funny old possum

Sunday, June 14, 2015


Lazy Daze

I should
done it
but tomorrow
an other day
here in the
is where
I'll stay

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Such a deal

Free BooK @ Amazon: May 10 through 14.


Sunday, April 19, 2015

Some History

by GC

 Deep beneath Pennsylvania mountains
the precious black gold of the last century
was found in in wide veins that run horizontally
interconnected by tunnels reached by rickety man lifts.

 Back then, sinewy men with hammers and chisels
cut the hard coal from Mother earth's tenacious grip
their kith and kin worried about the inevitable cave in
while fat cat owners sat safe in plush offices, gentlemen's clubs, and mansions.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

They cannot.


Who would save the world?
zealots who have all answers?

Those who insist on censorship
while exclaiming love of freedom?

Purveyors of political correctness
squelchers of the right to divergent opinion?

The know-it-alls who brook no dissent
while cramming ideology down out ignorant throats?

The self righteous flag waving, cross bearing keepers
of all that they consider inviolable while violating you and me?

Who would save the world?
the know-nothings who believe that they know all?

And if they save the world
it will not be fit place for human habitat.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Low Hanging

Billie Sang Of "Strange" Fruit

There’s a moss draped century oak
near the old cypress episcopal church
gnarled branches reach to the ground

Resurrection fern covers the branches
and looks like a weed that had died
but it greens with the coming of rain

The oak’s history is bloodied
by the white folk who worship
while selling their souls every day

The oak’s story is not over
there’s still much to be written
and time will tell what that will be

There may be atonement
under the old oak’s branches
or time might go on as it has yesterday

Monday, February 23, 2015

It lurks

Our Dark Matter

buried deep
in atavistic souls,
utterly evil

Our vilest nature,
cloaked with smiles,
lies unseen,

Dark matter
behind bonhomie
still lurks,
in shadow

Modern sensibilities
disguise our darkest natures
that beneath lie unchanged,

Dark matter,
was there, is there
always shall be there,

Would that
we had evolved
to a higher plane
of being

Dark matter,
our corpus,
corrupts our souls,
sources our maddest delusions

We can only
learn to live with
that essential truth


Friday, February 20, 2015

Of Time

Time's Flyin'
 Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a youth of muscle,
flat bellies, single chins, and woodies;
all things that now are buried in the past.

Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a time with clear skin
firm bottoms, perky breasts, and moisture;
all things that now are better off forgotten.

Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause the march of time reminds us
of glory days that are gone forever;
a past lived large and wished for again,
but, alas, a past not to be repeated.

Maybe it's good we pass away,
when old friends leave everyday,
so that those who stay behind
don't have much that's left to say,
and besides, who would listen?

Maybe it's good we pass away,
younger folk now hold sway,
but dammit, I'll stick around a while,
regaling them with old and boring tales,
keeping center stage to piss 'em off

A old and stubborn cuss is me,
though time and tide wont wait,
I'll hold on to see what I can see,
and have fun with my September years,
laughing loudly as my time winds down.

Friday, February 13, 2015


Head Scratching
by GC

Well Bub,
I'd tell
what it is
that I
if only
I could

It seemed
but that was
the fog
set in

all you wnt
do no
because it's

floated off
the ether
never to

you nor I
ever know
it might have

Saturday, January 24, 2015


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


The Fire 
By GC 

"Caliente  ...ohhhhh...laaaaa..." 

Our fires burn. 
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 
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

we are consumed


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.


Life.  And all of its good things.


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.