New Kindle, IiPad, Nook?

So you got a Kindle (or iPad) for Christmas?

Now that you have a new toy to play with, you'll want to start downloading some good books to read. Well, here are some great deals on books you won't want to miss! List compiled by Don Capone.

Tom Saunders's wonderful novel, Inappropriate Happiness. Only 99¢! Read my review here.

Pamela Erens's The Understory. $7.99! Winner of the Ironweed Press Fiction Prize; A Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist; Finalist, William Saroyan International Prize for Writing.

If skullduggery and murder in the world of NASCAR sounds appealing to you, check out GC Smith's White Lightning. $5.00!

If you like short stories, Tom Saunders has two collections that I highly recommend, Roof Whirl Away and Brother, What Strange Place Is This? Only 99¢ each!

Cliff Garstang's award-winning collection of linked stories, In an Uncharted Country, Only $3.99. Winner of the IPPY Gold Medal for Mid-Atlantic--Best Regional Fiction 2010.

Mary Akers's award-winning collection of short stories, Women Up On Blocks, Only $3.99. Winner of the IPPY Gold Medal for Short Story Fiction 2010.

If you like lively, sexy, and funny fiction, then the irrepressible Susan DiPlacido is right up your alley. She has three recent, highly received novels: Lady Luck, only $2.50; House Money, only $3.99; and Shuffle Up and Deal, only $2.50! She also has a wonderful collection of award-winning short stories titled American Cool, for only $2.50.

Finally (and of course), I'm not opposed to plugging my own stuff. If you want some comedy on your Kindle, check out my novel, Into the Sunset, Only 99¢!

If you like time travel, check out my novella, The Chambliss Tapes. 99¢!

Then there is my collection of short stories, Stories From Sunset Hill. Only $1.00!

Tis the season ...

The Mistletoe
By GC SMITH

Though a simple
parasitic plant
the mistletoe
commands attention
in the mythos of mankind

One could read
THE GOLDEN BOUGH
to learn
of mistletoe and
of its powers

Symbol of
'life-force'
(vitality-fertility)
the essence of
the mistletoe

Paired branches,
paired leaves,
berries gushing
viscous fluid
complete fertility images



Magic Roots in Donegal
By GC Smith

With roots in county Donegal
my heart pumps Druid’s blood
and calls for all the wonderment
my forest pagan Gods can know

The oak provides the magic
that nurtures mistletoe
atmospheric healing plant
from heaven through the Gods

Celestial plant the mistletoe
harvest with a golden sickle
reveals its wondrous powers
are much better than Viagra

Mistletoe the master key
gathered in the full moon
under sign of Sagittarius
opens all of nature’s locks

So dye your earthly flesh blue
dance naked before the fire
fondle firm young woman flesh
beneath the magic mistletoe

Merry Christmas

Looking for a last minute Christmas present or just a book for yourself. click for WHITE LIGHTNING by GC Smith.

WHITE LIGHTNING

Book review at Neon Fiction, click here, and scroll down a bit.

Sippin' an' readin'

WHITE LIGHTNING
by GC

I got me a mason jar filled
with corn likker, the good stuff,
smooth, but with a kick

Been buyin' that stuff
sans the tax stamp
for neigh on fifty years

Sometimes I see the Sheriff
down there in the hollow
he ain't crackin' down, he's buyin'

Gonna be a sad day
when the Revnooer finds the still
an' takes an ax to that ambrosia

Then there'll be no corn likker
to smooth out the night while you're a sittin'
and a readin' WHITE LIGHTNING

Layin' down, playin' dead.

If at first...
by GC

So, in the end one tires of trying
so one kicks back and simply gives up,
which is about when things start to happen
because, life, you know, she's a funny old possum

Twhack!!

Lumberjacks
By GC

My Buds
an' me, by golly, we're
big, tough lumberjacks

Eight diseased
water oaks felled
limbs cleared, logs stacked

Huge oak logs
sectioned with a
28" chainsaw

Sections wrestled
to the hydraulic splitter
and quartered

Quartered pieces
split for firewood
stacked in trailers

Four cords
sawn and split
was Saturday's work

Wood delivered
thousand bucks pocketed;
we'll buy 100 clubhouse chairs

Gathered last night at the clubhouse
watched USC/Clemson football
drank a thousand beers

'cause we are
the lumberjacks who work all day
and then, by gol, comes night we play

Marketing

I'm new at this, but I recently had my novel WHITE LIGHTNING, Murder in the World of Stock Car Racing, published. Here's the website. Click for website.

Give me your feedback. Or, better yet, buy my book.

