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

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

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

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.

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

Yee-Haw!

Life On The Road
By GC SMITH

My old pick up truck
has seen lost lonesome days
the same can be said of me
and my old horse in the trailer

We got dings, we got bumps,
we got nasty rust spots
clear testament, true fact,
that we've been sore used

Our paint, skin, and hide
has been flayed by time
our bitter scorned hearts
froze out by blue Northers.

We've traveled this land
on hump back old roads
we've been out on life's
fast four lane highways

That truck, horse, and me
we got life’s ragged scars
from tough times we lived
from rough roads we wandered

But it sure does not matter
the hard times we've known
because we’ll still slog on
standin’ up to hard turns

My spavined roan horse
back in that junk trailer
shoulda been pastured out
enjoyin' life's last easy time

Me, I'll just keep on haulin'
that poor critter back there
like me, he's a sad ghost
of our long gone glory days.

Not much to holds up
my time faded blue denims
there won't be another
champion’s belt buckle.

We'll keep movin', shufflin' on,
there ain't a thing else to do
while we live and we breathe
we'll go down the road together

We'll wander around,
movin hither then yon
me and that horse and
my old ragged truck

We'll roll that old truck
until our time is done
then fade from earth, knowin'
that we were the best in our day

Countin' on

Casino Blackjack
by GC SMITH

Card countin' Lady
countin' on a free ride
countin on pullin' it off
countin' on beatin' the house

countin' on her take
countin' on some Blatnik's
countin' on fartin' through silk
countin' on beaucoup designer duds

Not countin' on this back room talk
not countin' on turnin' winnings back
now countin' her fingers
She used to have ten

The whole truth

No Lie
By GC Smith

We had a single glass of wine
and went to the bedroom
where we kicked off clothes
I found a packaged condom
in my bedside table drawer

The condom had a spiral tip
A design like a seashell
the package had words
that said the design was good
for me, for her, for both of us

She said: oh yeah, baby

I guess there is some
Truth in Advertising

~first published in NFG magazine.

After the fact

Eulogy

Someday I'm gonna move on and I won't want an eulogy.
But an epitaph might be nice.



No Eulogy -- Epitaph

After a morning martini
in the Bonaventure cemetery,
Savannah, Georgia
near Johnny Mercer's gravesite
I saw an other guy's epitaph

Engraved on
the man's tombstone:

CONRAD AIKEN
COSMIC WANDERER

Those words certainly appeal
but damn all they've been taken
so I'll simply settle for
the plain, the more mundane

GERARD C. SMITH
1938-20??

He Came; He Went
He Did No Harm

Time eternal

‘round Midnight
(with apologies to Thelonious Monk)
by GC SMITH

‘round midnight
klieg lights, jazz riffs,
hot licks, slick chicks
and time is movin’ on

‘round midnight
ain’t quite “last call”
but I’d say all in all
time is windin’ down

‘round midnight
gettin’ a bit nervous
truth is time can fly
maybe pass you by

‘round midnight
guys are super horny
gals are looking fine
flattered by dim light and wine

‘round midnight
herd’s about to thin
guys cuttin’ out the cuties
for the one night stand

‘round midnight
guys-gals get tight,
so to not be passed on by
you gotta have yourself a line

‘round midnight
you gotta make a move
‘cause if you don’t
then damn all you lose

‘round midnight
it’s maybe up to you
or maybe up to her
just do what you must do

‘round midnight
you know who you are
the stud goin' off with the hot babe
or the guy who's shleppin' off alone

Times they are a changing

On Neo-Con Hubris
And Liberal Passivity
Finally Giving Way To
Some Common Sense
By GC SMITH

Bomb the bastards,
keep ‘em in their place;
send ‘em back to the stone age
that’s where they belong

Oh no, they are our brothers
they are our sisters
we must all get along
there cannot be another way

Whoa, we’re in this world together
our differences may be legitimate
just keep in mind that we are mankind;
think, weigh options, then do what must be done



Wait, think a bit, weigh options, then act
it’s what we should do -no, it’s what we must do;
each of life’s challenges must be addressed of itself
or we will fracture fracticly or even worse –chaoticly

Perhaps there is a simple anodyne
a soothing for the anguished soul
a relief for the sore hurt mind
could be, it’s thinking - acting - for the commonweal

Maybe we’re off in
that direction
I hope so, I think so,
et vous?

Forty five years ago ...

I was on the Mall in D.C for MLK's "I have a dream" speech. Nineteen-sixty-three seems like yesterday and seems like a million years ago.

On the day of the "Dream" speech I took the afternoon off from work to attend. Someone from the ACLU handed me a sign on a stick. If memory serves it read:

"WE SHALL OVERCOME."

Those were the heady days of the Kennedy Administration and young bureaucrats like me thought anything was possible. Three months later Kennedy was dead. Five years later MLK was assassinated. A long winter had set in.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008 a thaw in that long winter's ice began.

EMMETT

Hey Emmett
By GC SMITH

Hey Emmett, Grandpa’s getting’ old,
seventy years are comin’ real soon;
he’s hopin’ for another thirty or so
but that’s a wish, one can never really know

I’ve been around here for a while,
it’s a long time ago I was a child;
still I remember those good days and
I surely hope yours will be the same

Yesterday, ridin’ bikes with buddies,
pedalin’ over mountain hills and valleys
destination, clear cold Pennsylvania lakes
or just explorin’ where I had never been

There were the many holidays to enjoy
July the four the best -contraband fireworks
like cherry bombs and M-80 firecrackers
somehow, I still have all ten of my fingers

Then there was the thrill of my first car
a forty Packard full of dents and dings;
gas was but a dime or so a gallon then,
that made it easy for a guy to get around

With mobility came life’s great discovery, girls,
the wonderful mysterious alluring other sex
whose pigtails I’d dipped into school inkwells
until I figured out that wasn’t what one should do

So, Emmett as you grow from child to man
enjoy each and every day, I know you can;
your days will stretch out with wonders to behold,
so grab them, embrace life’s fun, simply enjoy

Correction.

Oops!

I was wrong about Billy and plum poems (he wrote one). It's poems with the word cicada or with vortex that he won't read. Go figure!

On Billy Collins refusing to read a WCW poem on plums

I never …
By GC SMITH

I never wrote a poem
about a plum
until just now
moments after
I ate one and its
juices dribbled
down my chin
to drip upon
my shirt

So,
screw you
Billy Collins
who won’t read
a poem about a plum,
your loss, not mine

Rules, rules. ...

impunity rules
by GC SMITH

seemingly, one can't rite
poetry, with &(s) or an :)
can you tell me why that should be?

is it perhaps 'cause Laureates
always become Bureaucrats
with rules to tax creativity

you can’t do this -you must do that
baloney, that’s how I react
to nonsense from you, didact

billy, teddy, such ones as you
don’t tell me what I can do
‘cause I ain’t about to listen

so, much like good old e e
my posey will be forth-cummings
with nary an apostrophe

i’ll pen my strophes
with my own strokes
paying no mind to your dictums

i'll break your rules
i'll throw them out
'cause that's what stuff is about

it's mine, it's mine
is what I say
you can't tell me the way

Yuck, poetry

That Awful Art Form
by GC SMITH

We don’t like poetry
abstract strophes confuse, but then
there is the plain, the concrete poem

We don’t like poetry
silly rhymes make for doggerel, but then
there’s always verse that’s free

We don’t like poetry
it’s pretentious is what we think, that is
until we find the stuff that's down to earth

We don’t like poetry
it’s not for you, not for me, though maybe
it is because we’ve closed our minds

We don’t like poetry
are we so sure and if so why is that?
Perhaps, we should give poetry a try

Maybe we could -might like poetry
if the stuff spoke to you -to me
but we gotta take it in to know

I ain't Joe the ...

'cause, like Colin Powell, I'm votin' for Obama.

