Poetry, prose, and other stuff meant for the reader's enjoyment. Web page at: Click here. My novels are White Lightning, The Carbon Steel Caress, In Good Faith, and Mudbug Tales; A Novel in Flashes, wit' recipes. My poetry book is A Southern Boy's Meanderings. CLICKY My webpage:
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Rednecks and Hardcases
Sale: $1.99. Last chance today.
www.amazon.com/Rednecks-Hardcases-Stories-GC-Smith-ebook/dp/B00VCC3ZI4/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1441718325&sr=1-4
www.amazon.com/Rednecks-Hardcases-Stories-GC-Smith-ebook/dp/B00VCC3ZI4/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1441718325&sr=1-4
Monday, July 20, 2015
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
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
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
BOOM!!!!!!!!!
| |
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Tuesday, June 23, 2015
At Zoetrope: The Day the Poetry Died
Monday, June 15, 2015
Live it!
It's A Hungry Life
By GC
Life can be a rib eye steak,
bloody red and waiting
to be devoured by a
gluttonous world
Life can be a petit four,
pink and white, sugar coated,
ever ready to assuage
a hungry world
Life can be a Hershey kiss,
brightly wrapped in foil,
waiting to be tasted
to be savored
Life can be moonshine whiskey,
distilled through an old auto radiator;
fiery raw and poisonous,
tearing guts, blinding us.
Life can be a jug
of heavy cream
to sooth the wild beasts
who roam our worlds
That's life, the good and the bad of it,
the smooth and the rough of it,
the tranquil and the wild of it;
life, she's a funny old possum
By GC
Life can be a rib eye steak,
bloody red and waiting
to be devoured by a
gluttonous world
Life can be a petit four,
pink and white, sugar coated,
ever ready to assuage
a hungry world
Life can be a Hershey kiss,
brightly wrapped in foil,
waiting to be tasted
to be savored
Life can be moonshine whiskey,
distilled through an old auto radiator;
fiery raw and poisonous,
tearing guts, blinding us.
Life can be a jug
of heavy cream
to sooth the wild beasts
who roam our worlds
That's life, the good and the bad of it,
the smooth and the rough of it,
the tranquil and the wild of it;
life, she's a funny old possum
Sunday, June 14, 2015
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Lazy Daze
By GC
I should
have
done it
yesterday
but tomorrow
is
an other day
so
here in the
hammock
is where
I'll stay
today
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Some History
Anthracite
by GC
Deep beneath Pennsylvania mountains
the precious black gold of the last century
was found in in wide veins that run horizontally
interconnected by tunnels reached by rickety man lifts.
Back then, sinewy men with hammers and chisels
cut the hard coal from Mother earth's tenacious grip
their kith and kin worried about the inevitable cave in
while fat cat owners sat safe in plush offices, gentlemen's clubs, and mansions.
by GC
Deep beneath Pennsylvania mountains
the precious black gold of the last century
was found in in wide veins that run horizontally
interconnected by tunnels reached by rickety man lifts.
Back then, sinewy men with hammers and chisels
cut the hard coal from Mother earth's tenacious grip
their kith and kin worried about the inevitable cave in
while fat cat owners sat safe in plush offices, gentlemen's clubs, and mansions.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
They cannot.
Who?
By GC
Who would save the world?
zealots who have all answers?
Those who insist on censorship
while exclaiming love of freedom?
Purveyors of political correctness
squelchers of the right to divergent opinion?
The know-it-alls who brook no dissent
while cramming ideology down out ignorant throats?
The self righteous flag waving, cross bearing keepers
of all that they consider inviolable while violating you and
me?
Who would save the world?
the know-nothings who believe that they know all?