My website leads to

My novel, White Lightning; Murder in the World of Stock Car Racing, has been published. It's available at my E-store, Amazon, Amazon Kindle (U.S. and U.K.), and other booksellers.

Go to my website:

Click here for WHITE LIGHTNING

Hello!

Six a.m.
By GC Smith

I
opened
the door
and the fuckin'
cat
walked in

That same
black hearted
black furred
bastard
that I gave to the
S.P.C.A.
six months ago

Cruel, you say
giving the cat
away,
well, you didn't
know the critter

Sum-bitch
jumped up on the counter
pissed in the toaster
and sneered at me

I bought a new toaster
and the sum-bitch
tried again;
had to drag it away
by it's tail

So, why
after six months
did that
black hearted
black furred
bastard
walk through
the opened front door
at six a.m?

Couldn't be
that the critter
likes me,
nah,
no way;
more than likely
the damned
cat
was hungry

Read WHITE LIGHTNING

My book is available here:

Jerry's White Lightning E-store


click for WHITE LIGHTNING

It will be available from Amazon and other booksellers in a week or so. I'm working on a web site as well.

Thanks Y'all.

WHITE LIGHTNING

My book, WHITE LIGHTNING, was published today.

Get it at:

https://www.createspace.com/3401906

or soon at Amazon.com or many other booksellers.

Book Cover

Book Coming Soon

click here

I've been doing poems with fives

Mickey in Five Stanzas
By GC SMITH

Pinko, commy, sum-bitches
story line from the fifties
won’t work today

Velma, sweater girl extraordinaire
with pointy, circle stitched bra
is a passé image

Cops and the Assistant D.A.
beating on old Mike Hammer
cliché, cliché; not today's way

Fast gun, lotsa fun
especially with no consequence
but that won’t fly in the current genre

Writing mysteries
has become demanding,
Betcha, Mickey’s glad he’s dead

"High Fivin."

Prestidigitation
by GC

one ,two, three, four, five
this haiku starts/ends with five
'cause I used fingers

digitation

Fingers
by GC SMITH

Fingers,
five of 'em
the middle one
stands out
a flag

Fingers,
five of 'em
the thumb
stretches out
to catch a ride

Fingers,
five of them
one an index digit
to riff
a book's pages

Fingers,
five of 'em
a gold band
not a nose ring
encircles one

Fingers,
five of them
the itty-bitty one
doesn't belong
in your nostril

Finger's,
five of them
clenched
thrust heavenward
high fives the world

Truckin'

The Long Haul
by GC SMITH

I figured I could perhaps do
twenty-five
and now I'm pushing
seventy two
it's been a
long and winding
path I've run

I look back with
no regret, 'cause
I've learned some things
along the way
and, that, my freinds
is just how
life's race should be

Now when the run
still aint quite done
my breathing comes with
shorter gasps
and stride
shortens
just a bit

But I do not falter,
because I'm sure that
it's not yet over,
no, I'll continue
on the run
until I get to
where I'm going

No Growling

A Civilized Bear
By GC SMITH

Most bears salivate for salmon
though I really can’t say why
especially when the menu holds
the delicate Chilean Sea Bass

Most bears den up and sleep
in musty, moldy caverns
though I really can’t say why
since I prefer my purified abode

Sniffing, flowers, checking fragrance
in constant search for honey and berries
is a thing that most bears do
though I really can’t say why

Most bears have twitchy noses
with which to search for vittles
me, I’d rather take my trade
to the gourmet supermarket

With twenty-five olive varieties
that supermarket beats the foraging
by either night or in the daylight
and I think I know just why that is

It is because a bear that forages
could be a hunter’s highlight
especially if he caps a bears ass
with a steel jacket thirty-thirty

Bears are hirsute, don’t you know
though I really can’t say why
this one has mustache and Van Dyke
trimmed neatly with a razor

Some bears dance on command, not me
yet I sure like to cavort all night
and do the boog-a-loo and stuff
‘cause, me, I’m a party animal

Metaphorically Speaking

Poetic Menagerie
By GC

Beasties

Wildlife verse
cavorts
to the poet’s
command

Mirth

Laughter,
the monkey strophe,
carries on
delightfully

Fear

Shark words
thrash, bite, tear
at a reader’s
emotions

Anger

Anger, an alligator,
snaps and snarls,
blindly lashs out
rhyme

Sloth

Sloth, the enjambment snake,
lazes in the sun
coiled, waiting to capture
the perfect break word

Jungle

Verse entangled --
words, lines, strophes
like newborn lion kits --
struggles to open eyes and steady legs

Small Odes

A Good Woman
by GC SMITH

Hot damn
I thank you ma'am
the sheer pleasure of you
is worth more than you can imagine
to me


The Sound of Attraction
by GC SMITH

Prrrrrrrrr
my tomcat heart
vibrates
to your
presence

It thumps
pulsates
pounds
with loud
Prrrrrrs

Tote that Barge, Lift ...