But I do work with my hands;

A new one:

Been At Stuff For A While
By GC SMITH

I’m long in the tooth
but that doesn’t matter
I'm still good
for gettin' a job done

I do lots of stuff
‘cause it pleases me
that I’m still usin’
both my brains and my hands

I’m still good for
swingin’ my hammer

I’m still good for
sawin’ on woodstock

I’m still good for
fittin’ crown molding

I’m still good for
tilin’ a floor

I’m still good for
fixin’ the plumbing

I’m still good for
splicin’ a wire

I’m still good for
turnin’ my wrenches

I’m still good for
kissin’ my sweetie

I work hard with my hands
sometimes work hard with my mind
I play super hard in between
‘cause to me it’s what life is about


An old one:

What I've Done; What I Do
GC SMITH

I've scribbled my scribbles on pieces of paper
I’ve measured and sawed and hammered on wood
I’ve put wrenches to bolts to automobiles
I’ve wired and plumbed and painted my home

I play with my boat and fish in the waters
I swing my golf clubs and bet on the score
I read me good books and also some poems
I play poker and bridge and even some chess

I've worked for our uncle, you know the one ~Sam
Earning my paycheck with numbers and words
Now with my hands I've built and remodeled houses
To keep myself busy and, of course, for a profit

I’ve loved with my lover for near fifty years
I’ve heard what she says with interested ears
I’ve shared with my lover the raising of children
I’ve tried to be honest and fair doing that

I cook evening meals of fishes and meats
I drink beer and wine and sometimes a whiskey
I try to be neat and keep our home clean
And at that I fail cause I am a male slob

Between a rock and a fog

LIFE’S SUBLIME WATER
By GC SMITH

Nothing's sublime
in ghost-like gas
or in rock hard solid;
but think dear friend,
dream of aqua vitae

Who wants
ephemeral gasses
or eternal solids?
I’d rather aqua vitae;
it’s life sustaining water

Aqua vitae
life’s pure water,
the golden mean
between
gas and solid

One can’t
come clean
with smelly gasses
or with turd-like solids,
better to be washed in whiskey

New Politics

A New Crystalnacht Looms

It's time to teach again the young folk
of days of yore, of history’s horror politics

It's time to teach again the young folk
of intolerance, fear, hate, destruction, death

It's time to teach again the young folk
of pistols, truncheons, sabers as political tools

It's time to teach again the young folk
of blitzkriegs, and panzers rolling through Europe

It's time to teach again the young folk
of national socialist rallies, of virulence, of blood lust

It's time to teach again the young folk
of camps, of Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen, of slavery, of mass murder

It's time to teach again the young folk
of Jews, Gypsies, Homos, the halt and lame, dissenters tumbled to mass graves

It's time to teach again the young folk
that whispers of nigger, jew, homo, terrorist are virulent

It's time to teach again the young folk
that it can't happen in America just might be empty cant

It's time to teach again the young folk
the world's economic stage may be set for violent scapegoating

It's time to teach again the young folk
the price of truth and freedom is eternal vigilance

Summer's gone

What Goes Around ...

Green marsh grasses turn to brown
as lazy days of summer wind on down
Lowcountry winter can't be far behind

Autumn colors quickly fade away
as shortened days give way to gloom
of subdued, dun colored miasma

Lay up frozen crabs, shrimp, and fish
for winter repasts on chilly nights
when oak logs flame in country fireplaces

They're not forever these winter doldrums
spring's warming breezes soon banish chill
a newborn sun kisses the face of a daffodil

Sinning

The Seven Deadlies
GC SMITH

I might suffer my sweetie's wrath
for sloth I show toward honey do
but do not envy where you find me
a hammock's not a proud place to be
but I think that having lust for chores
could be interpeted as greed by me
therefore I'll skip honey do gluttony

Freefallin'

777
by GC SMITH

Seven-seven-seven
market freefall,
not the Devil’s number

Six-six-six
are the Devil’s digits
stoking hellfire

Seven-seven-seven
might be JACKPOT
at a Vegas slot

Six-six-six
Devil says to hell with
your portfolio

It’s in the numbers
says the seer
who cannot see

A World Unglued

Nero Was A Piker
By GC SMITH

Fiddle-faddle
political prattle
screw the world
let it burn

Point a finger
shout a slogan
beats the hell
out of doing right

Collapse is coming
worldwide
but never mind
ideology first

Come together
for the good
that’s too easy
so screw it

Let it burn
fuel the fire
life will go on
albeit diminished

Want a house
perhaps a job
paycheck is nice
don’t hold your breath

Get in line
we’ll ladle soup
hand out an apple
you won’t get more

The Bastards are asking us to rescue them

Bailout

Who gets to pay?
Why, you, of course,
and you and you and you
it won’t be the other guy
it’s gonna be you and you

How will we pay?
With purchases we make
each and every single day
with dollars from our Treasury
with ink that’s not yet dry

Why me you ask?
Because you are the
little bitty guy who has
the nickels and the dimes
that big guys need for bailout

Where will this end?
I doubt it ever will, I say
it’s life, it’s each-every day
it’s how we live, what we ask for
when we let thieves sell us fake value

What should I do?
Will my world end?
Should I jump out a window?
I sure don’t know the answer
but, I suggest we'll find another day

So muddle on you muddler
vote all the nasty bastards out
send the rotten crooks off to jail
start once again and try to get it right
write some rules and this time hire a cop

Save me!

Taxpayer—Taxpayer

Taxpayer, taxpayer
bail me out
give me a hand
I’ll take some bucks

Taxpayer, taxpayer
take over my mortgage
pay off my debt
set me free

Taxpayer, taxpayer
triple my pension
raise it again and again
up my purchasing power

Taxpayer, taxpayer
Do I care what price fuel
four-five bucks a gallon
just pay for my gas

Taxpayer, taxpayer
push it down the road
my kids have the money
or maybe my grandkids

Taxpayer, taxpayer
your nose to the grindstone
while thieves skim the cream
who the hell is the fool

Republican
Democrat
what does it matter
a crook is a crook

Summer's gone, winter's comin' on

Morning News Route
By GC SMITH

Five a.m. on a winter morning
I’m up; I’m dressed: I’m out
I have newspapers to deliver

Bright moonlight reflects
off new fallen snow
silvering frozen city streets

I trudge through the snow
with my canvas sack
banging on my hip

Bare handed,
gloves pocketed,
I fold newspapers

I toss one hundred and ten
TIMES LEADER papers
one by one to porches

By, seven, I’m finished
and scurry on home again
hungry for a hot breakfast

First, frost frozen fingers
must be thawed under
the cold water tap

Then, adolescent appetite appeased
with cocoa and hot, sugared oatmeal
I ‘m ready to trudge off to school

Winter’s were damn cold
back when I was a kid
delivering newspapers

Economic Fundamentals

Political Economics 101
By GC SMITH

It ain’t fun watchin' the financial world melt
As avarice fanned hell fires roar around us
As CEOs scramble to unfurl golden parachutes
As little guys shiver with thoughts of savings lost

But, wait, listen to these words of wisdom
Words that will surely reassure we dolts
“Whiners, that’s what they are,” says old Phil Graham
“Fundamentally sound,” says ancient John (H. Hoover) McCain

Gosh, it’s great to be assured by such wise old farts
Men whose deregulation fanned flames of unfettered greed
Men who can’t distinguish their asses from their elbows
Men who however could, and did, aid and abet financial fraud

Dark Matter

On The Bleakness Of Blindness
By GC SMITH

Honk, beep, screech, honk
it’s hard to cross the street
I need to get a seeing eye,
a sight dog might be neat

Ouch it’s hot, damn it’s sharp
stuff of each and every day
now a nasty pitfall or trap
fouling me in dang near every way

I can no longer read a book
with Netflix I can’t pass time;
it’s this dammed lonely blindness
that's driving me toward the wine

A jug of red, just skip meals,
will get me through this day
soon my liver will be shot
and I’ll simply fade away

So, to hell with that sight dog
that life is simply not for me
spending ones days behind a dog
is to be in prison, not set free

Braver beings than I, I’m sure
can live with constant black
but I need light, some color
that’s a simple truthful fact

Life spent in total darkness
is no kind of life for me
maybe a dose of cirrhosis
will come to set me free

Or, maybe in a sodden stupor
I’ll stumble into a busy street
on out with rushing city traffic
where a violent end I’ll meet

Da Mudbug

Tinkin’ ‘Bout High Office
By GC SMITH

Da Mudbug sittin’ here tinkin’ ‘bout big time politics. Maybee runnin’ fo’ President or at leas’ fo’ da Vice-President. Seems dat havin’ ‘bout no experience has become da major qualification fo’ high office an’ da Mudbug sure qualify on dat account. Except fo’ a single term on da Pigeonairre town council he ain’ had no time in politics. Mudbug’s kinda like dat ‘bama guy or dat Palen woman; he got juss ‘bout no qualification. O’ course dem two amateurs got demselves dem ol’ timers Biden an’ McCain to shore ‘em up or tear ‘em down as da case may be.

Tinkin’ it ova, da Mudbug betta stay ‘way from seekin’ high office. Could-might take away from relaxin’ wit a col’ one or from da weekend fais down to Dupree’s place.

Betta just stayin’ here in da bayou country. Dat’s what I figger, me.