And if they save the world
it will not be fit place for human habitat.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Low Hanging
Billie Sang Of "Strange" Fruit
By GC
There’s a moss draped century oak
near the old cypress episcopal church
gnarled branches reach to the ground
Resurrection fern covers the branches
and looks like a weed that had died
but it greens with the coming of rain
The oak’s history is bloodied
by the white folk who worship
while selling their souls every day
The oak’s story is not over
there’s still much to be written
and time will tell what that will be
There may be atonement
under the old oak’s branches
or time might go on as it has yesterday
By GC
There’s a moss draped century oak
near the old cypress episcopal church
gnarled branches reach to the ground
Resurrection fern covers the branches
and looks like a weed that had died
but it greens with the coming of rain
The oak’s history is bloodied
by the white folk who worship
while selling their souls every day
The oak’s story is not over
there’s still much to be written
and time will tell what that will be
There may be atonement
under the old oak’s branches
or time might go on as it has yesterday
Monday, February 23, 2015
It lurks
By GC
DARK MATTER
buried deep
in atavistic souls,
utterly evil
Our vilest nature,
cloaked with smiles,
lies unseen,
hidden
Dark matter
behind bonhomie
still lurks,
in shadow
Modern sensibilities
disguise our darkest natures
that beneath lie unchanged,
unchangable
Dark matter,
was there, is there
always shall be there,
waiting
Would that
we had evolved
to a higher plane
of being
Dark matter,
our corpus,
corrupts our souls,
sources our maddest delusions
We can only
captulate
learn to live with
that essential truth
DARK MATTER
Friday, February 20, 2015
Of Time
Time's Flyin'
Maybe it's good we
pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a youth of muscle,
flat bellies, single chins, and woodies;
all things that now are buried in the past.
Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a time with clear skin
firm bottoms, perky breasts, and moisture;
all things that now are better off forgotten.
Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause the march of time reminds us
of glory days that are gone forever;
a past lived large and wished for again,
but, alas, a past not to be repeated.
Maybe it's good we pass away,
when old friends leave everyday,
so that those who stay behind
don't have much that's left to say,
and besides, who would listen?
Maybe it's good we pass away,
younger folk now hold sway,
but dammit, I'll stick around a while,
regaling them with old and boring tales,
keeping center stage to piss 'em off
A old and stubborn cuss is me,
though time and tide wont wait,
I'll hold on to see what I can see,
and have fun with my September years,
laughing loudly as my time winds down.
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a youth of muscle,
flat bellies, single chins, and woodies;
all things that now are buried in the past.
Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a time with clear skin
firm bottoms, perky breasts, and moisture;
all things that now are better off forgotten.
Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause the march of time reminds us
of glory days that are gone forever;
a past lived large and wished for again,
but, alas, a past not to be repeated.
Maybe it's good we pass away,
when old friends leave everyday,
so that those who stay behind
don't have much that's left to say,
and besides, who would listen?
Maybe it's good we pass away,
younger folk now hold sway,
but dammit, I'll stick around a while,
regaling them with old and boring tales,
keeping center stage to piss 'em off
A old and stubborn cuss is me,
though time and tide wont wait,
I'll hold on to see what I can see,
and have fun with my September years,
laughing loudly as my time winds down.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Duh!
Head Scratching
by GC
Well Bub,
bubette:
I'd tell
you
what it is
that I
forgot
if only
I could
remember
It seemed
important
once
but that was
before
the fog
set in
Scream
all you wnt
It'll
do no
good
because it's
gone
Dissolved,
floated off
by GC
Well Bub,
bubette:
I'd tell
you
what it is
that I
forgot
if only
I could
remember
It seemed
important
once
but that was
before
the fog
set in
Scream
all you wnt
It'll
do no
good
because it's
gone
Dissolved,
floated off
in
the ether
never to
return;
so
the ether
never to
return;
so
neither
you nor I
will
ever know
what
it might have
been
you nor I
will
ever know
what
it might have
been
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Musing
A-muse-ing Pals
by GC. Smith
I am surrounded with my pals
They help me think to write
They silently encourage me
And help me find the words
First is my Teddy bear
With lotsa soft brown hair
And a great big pink tongue
With which to lick the honey
Then there’s Spike, my doggy
Spotted black and white
You better treat him nice
Or he will bite your ass
Then there is my gargoyle
Who sits atop my desk
Watches carefully over me
My humpback friend for sure
My raven he is made of tin
But I know he’s alive
That raven does inspire
Amusing muse is he
They are all my good pals
Who help me when I write
And if I didn’t have them
It would be a sadder life
When I finish with writing
I go and whirl in the tub
With yellow rubber ducky
Who’s been with me forever
by GC. Smith
I am surrounded with my pals
They help me think to write
They silently encourage me
And help me find the words
First is my Teddy bear
With lotsa soft brown hair
And a great big pink tongue
With which to lick the honey
Then there’s Spike, my doggy
Spotted black and white
You better treat him nice
Or he will bite your ass
Then there is my gargoyle
Who sits atop my desk
Watches carefully over me
My humpback friend for sure
My raven he is made of tin
But I know he’s alive
That raven does inspire
Amusing muse is he
They are all my good pals
Who help me when I write
And if I didn’t have them
It would be a sadder life
When I finish with writing
I go and whirl in the tub
With yellow rubber ducky
Who’s been with me forever
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Consumed
The Fire
By GC
"Caliente ...ohhhhh...laaaaa..."