Honey Dos
by GC SMITH

I'd do it honey
'cept I'm too much to busy

I'd do it honey
‘cept there's the other stuff

I'd do it honey
if I had the right tool

I'd do it honey
'cept for the exorbitant cost

I'd do it honey
If only you didn't nag, nag, nag

Honey, it might have been done
if I hadn't decided no, ---fuck it

Fecundity

Salt Marsh
by GC SMITH

Pluff mud pheromones
redolent as a woman
beckon

Marsh grasses
shimmy
to thunder's beat

Tide swing
thrusts
withdraws

The marsh's
estrous cycle
calls

Heat

The Fire
By GC Smith

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

My fire burns
consuming all
and she is hot
my summer gal
au natural

wantin' all
but she cannot know
if my flame is more than show
or if I might stay long with her
enamoured with her vigor

But, chill comes on
with autumn moon
and winter’s harsh wind
freezes and forestalls
consummation

It freezes summer’s fire
banking flames
causing a hiatus
in touch
til chill is done

Starved
for warmth
near dead
when suddenly
daffodil poke up

Yellow blossoms cheer
telling what will come
teasing, playing
summoning
lost touches

know now she is hot
reincarnate
fingers caress enflamed skin
summer's come again
time for fun and sin

Afire
we are consumed

We grow old, we ...

Intimations of Mortality
by GC Smith

My joints complain

Complaints not against
that strong young athlete
who pushed feats of prowess
much beyond endurance limits
but rather against wear of time

My brain falters

It frequently farts
suffering nascent dementia
Irish style, remembering only grudges
while stumbling again to find my own name
and knowing that your name is lost to the ether

My heart speaks

Its murmurs
not pretty poetry
nor deathless prose
but rather coded messages
about time's inexorable march

Gone

An Oft Told Tale
By GC SMITH

She had my heart
then tore it apart
before running off

Now I’m forlorn
a lost soul
locked up alone

It ain’t Margaretville
this dark, dank, dungeon
where I waste away

So listen up boys
take care with your hearts
know where you go

Choose carefully
watch out for the trap
avoid cloying honey

Or you’ll spend your life
locked up in a room
with no hope of escape

You’ll wither and die
and no one will cry
for a fool

KABOOM!!!

KABOOM!!!!

KABOOM!!!

Trippin'

Yo Mama!
By GC SMITH

Never
abandon hope
hell bent
Babylonian baby
Just ‘cause they say
you’re
bound to burn

Cavorting
to climax
with curvaceous imps whose delicious
lips inspire desire not to mention eruptions
fixated on feminine fury,
for sure worth the price paid,
any price

grab your socks
drop your grasp
on hardly heartfelt hot flashing
with lavish licks lustily laved
to elicit manly moans
that gotta be worth the move
'cause passion penetrates
pounding, pulsating, rushing,
satisfying sensuality

screams echo
down the shaft
while silken smoothies
steam icicles and succubuses suck
sumptuously, superbly,
supple, working up sweat
in sweltering cribs

throb
till one drops
be free, untied
fettered not as you
thrust torrid torrents
unleash wet, whip strokes
bringing forth volcanic, voluptuous yelps

YELL

hell yes

EXCITEMENT

Father's Day

In Memorium
by GC SMITH

He was a plain spoken man, not a lot of education, very little money, influential only in a limited and immediate but most important way.

He wasn’t a mover and a shaker, he didn’t hold high office, his wasn’t vast power.

He went to work every day, he provided, he came home each evening to wife and children.

His was a wisdom, uncommon wisdom and uncommonly good. He took care of the important things. He was a moral compass. Steadfast honesty, fairness, decency, the hallmarks of his being, were as natural to the man as walking.

I knew him well.
I knew him from the time of my birth.
I knew him until he left this earth three decades ago.

His name was Charlie.
A plain spoken man.

My friend.
My mentor.
My Dad.