A Bad Wind Blowin'

Lost Color Returned
By GC SMITH

Azure sky gives way
to pewtered rain
banshee winds
and whirling tornados
embedded in hurricane

Sunny disposition,
golden happiness,
soon surrenders to
the bluest of
blue funks

Suffer depth
of downer
brought forth by
nature’s demons
to paralyze your soul

Yet, fretful blues
soon yield
as a sunshaft’s
golden ray
relights this day

(Pray if you will
or cross fingers
for Louisiana and N’Awlins
to be spared
Gustav’s wrath)

A Statement of A State of Being

Here’s What …
By GC SMITH

Folks think
that my mind
much like
my corpus
is in a mess
of a state

But, I know
who I am
and I know what
I know;
I don’ care a whit
what they think

‘cause
conscious-unconscious
or some state in-between
is perfectly
alright
by my lights

So, think what you may
say what you’ll say
I won’t be reflective
I won’t change my way
‘cause I am who I am,
I'm just me

Beatniks

The Beat Went On
by GC SMITH

Jaffey asked the question
that I've pondered for years
How does one fall off a mountain?

Jack wrote his stuff on toilet paper
stream of conscious not unlike diarrhea
his reader's judged it copralithic or not

Neal brought the drugs and booze
drove the car from coast to coast and back
the breakdowns were both mechanical and mental

None of that mattered much
'cause Lawrence illuminated the Beats
under the glow of shining City Lights

More ?s

I'D ASK, but ...
by GC SMITH

What to do?
Who to do it to?
You? Or you? Or you?
All or just a few?
And why?
And How?
And when?
Right now? Or later?
I dunno?
Do you?

And what?
Go here?
Go there?
Or anywhere?
Can I?

Do I know right from left?
Know up from down?
Hither or yon?
North?
or South?
Here or where?
Can I get there?

I guess
if I don't
know what,
why,
who,
when
or where
I'll spend forever
stuck
right here,
it's sad
I guess?

???????????????????

Mystery Melon
By GC SMITH

Whoa,
damn near
tripped
over the big old thing

What in hell
is a huge
watermelon
doing on my porch?

Now,
I have
lots of friends
some are even farmers

And,
I have
a few enemies,
none nuts, far as I know

But,
caution ain’t
necessarily paranoia,
leastwise, I don’t think so

So,
I’m gonna track down
that mystery gifter
before tasting that melon

Gonna
Have me a party,
providing
that melon’s okay

Thing
proves out
not cyanide laced,
well then, I’ll chill it

First,
I figure to
infuse that melon
with 80 proof Vodka

Wanna
come on over
for a good old
down home party?

Cowboy's Lament

An Old Rodeo Cowboy
By GC SMITH

My old pick up truck’s seen much better days
but, what the hey, the same can be said of me

We both got scars from hard roads traveled
scrapes, dings, bumps and ragged rust spots
hard worn signs we’ve both been time used

We’ve traveled this land on hump back old roads
we’ve been out on life’s great four lane highways

Our paint and skin has been flayed by desert sands
our hearts scorned, froze out by blue Norther ice
but we still slog on through life’s bitter winds

A worn saddle lies in my pickup’s bed
a box with old, yet clean wiped tools

Some other bits and parts of a travelin’ life
are stuffed into two threadbare old duffels
all in all not much for our decades of movin’

There’s an spavined old roan horse
back behind in a dinged up junk trailer

That poor boy should’a been pastured somewhere
instead I’ll keep haulin’ that critter back there,
like me, he’s a ghost of our old glory days

There' nothing to hold up my time faded Levis
there won't be no more champion belt buckles

Boots down at the heels, leather all cracked
tell an sad story no one wants to hear
‘bout them days that can’t come back again

Yet, I know we’ll keep on a roamin’,
still hopin’, searchin’ for lost times renewed

We’ll wander around, movin hither then yon
me, that horse, and my old ragged truck
because there plain ain’t nothin’ else to do

We’ll never stop rollin’, not while we live
‘cause that ain’t what we was born to do

We’ll search on and on for another good day
though we know in our hearts, down way deep
it’s a last hope and it ain’t comin’ true

Red Meat

Ode to a Carnivore
By GC Smith

What ever happened to the great big omnivore?
That bloody big beef eater;
it seems his day is done

P.C. I figure has tolled the death knell
So many folks shouting, “MEAT IS BAD”
the beefeater may soon be extinct

So what are we reduced to?
Soy and its ersatz fakery
Veggie burgers? Tofu?

Ugh!

I’ll have a thick rare steak
that tenderloin from a cornfed beave
it may well kill me, but I’ll die content

Two Poems

a new one:

A No Story History
By GC SMITH

A self made man is never made by self
but pushed and prodded to become that one,
that individual, the product of those who came before

A self made man is the hodgepodge
of inherited genes, of living history, of his culture
and, oh yes, shaped by happenstance and chance

A self made man may think himself unique
but likely shun the mirror image that reflects
all the shaping of men who came from times before

A self made man does not reflect, nor genuflect
in homage to the history that backs his being
but rather pounds his chest like a Silverback gorilla

So, could I tell a story about the bits and pieces of a life
that is the sum and substance of the past and the present;
no, for I think that would take the self made man I’m not

and an old one:

Pennsylvania Coal Region
Age 12, Circa 1950
By GC Smith

The chill of winter
The warmth of bread and soup

Seeing icicles depending from the roofline
Wondering if they’d fall and pierce my heart

Peddling newspapers in sub-freezing winter
Thawing frozen fingers under cold running water

Hearing the sizzle of my wet gloves
Tossed on the coalstove surface to dry

Smelling room filling aroma of chicken soup
Simmering with tiny bubbles for many hours

Tasting the hot broth full with vegs and noodles
Tearing warm crusty bread and dipping it in the liquid

Dark settling early on winter's night
Blankets piled high, sleeping contentedly

July 4

For Independence Day
July 4, 2008
By GC SMITH

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

Your light was
that of liberty,
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,
but
through the years
from founding days
till recently
you always
tried to
do much
better

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

Perhaps
we will.
I hope
we do.

Do you?

Holiday Repast

A Seafood Boil
By GC SMITH

You, my frien,' you got straw hat fo' to keep da sun away. Dat ain' too dumb. 'Specially you gonna sit out in dat little boat all the day. I's a waitin' back here on da shore for you to come in wit the fish and da crab. Den we pluck fresh onions and corn and 'taters from da garden and we cook us a boil. I can smell dem spices a roilin' in da pot already. An' dat slice smoke sausage. Mouth waterin' tinkin' 'bout them crabs and dat string o' fish you gonna bring back from da sea. Sun getting low in da sky now and shadow grow long. It now time for you to get on back here, pull da boat up on the sand, and drink a cold beer or three wit me while we wait for the cookin' to be done. Crank up yo liddle outboard 'n get on back here now. We have us a party.

For Independence Day -A Rememberance

America in 26 Letters and 260 Words
by
Gerard C. Smith

America is our nation and it is at war. This Beautiful land was attacked by perverts on September 11, 2001. But the peoples of America are Courageous and we will right this wrong. In this free and Democratic nation terror cannot hold sway. This is a new Era. We are Fierce in our determination to rid the world of terrorists.

We are Generous in understanding that Islam is not the root of terror but rather those roots are found in the perversion of Islam by barbarians. We remain High minded in honoring the principles that made this nation great even while waging war against the cowards who attacked our nation and murdered our citizens.

We are one nation, Indivisible. We are Judicious; we seek to harm no innocent as we rip terrorism from this earth. We will strive to remain Kind and Loving and Magnanimous with all of the nations of this planet while we relentlessly pursue the disciples of evil.

To some, America is New and Ostentatious and Proud and Quarrelsome and yes, even self Righteous. But despite those perceptions we are Steadfast in our essential decency. And we will be Terrible in delivering our swift sword in the war against terror. For now we are United in our resolve. This nation of Varied peoples from the four corners of the earth has come together in Wondrous resolve that is free of Xenophobic bluster. We are a Young nation in the history of our world but we are Zealous in our resolve and we shall prevail.

God bless America.

P.S.
I wrote this a few days after 9-11-2001. Maybe it holds up. Maybe not. I added the following with three words.

Now years later I’m not sure what we as a Nation should be seeking. Maybe Vengeance? Maybe Retribution ? Maybe Justice? Perhaps the three are intertwined. But Iraq was never the right place for the looking. We should have concentrated on Afghanistan. Perhaps that unfinished job would be behind us.

Earth Wind Fire and Water

Martians or Politicians
bt GC SMITH

Little green men
playing with matches
causing our world
to conflagrate

Ill winds fan flame
taking breath away
While little green men
do nothing but smile

Good green earth
a ball of fire
just as predicted
for this next time

Douse it, douse it
with lots of water
politicians (or martians)
have but a half glass full

Somebody has to do it and

I figger it might as well be me.

