Of December

You start, for me, with curved red ribbon and candles

and darkness- a cold, bitter night, made

sweeter with life

holding on.

 

You end with champagne and hats, horns and music,

sometimes, fireworks-

and if we’re premature,

a kiss.

 

In between, it’s expectation and the delight of a

perfectly chosen gift- the taste, the

sound, the smell of blessings,

even small.

 

The magic of the northern lights and snow (for me),

trees and children with questions

I have patience

to answer.

 

The poor eating a few more meals and travelers

taken in more easily, gladly maybe,

the precedent heavily

in mind.

 

Yours is the crispness of life, different and quiet

but still there- awaiting the notice of

a passing eye simply, the

sly patience

of truth.

~DGS

Bully

I knew it when I saw it
-I always do.
Especially when it’s waved
in front of my face.
Flaunted and taunting.

I hit it. Like on TV.
I yelled inside “Ha!”
When it went down,
Shaking, trembling,
though I hit with words.

But next time I hit
It will be better.
I hear the words, firing me up
to go beyond them,
to hurt more than hearts.

I feel my body tense,
Muscles knowing more
How to put it in it’s place
Than words ever can.
I believe my story about it.

It goes down because it has to.
It has to because if it doesn’t,
It will be me, a person.
And that won’t happen
When I can steal power.

~D Gregory Smith

September

The first September morning wakes,
difference apparent in its face.
The lines for the first time
seen around eyes and mouth.

The reaction measured by the
clinging desperation,
sighing resignation
or joyful celebration
of life in those lines.

~D Gregory Smith

Glass

The world is changed
by looking out your window
with wonder,

and next
by stepping out your
door with delight-

transfixed with mystery
and held, enraptured,
by the constancy

that holds you here.
It is changed by
the honest loving of it

without need or judgment.
To choose the eyes
to see with today-

kind or unkind,
gentle or angry or bitter
or even thoughtless?

What is there to see, really-
what choices reflected
in the panes that hold the view?

~D Gregory Smith

Proud

I hold my head up, barely-
with parades in it, it’s heavy.
I look at the world and know
that they’re all looking at me.
They are.
I’m important.
I have to be or there wouldn’t
be such a beautiful fucking parade,
Right?

At least today they’re looking.
They can’t really ignore the music
and the sweat, and the skin and the feathers.

Some bring their kids,
I automatically make way for strollers.
I notice lots of dogs, some very fancy.
I get tangled, briefly, in a sparkly leash
when a bulldog in a tutu
takes a turn for  a terrier.

There are beautiful, beautiful people.
Beauty, I know, a distraction from pain.
Smile, it’s your day!
They smile, on cue-
they really want to mean it.
There are old people- at least fortysomething.
It’s funny, they smile anyway.

Some stand back,
not really there, but they have to be.

And some, I know, are quietly holding
a heavy excuse to beat me with
(they practice on themselves, like I did).
But not today,
They’re outnumbered.

Is blue the sky, or the other way round?
Today, it doesn’t matter.
My eyes are clear
my back is straight,
my neck getting stronger
with every passing feathery float.

~ D Gregory Smith

Friend

Who do you find me to be?
Or, maybe I already understand the answer
without the questioning eyes you try
to love me with (bad sentence, are you judging?).

Where do I go for the truth?
Or, maybe you have found that place I know
to hide in when the Nazis threaten to take
my family,or, -did I do that again? Do you care?

What I know is this:
Your, mine- and maybe we can say our-
Vision catches the sparkle at exactly the
Same time and it’s done exactly right, right?

It happens regardless of grammar and syntax.
It just does. And maybe we can’t help
but grab at water and look for air
Despite knowing, but still wanting

To hold, to touch, to see, to taste
Not only with my senses but yours.
Because it’s fun and scary and senseless, maybe,
And that’s the only thing that works. Right?

~D Gregory Smith

Autonomic

Eden, dead.
Utopia, a dream.
Moment by moment
The slip into the future-
The banana peel of the now
Sends us landing on the butt of a cosmic joke.
This one, like all jokes,
Hiding truth in its funny sleeves.

There is no future.
This is the hidden truth.
The truth that is deflected-
Dismissed as evil,
As hopeless,
As ridiculous,
Godless,
Pathetic.
All lies.

There is no future.
It is sleight of hand.
It is the distraction
From this moment,
This breath
Which is absolute Truth.
And the future would have you miss it,
Damned to what never comes.
Never.

And working to make us miss
what will never come again,
The promise of the future leans seductively
In the doorway to nowhere-
Beckoning,
Hypnotizing,
Handsome and pretty and empty.
Watching lustily as we step closer.
Preciousness wasted,
Drop by drop,
Breath by unconscious breath,
Behind us.

~D Gregory Smith