No Foreknowledge

INTO THE UNKNOWN
By GC SMITH

Sailors embark to the unknown
lovers do no less

Each is steered by vagaries
of time and place

Chance brings blue skies, calm days,
placid waters

Or dark skies, wicked waves,
roiled depths

Sea changes bring sailors and lovers
to desert isles or safe harbors

All journey starts with the unknown,
yet we wanderers hope

Bad Stuff

Breach of Trust
By GC SMITH

dere a chasm ‘tween bayou folk an’ da bigshots
an’ dat breach run deep as da Gulf waters
where da Horizon rig done blow up

dat Gulf o’ Mexico
be where our livelihood is
wit’ da shrimp, da fish, an’ yeah, wit’ da black gold

da gubmint doan know what to do
da oil company ain’t helpin’ much
da Bayou folk just takin’ it on da chin again

da marsh, she dyin’
da pelican, da egret, da gator
dey all slick wit’ oil

beaucoup glob o’ dat goo
coat da green salt grasses
turn ‘em all ugly dead

containment booms ain’ working so good
flyovers by corporate big shots ain' da answer
da President yellin’ ‘bout ass kickin’ ain’ nuttin’

dey all tawk ‘bout clampin da blowout preventer, ‘bout top kills,
junk shots, concrete boxes, an’ all manner or stuff dat doan work
while dat black gold keeps on spewin’ from a mile down

we ain’ engineers, an’ we ain’ bureaucrats
we plain folk --we fishers, shrimpers, oilmen
we know da waters, da bayous, an’ da marshes

get dem relief wells drilled,
give us da wherewithal dat we need,
den get outta da way --we’ll clean up

America's Backbone

MOUNTAIN FOLK
By GC SMITH

Appalacians

I see them everywhere. In the cities now. On the streets. In the pool rooms, bars, fightin' clubs. In swank hotels. Still back in the Piney woods.

I see them drivin' pick up trucks. Driving BMWs.

Enduring people.

Wearing the Nation's uniforms. Fighting for the Government. Teaching school. Growing pot. Preserving the Nation. Turning wrenches. Drivin' tractors. Laying brick. Mending fences. Writing laws. Healing the halt and lame. Fighting the Government. Swilling shine.

Hardy folks.

Scots-Irish. Red Indians. Mulengeons. Blacks. Folks with religion. Folks without. Folks doing the hard work. Folks sticking to it. Folks living in the hardwood forests. Livin' in the long leaf pine stands. Cookin' corn whiskey. Hardscrabble farming. Strip mining. Building cabins. Cutting furrows. Building roads.

Good folks.

Folks on mountain roads. On white water rapids. On back trails. On ridge backs. In Hollers. In the hills. In Cypress Shacks. Folks caught in snow drifts. Folks hangin' on.

Music makers.

Dolly. Bill Monroe. Vassar Clements. Chet Atkins. Roy Acuff. Carters (Mother Maybelle. June, Helen and Anita. A.P.). Johnny. Emmylou. Jerry Douglas. Allison. Lester Flatt. Nitty Gritties (Hanna-Ibbotson-Fadden-McEuen-Thompson). Doc Watson. Bela Fleck. Merle Travis. John Prine. Randy Scruggs. Ricky Skaggs. Earl Scruggs.

Footstomping, finger tapping multitudes.

Keepers of the circle. Folks playin' dobro tuned guitars. Mandolins. Autoharps. Washboards. Fiddles. Mouth Organs. Upright bass. Folks voices, solo and harmony. Folks clog dancing. Whiskey sippin'. Singing rounds. Dancin' squares. Early day and modern music makers.

Folks insuring enduring circles.

Singing. Amazin' Grace. Just a Closer walk. Life's Railway. Little Mountain Church House. One Step Over the Line. Walkin' Shoes Don't Fit Me. You Don't Know My Mind. Wildwood Flower. Honky Tonk Blues. Grandpa Was a Carpenter. Lost River. Diamond In the Rough. Sunny Side. Fishin' Blues. Earl's Breakdown. Will the Circle be Unbroken?

Appalachia-Appalachians.

America's backbone. America's people. The circle endures, unbroken.

Occidental Haiku

LOUDER!
by GC SMITH

DAMMIT you DUMMY
I Want You to Understand
what the fuck I said

Cowpoke Posey

A COWBOY POEM MUST RHYME THEY SAY
By GC SMITH

Cowboy verse has got to rhyme
Meter just so, intact, in time
So when our cowboy’s tale’s begun
It can be read with verve, what fun

So gather round the flaming fire
Who can claim to be the best liar
Say with verse the deeds been done
By us wild and wooly sons-a-guns

Of thunder booms and lightning flashes
That light the night and sound the crashes
That spook the cattle on the prairie
And make us ride till we are weary

Of holding herd bunched up together
No matter what the kind of weather
Of riding drag in pouring rain
Listenin’ to cattles’ sad refrain

No free verse can tell the tale
Of cowboy’s work out on the trail
Their stories need a rhyming verse
And must be told without a curse