I live on a saltwater marsh in coastal South Carolina and have a dock in my back yard. The dock goes out 400 feet to a tidal creek that in turn leads to the intracoastal waterway. From there the waters of the world open up. (Eleven miles by boat from my house to the Atlantic ocean.)

The Lowcountry tide swing is about ten feet whch is a big swing. Twice a day the marsh is a grassy plane empty of water and twice a day the water is ten feet deep and the spartina grass is submerged. Fish, crabs, and shrimp come in on the tide flow and out on its ebb. I can stand on my dock with a cast net and get supper. At low tide you can see the creatures in the creek and the big water birds (egrets, herons, storks, ibis) come in for a meal. In the winter ducks (mostly buffleheads but some teal, merganser, woodduck, pintail, and mallard) are in the creek. Eagles, ospery and other variety of hawks soar overhead. Little birds (wrens, buntings, titmouse, and others) flit through the trees at the marsh edge. Sea otter, mink, and raccoon all forage the marsh and come into my yard. There is an abundance of deer (which get to be a nusiance eating shrubbery and flowers) but they were here before us. Finally, there is a Carolina panther stalking the area (I haven't seen it but friends have).

My view is of the marsh, the tidal creek, some small densly treed hummocks, and the waterway. We can see for miles. Looking north is pristine wilderness while the south view is of the town of Beaufort. We face west so the sunsets are spectacular, no two the same. Sunset at high tide produces colors for which there are no names. Yachts and cruise boats (some as large as 200 feet) pass our house.

I love the Lowcountry and its tides. They are endlessly facinating and set the pace of life here.

Of Time

It Ain't Twilight Time
By GC Smith

Perhaps autumn's breath will chill me,
but not just yet, it ain't quite that time,
'cause, damn I'm havin' much too much fun

Seventy full years upon this green earth
will be my time in just a few short months;
hell, that ain't old, I'm plannin' on a hunnert

There is so much left to do, I still gotta play,
and take my boat on out to gulf stream waters
and test my strength against a trophy marlin

Then there's books to read and poems to write,
all the good old stuff that makes my life so fine;
all of the stuff for which there ain't enough time

My gal and I still wake up each and every day
and hug and kiss and look out at the blue sky
as sun comes up over marshland and the river

Then there's all the shrimp, the crabs, the fish
taken with line and net from my tidal creek
that go so well with a goblet of good wine

There's lots to see and do that I ain't yet seen or done
so this autumn time is just gonna have to wait its turn
til somewhere way down the line I find my season's gone

This autumn time, by gol, it ain't near upon me yet;
though it's true I'm no longer in the springtime of life
nothing in my earthly time tells me it ain't still summer

This old guy intends to stick around God's green earth a while;
enjoying every minute of these glorious late summer days
and doing each of the many, many things that fill my life

Good Vittles

Cuke, Tomato, Onion Salad

Two ripe tomatos, diced in largish pieces
A large onion diced the same
Two peeled cucumbers also diced
Lots of freshly ground pepper
Greek vinigarette dressing, several ounces (Kraft brand is good)
Mix thoroughly and refrigerate

Variations:

Crumble in some feta cheese
Add some kalmata olives
Substitute dressing is red wine vinegar and extra virgin olive oil


Stuffed Mushroom Appetizers

12 to 18 large white mushrooms. Remove the stems and chop finely.
One onion finely chopped
A half cup of cashews or pistachios finely chopped
A half cup of sun dried tomatoes in olive oil finely chopped
Several cloves of garlic finely chopped
Fresh ground black pepper.

Sauté all of the peppered chopped stuff over medium heat for a few minutes. Stuff the mushroom caps with the concoction. Sprinkle grated parmesan cheese over the stuffed shrooms. Bake at 350 for 10-15 minutes or until the shrooms are done to your taste.

Yummy.

Dear, Deer

Protecting the Landscape
by GC SMITH

Deer are chompin' on the shrubs
shoo, get away you voracious critters
old wives say that mothballs repel them
redneck men advise piss on the bushes

I dunno what in hell will work
but something better had, and quick
before my flowering shrubbery is no more
hmm, this new 'lectric fence'll do the trick

Dad

I Never Finished Our Conversation
By GC SMITH

We spent many years together
Starting on the day I was born
I was his kid, he was my Dad
From him so much did I learn

We talked a lot of many things
Good stuff of life and the bad
Of how a man should spend life
And choices for right or wrong

Sure, my father wasn't a genius
But he had much wisdom in him
Mostly uncommonly common stuff
Stuff passed to me in our talks

He taught me that small minded people
Usually do not have a clue about life
But are quick to condemn other folks
While declaiming their superior wisdom

When days were dark and nights long
I'd go back to wise words from my Dad
Wisdom that always stood me in good stead
And bucked me up when things looked grim

We never finished our conversations
That began when I was just a kid
I was about a thousand miles away
When he closed wise eyes and died

Still there's plenty of Dad stayed with me
Though it's sad that we won't speak again
His words linger in my mind forever
I've tried to pass them to my kids

Grandpa's Day

Grandpa's Card from 2 year old Emmett
by GC SMITH

Emmett sent his Grand-Pop a card
with art work from his own sure hand
squiggles and swirls in vibrant color
a most talented work of fine abstract art

The card says Happy Fathers DAY
with the grand salutation LOVE
signature a dashing, bold - EMMETT
you know, I in return love you little man

So, thank you Emmett my grand boyo
I love the card to G-Pops that you sent
I'll keep it in my own special treasure box
I'll take it out to enjoy it from time to time

Thank you Emmett

Rrrrrrrrrrrrp!

Convenience Store
(or worse than buying cigarettes)
by GC SMITH

Got me a micro-wave burrito at the 7-11,
Man-o-man I thought I was in heaven
till my danged tummy turned all burpy
from beans mixed with a cherry slurpy

Then them burrito beans started repeatin'
oft duplicated burps --as if I was beaten,
which quickly turned to long loud farts
that in no way relate to the musical arts

So keep this clearly in mind, my friends,
you will never come to any good ends
and you'll never get yourself to heaven
by eating junk food from seven-eleven

Someone has to live it.

Good Things
By GC SMITH

Hey babe, it's waking each and every day
to sunlight on dew damp salt marsh grasses
or the pattering of the rain on a metal roof
and knowing that another day begins

Out there on the marsh
a lonely great white egret
fishes for its breakfast
while you still sleep

I think of nudging you awake,
but, no, I let you sleep some more
as I lay smiling about this new day
that once again we'll share

Long enough now, it's time, wake up;
I reach out and touch your shoulder,
watch as you smile and say to me
'mornin' darlin', as you always do

I give you a little mornin' kiss,
get one in return to start the day;
I'd say that's a grand way to begin
each and every morning of our lives

I sit at the porch table with you now
having morning coffee as daylight brightens,
and we watch wood ducks land on the creek
and ride toward us on the incoming tide

Today we'll goodie pack an ice chest,
drop the boat from lift to water, and
head off up the waterway to Charleston
on an adventure to see what we can see

It's stuff like this that I find so good;
it's knowing that we live a life fulfilled
with all the love that we share each day;
yeah babe, it's little things that bring us much

Hat Trick

Fav Toppers
By GC SMITH

I got me a Harley hat
a gimmee cap with a logo
that says:
"RIDE LIKE THE WIND"
but the embroidery
ain't so good
it looks like:
RIDE LIKE THE WINO

The hat's rolled brim is all frayed
that makes it special
you'd have to pay extra
to get a hat like that
but I done it myself
through years of the wearing
of that faded old hat that
covers my bald spots

That faded grey hat
is damn near my favorite
it's right on up there
with my black beaver Stetson
and almost as good
as the hat with the logo
"IF IT HAS TITS OR WHEELS
IT WILL GET YOU IN TROUBLE"

Hmmm

Always Something
by GC SMITH

After I think about you
and you and you and you
I wonder why I bother;
living a simple life in a cave
might be what I'd rather do

'cause you and you and you
make my life one misery
with your demands of me
for things you think you need
for dear stuff you think is free

Loud demands assault my every day
do this, do that, and do some other,
hey, come and fix the broken things
bring your saws and bring your nail guns
come, please, repair somethings for me

But wait, after I think of you
and of you and you and you
I figure that what you ask of me
is simply the stuff I love to do,
so, it's not so bad --I'll do a few

NEKKID LADY




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Use your imagina-
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it's there for.
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<+_/ | \_+>

Hmmmmm

Our Heros, Our Heriones
By GC SMITH

I don’t care who is rich or famous
I couldn’t give a tinker’s damn
about tabloids at the supermarket
geared to titillate our simple minds

Sexy sluts from good old tinsel town
adopting kids from the third world
that gets them applause for altruism
but more than likely it’s just bullshit