Our fires burn.
consuming,
and she is hot
my summer gal,
au natural
Wantin' all,
but she cannot know
if my flame is more than show
if I might or might not stay long with her
enamoured with her fevered emanation
Then, chill comes on
with winter moon
harsh winds
freeze and forstall
the consummation
and the knowing
Wind chills out
all of summer’s fire
banking flames;
there becomes hiatus of touch
til chill is done
Starved now for warmth,
immobile, near death,
when suddenly
daffodil poke up
their yellow blossoms cheering
telling what will come
teasing,
playing,
summoning
our lost touches
know now that she is hot
and reincarnate
her fingers now caress
my enflamed skin,
oh joy,
summer's come again
--it's time for fun
and sin
Afire
we are consumed
...ohhhhh...laaaaa..."
By GC
"Caliente ...ohhhhh...laaaaa..."
Our fires burn.
consuming,
and she is hot
my summer gal,
au natural
Wantin' all,
but she cannot know
if my flame is more than show
if I might or might not stay long with her
enamoured with her fevered emanation
Then, chill comes on
with winter moon
harsh winds
freeze and forstall
the consummation
and the knowing
Wind chills out
all of summer’s fire
banking flames;
there becomes hiatus of touch
til chill is done
Starved now for warmth,
immobile, near death,
when suddenly
daffodil poke up
their yellow blossoms cheering
telling what will come
teasing,
playing,
summoning
our lost touches
know now that she is hot
and reincarnate
her fingers now caress
my enflamed skin,
oh joy,
summer's come again
--it's time for fun
and sin
Afire
we are consumed
...ohhhhh...laaaaa..."
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Been here; been there
A Sagittarian
By GC Smith
I've been round and round;
had many ups and downs.
Still, life's been
my pleasure ground;
so I think
I'll stick around.
Cause I'm hooked.
Life. And all of its good things.
Like?
o My lover, MiMi. We go back to 1962. And, she's my best friend too.
o Our kids. Jerry and Lisa. Both married, one living in Maryland; the other living in California. They're each good friends of mine.
o Grand children: Emmett 8, Liam 7. Two fine boys.
0 The South Carolina Lowcountry where I live. Boating in the vast estuarine system. Fishing, shrimping, crabbing.
o Waking up every morning. Looking out the window at sunup and the tides at various stages in the estuarine marshlands.
o Alligators. And deer and fox and otter and mink and bunnies. Even the squirrels
o Birds. The big blue herons and great white egrets and the storks. Diving pelicans. Ducks of all sorts. Ospreys, hawks, and eagles. Little Carolina wrens (I petted one once) and painted buntings. All sorts of birds.
o My old, dinged pickup truck with its tape deck and Willie and Waylon and the Boys.
o Fine guitar music. Les Paul, Chet Atkins, Willie, Andre Segovia.
o Blues. John Lee and B.B.
o Johnny Winter, the Texas tornado. "I'm a road runner baby, an' you can't keep up with me."
o My tools. Both automotive and woodworking.
o Roast beef and potatoes, with gravy.
o Chili dogs.
o Huevos Rancheros, beans with chili gravy, flour tortillas; washed down with steaming coffee laced with great gouts of heavy cream.
o All sorts of other comestibles.
o My friends. Some leathernecks. Some rednecks. Some pretty ladies with jewels draped from their lovely necks.
o My golf clubs. Too bad I don't know how to swing them well. But, there's too much else going on in life so I'm content as a hacker.
o Zoetrope and the wonderful writers there, whose work and words I enjoy.
o Writing.
o The library down town. Good books.
o My bookshelves.
o The four Novels I've written, my book of poetry.
o All sorts of other stuff.
Born: 12/17/38
Not Dead Yet
I'm runnin' up on seventy-seven. I'm hooked on life. Havin' a hell of a time. Maybe it's because I'm a lucky man. Maybe it's because I'm a Sagittarian. Maybe just because I get to shoot the arrow.
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