Cause that’s the cowboy way


Calgary
By GC Smith

Calgary
big stampede
drunkin' cowboys
temptin' them wimmen
who fall hard for macho
them guys who can ride the bull
not them guys who just throw the bull
but them guys what master the bucking horse
them are the cowboys gals consider worth bedding

the pretty young gals who bed those macho rodeo guys
stick with their cowboys through both the thick and thin
hold them, love them, nurse all their rodeo hurts
talk good to them when they’re feeling low
pick their cowboys up with sunny smiles
keep them going with their true love
kiss ‘em an’ hold them tight
close to their hearts
Cowboys


Yippee-Yi-Ki-Yay
By GC SMITH

I'm a poet lariat
lassoing maverick words
branding them my own

Poetic form my quarter horse
I’d drive longhorn words
from dusty dictionaries:
I’d bunch ‘em up to strophs
Moving loose word confusion
to a tight trail herd of verse,
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 corral them all with rhyme

I'm a poet lariat
lassoing maverick words
branding them my own

On the road

Going
By GC SMITH

Steel belts hummin’ on a back byway
Getting’ out o’ town, getting’ away
Leavin’ that gal and her snot nose kid
Going, going, -- gone

Old Ranchero full of whiskey dings
Bumper fell off and the lights are askew
But that pick-up’s motor still runs strong
Going, going, -- gone

Ain’t comin’ back, there ain’t no way
Gonna stay out on the asphalt way
Maybe take me down to Mexico
Going, going, -- gone

Honey on the highway her thumb stuck out
I just dunno, she could-might be jail bait
Keep the pedal to the metal, pass her by
Keep on going, going, --gone

Get where I’m going I’ll set a bit
Find me a dark hair gal with a ready smile
Long as she don’t have a snot nose kid
I’ll not be going, I’ll stay a while

Yeah, I’ll stay there while life is good
And there’s ease for me in that neighborhood
But when things change, when life goes sour
I’ll be going, going, -- gone

Changin' direction

Breakin' Loose
By GC SMITH

Wha?

Change my poetry?

Think?

Do sumptin’ different?

Ol’ stuck
in the
lowcountry
ploof mud
GC Smith?

Gotta be kiddin’.

Not write
of estuaries,
of shrimp,
of crabs
of fishin’ poles
an’
of Boston Whalers.

Not write about
blue skies,
hurricanes,
nature’s treachery,
green marsh grasses,
tall pine trees,
mistletoe way up there,
live oaks,
resurrection fern
an’
SC palmettos.

Not write of
of wood storks,
of hawks an’ eagles,
of ibis,
of heron an’ egret
of painted bunting
an’ of
Carolina wren.

Not write
Of Gullah-Geechee ways,
of Frogmore stews,
of Oyster roasts
of Seafood gumbo,
of Savannah red rice
and
of the
laid back life.

Hell no. I can’t
Change.

’cause
I’m mired in
Lowcountry lore
not to mention
quatrains
and
iambic pentameter
and
lettered rhyme schemes
and
all sorts of
crap
like that.

I don’t know
how
to break
the mold;
to do
neato
new stuff
like
free verse
with
jarring enjambment,
loose structure,
whoopsy-daisy
rhyme schemes
or no rhyme at all;
with
all the
accompanying
unfettering
of the
muse
that goes with loose.

I think
it may
be
too much
for
me.

Nope,
I don’t
know how
to break free,
no,no
not me.

but
then again,
maybe
just maybe
I managed
to do
just that.

Cacophony

Kitchen Symphony
By GC SMITH

Wang, clang, bang
whap;
dissonant kitchen sounds

The sous chef
slams
the walk in cooler shut

Clunk!
a waitress kicks
the swinging door

A Chef's knife
clatters,
dicing the trinity

A pot walloper
rattles
encrusted sauté pans

A tray load of dishes
crashes
to the floor

A waiter
shouts
his order

The chef
slams his cleaver
on the cutting board

Diners wait impatiently
oblivious
to kitchen cacophony

I’m fidgeting,
annoyance peaking
as my steak doesn’t appear

Another diner finger drums
his table while awaiting
crème brûlée

We don’t care
what goes on
back there

Twenty percent tips
even fifteen percent tips
won’t be

‘cause we don’t
hear
that kitchen music

Magican's Art

ABRACADABRA
by GC SMITH

I'd wow them
with the magic arts
make a
Rhode Island Red appear
from out of thin air

Hid that damn chicken
'neath my hat
to fool the kids
with
my trickster's act

It might have
worked out better
than it did
i could have skipped
the pooped in hair

But I suppose
a bad hair day
must be the price to pay
for possessing
the magician's art

Wanderlust

Moving
by GC SMITH

Balmy May days
call for moving on,
compass points North

To get from
here to there
eschew the straight and narrow

Chart a route
with slantwise
deviance

A path direct
is designed
for missing things

National Poetry Month is Over

It has been …
By GC SMITH

It has been
the poet's month
where pen has touched on paper
and writ some poems with pregnant strophes
but in the end, one tires of posey, so
now, mayhaps, time has come
to turn our pens
to prose.