Politicians posture, preen before us
with promises we’ve all heard before
health care along with full dinner pails
but more than likely it’s more bullshit

Priests and preachers let us have it
shout down at us for our sinful lives
but more than likely it’s more bullshit
to cover up for their cold feet of clay

So, what about these famous people
with their steady streams of bullshit
should we believe the pap they feed us
or should their bullshit be ignored

We can use the supermarket tabloids
perhaps they’re best for wrapping fish
but bullshit ink may bleed and poison
and lay us six feet below hard ground

Dark Matter

The ABCs of
Dealing With The Times
By GC SMITH

Always and forever
Be wary of
Candy from strangers

Dirty thoughts
Evil designs
Foment in bad minds

God awful things
Horrible happenings
Invariably result

Juveniles trust
Knowing nothing
Leastwise not much

Mothers worry
Nastiness abounds
Optimism fades

Pedophiles lurk
Quaint lies from their lips
Rotten perverts

Sad state
Today’s concerns
Utterly sad

Veritable prison
Where one is locked
Xanadu it’s not

Yet there’s hope;
Zip guns I think

Memorial Day

Parris Island South Carolina

I played golf yesterday on Parris Island
yup, the east coast Marine training depot
and I thought as I drove the dimpled ball
about those kids who will graduate this day

Every Friday new minted Marines
molded by a Drill Sergeant’s words and deeds
stand at attention at graduation ceremonies
while proud Moms and Dads look on

I’m comfortable in my retirement days
while these kids get to look forward to Iraq
I spend my days hitting golf balls, drinking beer
while young Marines dodge bombs and bullets

Sometimes I think old guys
like me should fight wars;
the kids should stay at home
to play golf and live life

___________________________________

BLUE ANGELS

Thunder rumbles,
greased lightning flashes,
the Blue Angels fly by
in the Lowcounrty sky

Precision flying,
inches between blue F-18s
as wingtip to wingtip
they come to formation

Barrel rolls and Immellman circles,
now some wing over wing flips as
planes climb toward the heavens,
as they plunge toward the earth

Salute the great fliers
who bring us this show;
amazing those daredevils
up there in the air

Marines should be thanked,
they sponsor this show;
but then we should honor
all that Marines do

Honor the Navy folk
and those in the Army
and also the Air force
they command our respect

They are brave men and women
who are sent to far places
to face myriad dangers
not known to civilians

So stand up and salute
those in the Armed Forces;
they do what they must
while we're safe at home

_____________________________

Memorial Day

We called it decoration day
We’d decorate the graves
Of those brave soldiers
Who never made it back

They went off innocent
They fought our wars
And they never asked
A single thing of us

They braved jungles
They crossed deserts
They took each day
One step at a time

We must not forget them
As we fire up our grills
Pop tops from cold ones
As we celebrate the day.

They braved hardships
Suffered unbearable heat
Fought frost bite cold
Endured mud and vermin

Do not forget their terror
Their watching buddies die
Their seeing suppurating wounds
Their knowing of shattered minds

Now it’s Memorial Day
We must remember those
Brave soldiers who returned and
Those who didn’t make it home

~GC SMITH

Fun in Mexico

Spring Break

The gal in turquoise assesses:
the drunk guy has an itty-bitty package
so she decides she'll pass him by

My plastic boobs are sexy hot
says the narcissistic blond in black,
she'll forego boozed up guys, play with herself

And tangerine shirt is telling whopper lies,
of course, t-shirt gal didn't do any of what he says
but blue shirt wishes fervently to believe

Ah, sweet youth, it's flown
but that's more than okay because
back in my day there was no spring break

~GC SMITH

Guilt -- Redemption

Unforgiven -- Unconcerned
By GC SMITH

One life to live
that's what I know
it's there to do
so I do it, and you?

Maybe you wouldn't
but it is what I've done
I don't look back
I don't worry it none

Guilty conscience,
ha, not a little bit
I've lived, I've done
I'd damn well do again

Redeemed
hell no, I think not
I did it; it's history
I had me some fun

Yippie-yi-ki-ay

Dreamin’ of Woman
By GC SMITH

It’s pure goddamn misery
out here riding the range
eatin’ trail-herd dust clouds
day dreamin’ 'bout strange

Long corn silk blonde tresses,
clear eyes, brightest blue;
one dazzling sweet smile
makes all lies ring true

A deep soft feather bed
plump pillows of down
instead of this bedroll
laid out on cold ground

Day dreams and night dreams
keep this lone drover sane
on the trail movin' beeves
across the nation’s vast plain

Dreamin’ of a sweet woman
that’s no trail hand joke
‘cause when the drive is done
there'll be bucks in my poke

I'll wine her and dine her
bedeck her in fine silks
with rings for her fingers
then I'll have her foe mine

It's dreams such as this,
a cowpoke's lonely game,
passin' time on the trail
keepin' mind fairly sane

Gone

Of A Temporary Nature
By GC SMITH

it doesn’t matter a bit
what you hold dear
it won’t mean a thing
in a few short years
‘cause whatever it is
it will disappear

It won’t matter
wealth or youth
a fine tuned mind
they’ll all be gone
no remains
it's a matter of time

You may think
everything is solid
that it’s all planted firm
but you’ll be fooled
‘cause very soon now
it’ll all fly by

Poof, vanished
disappeared --gone
vapor now,
maybe not fair
but all now
up in thin air

Is there a way
to beat the odds
to keep what’s dear;
well perhaps, we can live a lie
but when it comes down to it,
why care, we’ll die

Mothers Day

Risked
by GC SMITH

she bit the apple
was it the forbidden fruit
her future will tell

______________________

Mothers
by GC SMITH

They come
in all shapes,
sizes, demeanors;
not all
are Hallmark
Hall of Famers

Some Mothers
are
good ones
other's
are horrors

We don't get to
pick them;
sometimes
we get lucky;
sometimes ...

Childhood Home

Fifty Nine Vulcan Street
by GC SMITH

It wasn't much
it sagged a bit
plaster was cracked
paint peeled in places

The kitchen table
chrome and formica
held many a thanksgiving turkey
and many a raucous card game

My bedroom had the attic way
up there Christmas cookies were stored
I'd sneak up that creaky old stairway
to steal treats to munch under covers

A poorly built old building
devastated by floods from a hurricane
it was all the home my folks had
so we rebuilt it with hammers and sweat

Cherchez la femme

What did she do?
by GC SMITH

For sure I know
what she just did
I think I know exactly
why she did the deed
She didn't make a secret
of it, she did it, yes indeed, she
brazenly did it right before my eyes
She did it in the plain light of the day
where all the world's witnesses could see
Did she have a motive for the rotten crime
no, not a single one that I could understand
And exactly how she did the dastardly deed
was by far the most frightful thing, you know
But what, but what did she do, you may ask of me;
well reader, I'll simply leave the finding out to you

Not A Poem

This is not a poem, poetry was yesterday and days before
For thirty days in thirty ways we each and all set forth our words.
For thirty days in thirty ways we clebrated April's days with poetry
On this the thirtieth day of April we mark the day with our poetic prose.
We celebrate as newborn peepers peep and springtime flowers blossom
We celebrate the work of poets whose words made April our own month for poetry,

~finis

For April, poetry month, I and other poets tried to write a poem a day. Here's all of mine.

# 29 On Finding A Poem

Can't Find A Poem
by GC SMITH

I'm lost,
I cannot find
a poem
of any sort;
I'm gone
away from home
where my
journal lies.

I'm lost
I cannot find
a poem
of any kind
as I don't have
a newspaper
a book with lines
or even a magazine

I'm lost
I cannot find
a poem
of any rhyme
so, I guess
I have to pass
this poetic challenge
this one time

# 28

For Phil *
by GC SMITH

He's with me today
in Lowcountry SC
cast net twirling,
blossoming, floating out
over salt marsh waters
fetching dinner,
shrimp tonight

Tomorrow it will be
a string and chicken neck
catching Atlantic blue crabs
fat jimmies and sookies
for the boiling pot
and our tummies

Then we'll fish
casting lures for
spot tail bass
or sea trout,
perhaps
we'll fish
a Carolina rig
for flounder

Phil hasn't left;
he'll be with me
every time I shrimp
or crab or fish
and he'll darn well
bring me luck

* My friend and fellow poet Phil Rader was born and raised in the South Carolina Lownountry near Charleston. Either John's or James' Island. I live on Lady's Island. Phil passed on last week but his great spirit stays with me in SC.

# 27

Of This World
by GC SMITH

Where from?
Who knows?

There's Druid somewhere
in my muddled genes
there's French
there's German
there is much Irish,
who knows what
else from where?

I'm Jew,
Luthern,
Catholic,
and
Athiest

My politics
are eclectic,
my thought process
no straight line

Where from?

Perhaps simply
from and of
humanity

# 26

Vomiting Words
by GC SMITH

I cannot
figure out
what kind of poem
to write
that won't
appear
to be
a blight
to readers'
eyes and ears
or
what will not
be
a travesty
foisted upon
you gentle
and
you sensitive
folk.

So you
get this
trashy piece
of poetry
from
my finger tips
to
your eyes and ears
and
you may
cry and cry
for years and years
about me
subjecting you
to cruel
and, yes,
unusual poetry
but
as for me
I do not care,
so there.

Thirsty?

Imbibible Poetry
By GC SMITH

Writing a poem about
quaffing cold beer
or sipping red wine
is just fine

Penning words
about cognac or bourbon
or even rye whiskey
gets one some readers

But never write lines
no matter the meter
no matter the rhymes
about Diet Pepsi

# 25

No Gettin' Away
by GC SMITH

The golf course is bankrupt
the club house shut down
there's no more goin'
there for respite

Respite from what?
From what cares a retreat?
Is it that life's difficult?
Is there really need to hide out?

Should I crank
up the motor,
go hide out on my boat
away from gathering crowd?

Scratchin' my head
I conclude there's no need
much more important is
comradeship's pleasures.

Boating with a few good ol' boys
some fish poles, a beer cooler
and a bunch of sub sandwiches
is the ticket for fine hide out fun

# 24

Presto Chango
By GC SMITH

Starin’ at a hunk of beef
to see what I can see,
perhaps a pot of soup

Sharpen up the kitchen knife
whack that beef to chunks,
sauté in a big cast iron pot

Add some fresh veggies and pasta
with red and white kidney beans
and strong beef broth plus spicy stuff

Pour in red wine, stir and cook a bit
soon savory aroma will take over --
presto chango --pasta fazoole

# 23

Down In The Void
By GC SMITH

Before we’re born,
while of the void,
it didn't matter
no, not a bit,
it’s simply what came later

We all pretend,
yet, no one can know
what’s out there
waiting for us,
what will be our fate

Some come up lucky,
born with a silver spoon,
other fortunates will
make their way
okay

Then there
are those born
into this world
without a bit
of luck

Those who
life will
tread upon;
those who
fortune will forget

Down in the void
we don’t yet know
if we will be born
to thank the stars
or curse our lot in life

# 22

A Craven Color
by GC SMITH

Preying on fears
of a stupid electorate
may be very smart, but it's yellow

Ducking the job
in the 'Bama Air Guard
seems to me a shade yellow

Lying to you and me
about WMD also
is a hue of yellow

Suited up with a sign
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
for the TV cameras is yellow

Yellow calculations
that trade in fear
have brought forth horrid results

All of these things
are craven and yellow
but a soldiers' blood is crimson

# 21

Bob's My Man
By GC SMITH

I can call day or night
he’ll be there
to haul my ass
to safety

That same night call
will not do
when all I need
is a borrowed tool

Yep, he’s a friend
through and through
but no sucker
that’s for true

What of me
regarding him
I’ll stick with him
thick or thin

# 20

Tell Me
by GC SMITH

No one tells me
I do not know
life in the dark
is no way to go

Did he do it
or was it she
one thing's sure
it wasn't me

Truth or lie
I sure don't know
complete bull sh..
or flurried snow

I need to know
I hope I will
life in the dark
is a bitter pill

# 19

An old one.


HANDS
By GC SMITH

I hate my hands.

Stubby fingers:
sausages that can't
palm a basketball or
snap a smart smooth spiral
from a NFL's football's laces.

Fuckin' stinkin' little hands,
goddamn: I was born with brains,
and with reasonable coordination,
and drive to play the games men play,
but I'm cursed with these stinkin' little hands.

I've spent most of my life on mind things:
analyzing this and that and concluding sharply,
making pronouncements: profound, or at least payed for,
but I've been thinking that I would have lived a different life,
but for the curse of these dammed chubby, short fingered hands.





A new one:

Calloused Hands
by GC SMITH


Wrench turning
hands

Saw sliding
hands

Hammer
banging hands

Fixing engines,
building homes
is how I use
my hands

# 18

Beware
by GC SMITH

Beyond the edge of the woods
there's stuff to excite dire fear
it' ain't quite like our flat world edge
beyond which there may be dragons

What is it that we must fear?
Surely not the quivering rabbit
or possum, or perhaps the raccoon
No, be aware, fear the black bear

I know he seems harmless and cute
but, you know, he sh..s in the woods
and if you chance to venture in there
then where to step you must be aware

'cause it's sticky, it's much like glue
that bear sh.. will glom on to your shoe
then it's you good company will eschew,
for ever more they'll shun smelly you

# 17

Woe is …
By GC SMITH

Life sucks
it’s not fair
why me
that’s hurtful
he’s mean
you lie

It would
all be sad,
perhaps even tragic
if it wasn’t
so damn
funny

# 16 (over the hump)

Campin' On The Back Porch
by GC SMITH

The damn old air conditioner broke
on the hottest of hot August nights
so out to the porch with a blowup mattress
was our plan for getting some sleep

There was something odd about the arrangement
perhaps it was the matresses's strange humpback
at any rate comfort was definitely lacking
but, what the hell, I still tried for some sleep

Tossing and turning while thoroughly miserable
finally, after hours, yielded to a fitful sleep
that was 'til my sweetie rose to go to the john
and the mattress flipped over and dumped me out

It seems she had inflated it upside down
and when she got up it went topsy-turvy
I dragged weary bones back to the bedroom
where I sweated out the night with conditionless air

# 15

"Way Down Texas Way"
by GC SMITH

Billy Joe Shaver
sings about
wanderlust;
how a Gypsy
got a hold
on someone in
his family
long ago

Waylon and Willie
sing about a
good hearted
woman; hurtin'
'cause of
the antics
of her
good timin'
man

Davis Allen Coe
sings about
his love of
robbin' banks;
how he
always tells
the teller
thanks

They are
as American
as jazz
those
Texas Troubadours
singing their
down home
shit kickin'
good old boy
ballads

Me,
I try
singing
in the shower;
my sweetie inquires
as to whether or not
I may be choking
on something
I ate for breakfast
or if I'm
having a heart attack

# 14

The Tax Man Cometh
By GC SMITH

This Saturday I took a hit
damn near had a hissy fit
in the mailbox was IRS sh..
demanding extra folding cash

Taxman changed total due
he wants $600 additional
he ain’t getting that from me
he’s wrong, I’m right you see

So I’ll write a letter right away
in that forceful missive I will say
no, no more $ from me to thee
go borrow cash to send to me

I’m all for economic stimulus
my Grandbaby can pay the bill
or we can change the game in time
printing more species will be fine

We can make average Joe pay
for Uncle Sam’s errant way
meantime Sam can save the day
by getting off my back, I say

# 13

Carpe Diem
by GC SMITH

Who could bitch
this day
away, it's nearing
eighty
sky is blue

Go ahead,
do it,
grumble,if you will:
me, I'd rather
carpe deim

I've pulled
my boat for it's
Spring tune up
that's why I'm a late
Sunday poet

So you may bitch
you may grumble,
may curse the fates,
I'll take a pass;
life's to short to bitch

# 12

TWO
by GC SMITH

Grandbaby Emmett
has waited all week
for candy and ice cream and stuff

He's been led
to believe there'll be a big cake
festooned with candles on top

He was up very early
laughing, smiling, shouting
HOORAY I'M TWO

I used to be 1
that was good FUN
but nothing quite like being 2

# 11

Huntin' For Love
by GC SMITH

My bow
always
at the ready;
my quiver
packed
with arrows

I am
the Archer',
it is written
in the stars;
of that
there
is no
doubt

So when
December
rolled around
I was
on the
hunt,
my arrows
turquoise
tipped

Though
not exactly
Cupid
I hunted
for her
heart;
shot me a
bullseye,
my arrow
found its
mark

# 10

On Poetry Prompts
By GC SMITH

Our task
mistress
wants me
to find
a failed poem
that has
a line
as fine
as a rare
Cabernet wine

From that
I’m tasked
to build a poem
that passes muster
with readers
who would deign
to judge
my dross

That,
of course,
I cannot do:
it’s up to you,
dear reader,
to figure out
if my words
are tarnished
or if they
shine

Myself,
I think
all my poems
are like pure gold
or flawless gems,
but then again
I am
delusional

# 9

The Thinker, err St...
by GC SMITH

I think I know
where thought
begins;
it percolates
while sitting
on the john

Nascent
thoughts
that I conjure
are never
formed
completely

I have
thoughts
but much
like gas
they
dissipate

Thoughts
take on
amorphous shape
then disappear
--poof--
GONE!