Of time and ...

Woo-Hoo
by GC SMITH

It has been fifty years
since my wooing her commenced
and the days since then are all to short
because time that's flown seems only yesterday

Life is ...

The Water
by GC SMITH

Three hundred and seventy feet of walkway takes me to the peirhead and the ramp to the floating dock where my Whaler 21 bobs in the brine. I toss the cooler in the boat and crank the engine. Today it's spot tail bass tailing in the flats. Another day sea trout, or flounder, or wahoo, even grouper and marlin if one goes all the way out to the stream. Tossing the cast net can bring a bucket load of shrimp for the table. Or it could-might be baiting crab pots, waiting, then pulling blue crabs for the steamer. It's my daily Lowcountry way of life, always capped, of course, with a cold one or three.

sequenced syllables

No Fib For True *
By GC SMITH

You,
Me
No one else
Make life that’s complete
One that's lived up to its hilt
So that we leave this world more complete than coming in
Surely the way for me, for you, to live life through and through, life fulfilled, for me, for you

Now this may sound corny , a life that cannot be lived, a life that’s imagined, a life not true
So one might think but you know I’ve lived there, for many years
It’s my life, it’s our life, it’s love
Two souls intertwined
Tied together
Me
You




* sequenced syllables

1 1 3 5 8 13 21 21 13 8 5 3 1 1

Mythos

Monstrous Beast
By GC SMITH

Fire breathing bitch
part lion
part snake
part Nannie goat

She’ll do you in
or at least
take a chunk
of your hide

So don’t try
passing her portal
without your
lead tipped lance

‘cause she,
Chimera,
lies in deadly wait
for menfolk

You may think
that she's not real
that she never appears
but that would be more fool you

Take an empty canvas

Still Life With Whipped Cream
By GC SMITH

Three scoops
vanilla
chocolate
strawberry

Add a sliced
banana
drizzle with
fudge syrup

Top with
mounds of
whipped cream
maraschino cherries

A work of art
comestible
ingestible
delightful

Paint the picture
fast
this still life won’t
last

NPM #12

Pig Pome
by GC SMITH

If you're a Southern boy
or a Southern gal
the whole hog
pit cooked
all night long
for that succulent meat
and charred cracklins
is the fav meal

Gotta serve the pig with
hot sauce, hash and slaw,
tater salad,
sliced 'maters
roasted corn,
hush puppies
an' a coupla
col' ones

Umm, uhh!
there ain't
anything like
a pig in the ground
with the trimmins
Ummm, uhh!
all night long
for that succulent meat
and charred cracklins
is the fav meal

NPR #4

Chocolate
by GC SMITH

Yum! Creamy,
viscous, silky
chocolate
satisfactory
fills olfactory
breaths
not to mention
tastebuds

Kiddees smeared
with the stuff
Easter frocks
in ruin
but so what
CHOCOLATE,
more than worth it

Biting bunnies
once a year
brings on
joy
not tears,
unless
you might be
that chocolate
Bunny

Happy Easter

One a Day for National Poetry Month (#3)

Cutting Grass
By GC SMITH

She's a 52/40 Kuboto
with a
fourteen foot batwing
on the
three point hitch

I got a hat
with
that tractor
to keep my bean
from burning

It's kinda
fun
dragging that mower
through
150 acres of turf

The once abandoned
golf course
negelected
weed infested
is looking good again

I have
a lawn service
at our home
my wife, MiMi, asks
"what's wrong with this picture?"

Bar Napkin Posey

Left Poem
By GC SMITH

A poem left upon a table
the table in a smoky corner
the bartender found it with a tip;
hmm, introducing her to that guy paid off

The poem waxed most eloquently
on the lady’s scintillating conversation,
her pulchritude, laughter, joy de vivre
and to where this fortunate night might lead

The bartender wondered for a short while
one night stand or perhaps more
then shrugged, wiped the table,
and pocketed the tip

April is the Cruelest Month
by GC SMITH

My uncle
is the reason
yeah, the one
we all call
Sam

Yes, In April
he digs into
my pocket
to get
whatever
cash he can

I guess
I should feel
fortunate
that he
loots my luchre
but
once a year

We all have one.