April 8

Forty Five Years and Counting
by GC SMITH

I kissed her
she responded
next thing we knew
we had us a family

April 7

On the Street Where ...
by GC SMITH



Salt marsh
laps
near my
back door
it's lovely now
I don't know about
tomorrow

Global warming
it seems exacerbated
by stupid humans
(myself included)
may render
staying here
impossible

If I had me
half a brain
I'd sell to
a Yankee baby boomer,
but I don't,
so I'll remain
in place

'cause
I love
the street
where I live
and tidal waters
reaching toward
my back door.

# 6

Past Ain't Prolouge
by GC SMITH

Beach music
dancin' the shag
wild trashy women
exciting fist fights
in a seashore parkin' lots

Burning rubber
gray exhaust smoke
black leather jacket
hair combed Duck's ass,
slicked back with pomade goo

Stale beer
rotted food
filthy dishes
fast food detritus
evokes a misspent youth

Things differ now
time and tide
have taken toll,
warped memories
remain

APRIL 5

A Poem a Day keeps … *
By GC SMITH

April, the crulest month,
would drag thirty poems
from we pathetic poets

Make a clean break,
not from the poet's art,
but with cool enjambment

Write sterling strophes
to elucidate poetic
thought and imagery

The beat goes on
if and when you find
meter’s imperative

So, do it Poets,
use your tools
imaginisticly

April 4 poem

Never Imagined
By GC SMITH

Coastal Carolina estuaries,
gently flow as rise and ebb
in familiar circular constancy
until thunderheads gallop
like a herd of wild horses,
to roil tranquility
with frothing waves
that strike fear
in the hearts
of fishers
in small
unstable
boats.

Sometimes,
too often,
the morning
newspaper
chronicles
tidal treachery
where fishers
have struggle
and, yes, died
merely for
trusting nature’s
mendacic
ways

April is poetry month. Write a poem a day. Here's my first three.

A minimalist's
considered, heartfelt, immediate
and everlasting message of advice to
someone who has not the sense
to know when he or she
is not wanted
or needed
by GC SMITH

Go away
now
stay gone

THE NEAT FREAK
By GC SMITH

She’s tried tossing it out
during several cleaning frenzies,
it's been trash canned more than twice;
my old grease coated jacket

Then there’s my shoes
paint splattered old sneakers
rescued from the trash can
on several occasions

I don’t care about the tee shirts
or the holey old blue jeans
there’s always more of those
but the other stuff’s precious

So keep your house as you will
I won’t laugh at your neatness
but stay out of my garage
leave my work clothes alone


Day One
By GC SMITH

He suffered jokes year round
Him, a nerd, nebbish, a clown
But then on one April the one
They found themselves undone

Plotting was his sharpest tool
Revenge why he went to school
He knew that it would be most cool
To see them squirm was his golden rule

He planned, and plotted to be cruel
He’d be just as stubborn as a mule
Tease them to think they’d find a jewel
Then he’d shout out: APRIL FOOL!

Love Jones

OBSESSION
by GC SMITH

I'm a bear of little bitty brain
who's not much given to obsession
but that you see is not to say
that I can't be seized by love

It happened to this silly bear
once upon a long long time ago
I saw her and I was smitten,
by gol, I remain still smote today

I think it was her lovely smile
but her svelt body wasn't shabby
then I struck up a conversation
and found out that she was bright

What more could a dumb bear ask
than to hook up with such a lovely
he's more than lucky that he knows
to be wed to such a classy lady

I loved her then, I love her now
this bear who eschews obsession
but just in this one special case
I confess to an endless addiction


Me and my MiMi; Summer of '67.



The mutual obsession began 7 years earlier. It's still active.

Tangent. Nine lines. abc dec dfg

_______________


Havin' A Time
GC Smith

Hot damn
This here fellow
He's having a time
Livin' the good life
Lovin' each new day
Drinkin' up red wine
Life's without strife
Nothing's so great
As today


Man, Check Her Out
GC SMITH

Hey guy
That there gal
She's hot stuff
Man, see her wiggle
Long legs to her ass
Tanned and buff
She will giggle
While saying no
To you

The Kid and The Geezer

Playin' is the best of life.

SUGAR HIGH DAY

A TIME OF PERIL
BY GC SMITH

He
bit my butt
and yelled aloud
yummy, it's
chocolate nut

What?
I can't hear,
some nasty kid
has bit
my ear





Oh me, oh my
I just might
die of
someone else's
hunger

Whose hunger's that
you may well ask?
the answer is:
that rotten
kid

Beware,
the kid
is on
a sugar
high

It happens
every
Easter Sunday
rapacious
chocolate murder

So, all you
candy bunnies
would do well
to heed these words:
LIE LOW today

BE CAREFUL
Shhhh
BE QUIET
Make not a sound
HIDE

Happy St. Paddy's Day

Tis

You Can Kiss me …
An Irish Lament
By GC SMITH

Poag Mahone, says I,
celebrate Saint Paddy’s day,
quaff away green beer

Pluck a green blossom
for your lapel buttonhole
proud emerald bloom

Tis Irish I am
me, I don’t give a gol-damn
where you may come from

Smith Irish, you ask?
how in the hell can that be?
just think Ellis Isle

They fooked my name
disgrace, begorrah (true shame)
wrought by some damn Prot

A sad travesty
to mess with a man’s name
it should not be done

As I sip green beer
on this Saint Paddy’s day eve
I shout Poag Mahone

Born Yesterday

From Whence to …
By GC SMITH

Born yesterday
this mooncalf, me
greets each day
as it will
be

No singular thing
bothers me
because
I have no
memory

I need not
know that past
is prologue
with no surprise
in store for me

I’m not encumbered
no, not me,
because, you see,
I simply have
no memory

Today is today
again to be
a fresh new
start
to delight me

Don't Question The Promises

Come Dance With Me
(Politically)
By GC SMITH

A plump chicken in the pot, or two;
oh hell, why stop at a merely that
when I can promise more for you

(sotto voce)

Come together, you with me
Let’s screw those other bastards
It’s the only way to elect me

I’ll provide a mortgage garuantee
of course, college tuition free, and
cheap health care for you and me

(sotto voce)

Come together, you with me
Let’s screw those other bastards
It’s the only way to elect me

With green fuels from the Government
we can roll back the price of gas
while we also help the environment

(sotto voce)

Come together, you with me
Let’s screw those other bastards
It’s the only way to elect me

Mine, yours, and ours: our great Party
join now; vote early (and often),
‘cause it’s the only way politically

(sotto voce)

Come together, you with me
Let’s screw those other bastards
It’s the only way to elect me

I hope that you will join with me
come on now, I’ll solve your woes
with promises I’ll set you free


(memo to self: don’t mention added tax, more government regulation, bureaucratic inefficiencies, drag on the economy, or the wonderful graft opportunities.)

Winter's Almost Gone

A Line From Lisa*
by GC SMITH

"Ahhh the dripping"
as winter's snows
trecally receed
drop by drip
by drop

Foul, torturish
grime
blackens
the landscape
while we wait

Figurative
waterboarding
leaves us longing
for spring's
verdant breakthrough

* first line swiped from a Lisa Chilar poem.

The poem was written from snowy Catonsville Maryland not sunny Beaufort SC.

Winter's Leavin'

Lowcountry Renewal
by GC SMITH

Drop the boat from the lift
spring's sprung forth again
it's time for some frolicin'
on coastal estuarine rivers

Fish are back to jumpin'
shrimp will soon runnin'
sookies* plump now with roe
the lowcountry bounty abounds

There's a balm to the air
dang, I bet you wish to be here
where the livin' is easy
and folks are naturally high

Sky's a bright Carolina blue
delights me through and through
'cause our winter's are short
springtime flowers do peek-a-boo

The yellows are brilliant
and reds dot the landscape
a green grass carpet spreads
birds chirp newfound joy

Spring's sprung forth again
it's time now to play
in the warmth and brilliance
of each post winter day

* sookie: a female blue crab

Of time and tide

NO ALTERNATIVE
By GC SMITH

Tide comes up
twice each day
twice as well
ebb follows flow

Relentless moon
waxes, wanes
shines forth full
recedes to sliver crescent

And us, yes, we follow,
the unchanging cycle;
our lives expand, contract
‘til day is done

Ours is a short visit
a flow before the ebb
to wax, to wane
on borrowed time

A poet Lariat

Yippee-Yi-Ki-Yay
By GC SMITH

I’d love to be a poet lariat
I’d lasso maverick words
I’d brand them as my own

I'd move loose word confusion
to a tight trail herd of verse,
poetic form my quarter horse

I’d drive longhorn words
from dusty dictionaries:
I’d bunch ‘em up to strophs

Stray words would not cut loose
I’d push my herd with rhythm
I’d drive them home with meter

No free verse would stampede
words driven on my roundup,
I’d corrall them all with rhyme

I’d love to be a poet lariat
I’d lasso maverick words
I’d brand them as my own

We ain't Brits

Mergin’ Bits
By GC SMITH

It's only the uptight Brits who have naughty bits
We ‘merkin guys get by with straight forward dicks,
the gals, they have other bits --like for instance --tits

We like the pretty gals’ sweet sexy bits
and they love our fun bit stiff like a stick
an’ both guys & gals like coming close for bedtime tricks

When ‘merkin guys take lovely gals to bed
we don’t think them as even one bit naughty,
if perhaps they deign to give a bit of head

In fact, we think those gals are fine,
better, by far, than any vintage wine;
they’re not naughty, oh no not a bit

So gals/guys you can for certain bet
what we love to give and we love to get
is great good fun, it is no way a naughty bit

Non-fiction

I Got The Word
By GC SMITH (100 words)

She said that we were going to be married. I said okay. What the hell else can a guy say but yes when the lady doing the saying is beautiful and he's horny? She was and is bright as well, but at the time I thought she was pretty damn dumb proposing to me. I, after all, didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out. I was a week out of college and I did have a job, $4,040 a year and prospects. So, I guess she saw something. Who was I to argue?

Georgia On My Mind

Red Canna
by GC SMITH

Come
taste the
addictive
pearl drops
of heaven's
sweet hot
nectar

Live, love,
enfolded
in dreamscape
from which
no escape
is ever
to be

Georgia's turmoil;
encompassing,
enrapturing,
possessing;
a surreal
dream or a
nightmare?

Who,
but you
can ever
know
what might
lie in bone
beneath the skin

Which side?

This Way or That
By GC SMITH

Won’t
You be my
leftish
brainy
baby

Could it be
your brain is
right
(er, correct)or
maybe not

Won’t you
engineer
a poem;
build an
impressionistic canvas

That might be
right
(er, correct)
or maybe
not

Come on, baby
use this
side or that,
or damn all,
why not both

Give me
stuff
to sort
to figure
out

Tangle
art and
practicality;
create
a useful beauty

Gone, never to ...

Where Have They Gone
By GC SMITH

Cisco and Pancho,
Roy and Gabby,
Batman and Robin,
images, yet near real

John's and Martin's dreams,
Harry's buck stops here,
FDR and Winston's guts;
these were the real men.

Where have the heroes gone?
It's been so very long since
we could look up and see
the men who cared and did.

Now polls and opinions
drive the would be men
whose small and venal ways
would squander our birthright.

Will we ever meet them again?
Will there ever be successors
to history's roll call of real men
who thought and fought for right?

Perhaps we'll see a day
when light shines brightly
illuminating a man or men
who are worthy of our trust

So I'll end this with the cliché
that man's hope springs eternal
and I'll say we're lucky that it's so
or we'd have nothing but despair.

Shorty

Ma Nature's Blankets
by GC SMITH

Liking the lichen
loving nature's deep green moss
stuff is fuzzy soft

Black Hole

Rushing To
By GC SMITH

Cannibal maw
black shrouded
chomping down
on stars and moons,
snacking on planets,
makes one think
of mankind

Eating our
dead,
devouring
some live,
convinced
God’s word
directs us

Watch them
woosh by
planets, stars, moons
lost to dark vacuum,
disappearing,
never
reappearing

And mankind
to where?
to heaven, to hell?
maybe up,
perhaps down,
certainly
to worms

Hooked

Love Jones
GC SMITH

Hooked;
can't shake
the love Jones.

Love Jones;
like craving chocolate
but so damn much worse.

Love Jones;
tempts and teases
like Irish whiskey neat.

Love Jones;
like smack it starts easy
then demands everything.

Love Jones;
gotta have her;
there ain't a choice.

Love Jones:
stuck with it;
fuckin' addict.

Damn

Downer
By GC SMITH

Come home from da job dead tired beat. Me an’ Muscles spent da day demolish’n ol’ plaster walls in a River Road mansion. Dust an’ horse hair in da air all day. Miserable hot. Talk ‘bout sweat o’ da brow, dat job was it.

Muscles drop me off ta home an’ dere in da yard is dat flame paint mota-cycle dat TT sellin’. Hot damn, I figger Dupree had it all wrong. Colleen gone an’ bought dat bike fo’ me. Whoo-boy, dis guy’s one happy fella.

I get me inside da house an’ dere on da coffee table is a pink crash helmet. Dat strike me weird. In da kitchen I ova-hear Colleen on da phone (I figger wit her sista) tellin’ all ‘bout da mota-cycle she done bought fo’ herself.

I turn ‘rond, go out da door, an’ head fo’ Dupree’s place. Coupla col’ ones might could smooth out my low-down state o' mind. Maybee.

More on da Mota-cycle

Ain’ Gonna Happen
By GC SMITH

TT say he ain’ gonna let me test drive his mota-cycle. He says he rememba da las’ time I tried out a fo’ sale bike. Bugga kicked out when I twisted da throttle. Me an’ dat mota-cycle got us dumped in da Bayou. TT’s sayin’ dere’s no way in heaven he gonna let dat happen wit his mota-bike.

If he ain gonna let me try out da machine den dere ain’ no way he gonna sell it to me. I doan neva buy no pig in da poke.

Good ting is I won’t be havin’ no argument wit my Sweetie. An’ dat’s as best as it can be.

Mota-cycle

Maybe Not
By GC SMITH

Da kickin’ back, like all good tings, need to come to an end. It’ January da third an’ time now to get back to work. Gotta make me some money. Got my eye on a fine ol’ Harley dat TT Broussard just finish restorin’. Dat’s one nice bike, flame paint job, lotsa chrome, big ol' buddy seat, leatha saddle bags. Da nine yards.

Dupree say dat Colleen betta not fin’ out dat I’m plannin’ on buying dat bike. He says Colleen’ll raise Cain an he also say dere ain’ no doubt dat dat woman is able. Dat’s da troot, but I cain’ let a woman tell me how to live life.

Still, I could might think it ova before buyin’ da machine.

Dat’s what I tink, me.

Da New Year

Bon’ Annee
By GC SMITH

Da New Year rolled in an’ I’m kickin’ back an’ relaxin’ today. Dat’s da only way after da big party New Year’s eve down to Dupree’s place an’ alla dat getting’ together wit friens’ on da firs' day o' da year fo’ da traditional Hoppin’ John an collards. (We et some Jambalaya too.)

Was a big year dat 2007. Wasn’t no hurricane come tru da Bayou country. Me an’ da beauteous Colleen got us together. We got us a coupla good contracts to restore some ol’ ante-bellum Plantation houses an’ we made us made beaucoup bucks. We got Colleen’s cousin Knuckles outta Angola, even if he did haf’ to go back fo’ a day an’ ride in da prison rodeo. An’ we had good ol’ times dancin’ an’ socializin’ every Friday and Saddurday nite down to Dupree’s place. Lotsa pig roasts, crawfish boils, etoufee cookoffs , an’ odder good times. Tipped our share o’ col’ ones togetha, we did.

Fadda LeBlanc is suggesstin’ hard dat Coleen an’ me tie da knot in 2008 an’ we juss might do dat. We gonna tink hard on it. Meantime, I’m kickin’ back an’ waitin’ fo’ nex Monday. LSU gonna whup Ohio good an’ soun’.

Dat’s what I say, me.

Texas folk

Change of Fortune
By GC SMITH

I cranked up my old Ford 150 and hauled ass out of Waco. Hadda go. She was getting nasty. Demanding stuff. Threatening to get her brother, the bad ass Deputy Sheriff, on me. Hell, I didn’t have two nickels to rub together and she’s demanding money from me. Ain’t like we ever had a kid. I don’t owe the bitch a thing.

Whoa dawg, who’s that standing on the shoulder wavin’ her hands. Oweee, fine lookin’ woman. Looks like she got some trouble with that shiny maroon Caddy she’s standin’ next to. Better pull over and see if I can help her.

Been with her a week now and I ain’t never had it so good. Parked my whiskey bumped old pickup in her barn and I’m using the Caddy. She’s footing the bills. New clothes, best restaurants, her soft bed, and damn, having her. Oh, sweet. I’m up in hog heaven. Too bad her husband will be coming home tonight.

I picked up a new spade at the Tru-Value this afternoon. It’s in the Caddy’s trunk. Tomorrow’s time enough.