There's Family
by GC SMITH

Well, there is,
Family of Man
and then there's
yours, mine

There are the ones
born to us
and ones we adopted
ones we love and ...

Good
Bad
family
is

We can't
pick them all
but we can pick some
we can love 'em or not

Whatever,
family is unavoidable
so, live, love if you can
or don't

Littoral Zone

Eyeballin'
by GC SMITH

Beach Bum
havin' fun
checking out
the honeys

Almost sin
bitty bikinis
cover little
bronzed skin

Hot damn
looka her
struttin' stuff
whoo-hoo

There's
her sister
wowee Mister
hottest one

Sweeties jiggle
as they reach
to slap vollyballs
toward the net

Nothing beats
summer's pretties
clutterin'
beach sands

Geezer poem

Sonnet for An Old Goat
By GC SMITH

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

New Grandson, Liam

On the way from China to America. He'll be here at midnight on Saturday.

The Beat Goes On

You burn me
by GC Smith

You burn me,
mother-fucker,
always pushing
your
credo
sans
credibility

It all
amounts
to nothing
but pap
that
you want me
to
swallow whole.

No way,
I'm not
listening to
cacophony
that spews
from your lips
like putrid
effluvium
coursing
though an open ditch

No,
no way
I'm
not hearing
your shit,
because
the simple
fact
of the matter
is
you burn me.

So, fuck off.

Lassoing Wordies

Yippee-Yi-Ki-Yay
By GC SMITH

I'm a poet lariat
lassoing maverick words
branding them my own

Poetic form my quarter horse
I’d drive longhorn words
from dusty dictionaries:
I’d bunch ‘em up to strophs
Moving loose word confusion
to a tight trail herd of verse,
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 corral them all with rhyme

I'm a poet lariat
lassoing maverick words
branding them my own

T Geisel's B-day

“HOP ON POP”
by Gerard C. Smith

Come "Hop on Pop," my Lisa said
And hop of course is what she did
Her brother joined in with a jump
On Poppa’s tum he went crash-bump
Lisa hopped and hopped some more
She knocked poor Poppa to the floor
Both kids did bounce, each up and down
Poor Pop was trounced and he did frown
Now he hates that bastard T. Geisel
And hopes the rotter roasts in hell

There ain't no

Devils and …
By GC SMITH

Priests andpreachers
claim to know
what I should do
which row to hoe

They use a book
written by men
to claim knowledge
of a divine will

They describe Gods
shout about Devils
preach fire and brimstone
and pearly gates

Why claim faith
when there is no reason
when Priests and Preachers
may be the Devils

Life is mystery
unfathomable
ginned up answers
don't illuminate

What I don't know
won't hurt me
what might hurt
is that thing called faith

Now I don't say
there are no good rules
but don't tell me
they're not our own

Gods, Devils
Bugaboos, Hoodoos
believe if you wish
but don’t include me

Live your life
I’ll live mine
pray or don’t
to each his own

I don’t remember
before I was
I won’t remember
being gone

Un-imortal words

Rejected
by GC SMITH

Them bastards
doesn't like it;
they said no to my posey;
lousy, stinkin' sumbitches

I doan know why
they won't pub it;
they'll be sorry when
I'm the famous poet lariat

Teeth Chatterin'

Shiverin’
By GC SMITH

It’s cold
down here
in semi-tropical
coastal South Carolina

There’s frost
on the roof
and a heat pump
that’s struggling

There's ice coating
salt marsh grasses
a phenomona never
seen before

I don’t own
a down filled parka
an ear flap hat
or insulated boots

Like a dog
trying to shit
a peach pit
I’m shiverin’

Meanwhile
know-it-all
politicians prattle
about global warming

Seems to me
penguins will survive
glaciers will grow again
global life will go on

Of course
my conclusion
depends first upon
not freezing to death

It's comin' up

Saint Valentine’s Ain’t The Day
By GC SMITH

I don’t show up
on Saint Valentine’s day
with ‘merican beauty roses
beaucoup Belgian chocolates
ribeye steaks or lobster tails
nor those shiny baubles ladies love

Nope, I save all those
for three days later
anniversary of the day in ’62
when we tied the knot;
the first day of the best days
of our star touched lives

Year forty-eight
comes up on Wednesday
(fifty that we’ve been together)
time flashed by so quickly
damn, it seems like yesterday
but we’re still looking for tomorrow

WOO-HOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DA CAJUN LIFE

Da Cajun life is hard work and hard play. Getting’ down to it dat’s da way. Knowin’ da time time o’ day. Sunup hours fo’ da’ toilin’. Sundown hours fo’ da dancin’ an’ kickin' back. ‘course one doan need no sundown on da weekend. Den’ it’s all play all day.

FAIS DOO-DOO

Las’ nite we had da fais doo-doo down to Dupree’s place on da Bayou. Whole town turn out fo’ fried sac-o-lait treat, wit alla da fixin’s. Dirty rice. Shrimp etoufee, Boil mudbugs. Slaw. Hush pups. ‘course we wash it all down wit’ beaucoup col’ ones. We had us a time.

DA SUPA BOWL

Now it’s Saddaday an’ we fixin’ fo’ tomorrow’s Supa Bowl. Tonite we’ll put a pig in da groun’, slow cook it all night, an’ finish tomorrow.

Da whole town gather fo Supa Bowl sunday to watch dem Sains come marchin’ in. Dey done it fo’ sure. Not only dat dey beat da line.

Dat’s what I say, me.

Da Supa Bowl

Where Lies Loyalty
By GC SMITH

Ten years captaining
the N’Awlins saints
and now second son
Peyton, who beat
the Bears
in Super Bowl XLI
leads the Colts
against the Big Easy

And then there’s Eli
the youngest son;
Archie has to wonder
why the kid who downed
the Patriots
in Super Bowl XLII
ain’t going up against
big brother, Peyton

Archie
must be
scratchin’
his head,
perplexed,
wonderin’
where lies
loyalty

Worldview

Sometimes I See Amazing
Things that Make Me Cry
by GC SMITH

Sometimes I see amazing
things that make me cry
the last piece of apple pie
when my adult son gets it

Sometimes I see amazing
things that make me cry
the azure Carolina sky
turned nasty pewter gray

Sometimes I see amazing
things that make me cry
whimpering puppy in the pound
with no child to take it home

Sometimes I see amazing
things that make me cry
macho men spewing vitriol
because they fear change

Sometimes I see amazing
things that male me cry
a newborn child’s smile
a new mother’s ecstasy

Sometimes I see amazing
things that make me cry
often tears shed in sadness
yet other times tears of joy

Tummy Pleasin'

Repast At Last
by GC SMITH

Aperitif

C’est magnificent
deserving of a kiss
green Flamingo flambé

Entrée

light broiled, ‘shroom framed,
basketed squirrel served so rare
as to still twitch and scurry

Dessert

A trois mélange
meringued armidillo toes, silk worm sake, hemlock tea
to salve the last gourmand impulse

Brrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Shiverin’
By GC SMITH

It’s cold
down here
in semi-tropical
coastal South Carolina

There’s frost
on the roof
and a heat pump
that’s struggling

There's ice coating
salt marsh grasses
a phenomona never
seen before

I don’t own
a down filled parka
an ear flap hat
or insulated boots

Like a dog
trying to shit
a peach pit
I’m shiverin’

Meanwhile
know-it-all
politicians prattle
about global warming

Seems to me
penguins will survive
glaciers will grow again
global life will go on

Of course
my conclusion
depends first upon
not freezing to death

There are good people

The E.R. Tech (CNF)
By GC SMITH

The guy treated me with kid gloves, gently swabbing the gash on my forehead, staunching the blood flow. “We’ll get a Doctor in here in a minute.”

“Stitches,” I asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t say. The Doctor will have to decide that. He’ll get back here in a minute. I expect he’ll send you for a CAT scan. That's a nasty clout on the head.” He continued to swab blood, his ministrations surprisingly gentle. Finally he said, "I have to get to other patients. Here , press this against the wound." He handed me a thick gauze pad.

The Doctor’s “in a minute” stretched out and the E.R. tech looked in on me from time to time, checking to ensure I was no longer bleeding. Exchanging pleasantries.

In all I spent nearly five hours in the hospital and walked out with assurance that my skull wasn’t fractured and with seven stitches in my forehead. I was lucky, the twenty pound hunk of wood that fell from several feet above my head could have caused real damage. As it was I didn’t even have a headache.

While the Doctor was suturing I commented that the emergency tech who cleaned my wound was a helluva nice guy and competent. The Doc laughed. "Oh, Dudley, he’s a retired CFO and VP from Phizer International. He got bored doing nothing and decided to get back in the medical business, this time “hands on” he says. He’s the best E.R. tech this hospital has ever seen. Doesn't care if the emergency is a minor one like yours or mangled victims from a car wreck. Everyone he touches gets first rate treatment. We need a hundred Dudleys."

Wow, what an endorsement! The world would a much better place with a few more Dudleys.