MORNING MARKET

MORNING MARKET

The red birds singing
On the warm electric wires
Above the morning market.
Old women lining up guitars
And ancient paintings of
Wheelbarrows and presidents.
Quiet Navahos with razor gift sets and heavy grey blankets.
Sodium-arc lights catching
The pre-dawn fever and clicking off.
Bugs buzz to life
While flowers wilt and sink
Into the imported
Cranberry-colored soil.
The rolling hulks of Americana
Crunching the sharp gravel.
These morning noises
Like miniature death roses
Cause the redbirds to take flight

Taken from my 2008 book CONFESSIONS OF A CONCRETE CUTOUT.

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 04/26/13

This future...

This future...
it seems like a crazily tied thin charteuse bow just waiting to be 
tugged and unraveled. 
Age and hot wind are it's adversaries

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 04-22-13

SPEAKING OF ROSE PETALS

SPEAKING OF ROSE PETALS

Once I was walking after a funeral. 
It was over and we were headed to the cemetary.
It hadn't rained in our arid New Mexico town in nine months.
... We came out of the church and were shocked to see it had rained..a lot.
... We never even heard the thunder because of the sad music and crying.
Sometimes sad music and crying makes you miss what you were looking for.
So I forewent the offer for a ride and walked.
As I was walking down the street I noticed a little river of water
Running next to the concrete curb.
It was carrying little bits of trash and small sticks.
But the thing I noticed was a rose petal.
VIBRANTLY red against the gray slate of the brackish water and rock.
The air was so clear that I felt like I could SMELL the red freshness of it.
I tried to match my gait against the rose petals drifting speed.
Sometimes it would slow in a temporary eddy
Other times it'd find a clear path and really pick up tempo.
I still remember seeing a round water drop upon it.
After about a mile and a half I could see the cemetary.
It was just a block away.
Dozens of people in black were mired in morning mourning.
Mere feet before I came to the entrance gate
The petal zipped right quickly
Made a deft pirouette and disappeared down the gutter.
As I walked up I heard my mother's voice,
"Where were you?"
They lowered her into the wet ground moments later

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 03-21-13

BLACK AUGUST

BLACK AUGUST

It seems like August always winks out at just the wrong time
Birds and dreams splashing the slate clean with impunity
Every third August we're tricked
Into thinking we'll be combed with grace
But, the sun hits your face
and makes you think of sleek dances on dark Harlem streets
And you'll smile just long enought to make it feel right.

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 03-07-13

100 PAPER ELEPHANTS

100 PAPER ELEPHANTS -- c. smead

A certain memory I have from about 15 years ago.
So It must have been around '97 or so.
A few friends and I decided to trip on some acid.
... After a couple of hours at the apartment we decided
To take a drive out to some ancient river in southern New Mexico.
Just a few miles away.
The soundtrack to this crazy escapade
Was Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.
We had the songs blaring and just "understood it so well".

We walked around the riverbank.
Tossing rocks into the water...
Changing their existence forever.
The sun blazed and the clouds couldn't care less
As clouds are known to do.
(you ever notice that?)
The air was so dry.
This was summer.

We each passing hour we sank further into this crazy dream.
I don't remember a LOT of details, but one thing I do remember
Is getting separated from the group.
A couple of hours later they found me.
Sitting with my back to a tree trunk
Next to a dead deer.
Talking to it about the Beatles

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 03-07-13

BYE SUMMER

BYE SUMMER

What did I do to lose what I've lost?
This screaming won't bring anything back
Or change fire to gold
I'll smash my face
Where the puddles break
My lies are blackened stitch
On Army Green
Ancient tumbles down city park hills
With music blasting
On my cheap portable tape player
The lyrics ripped away
By the zephyr
But, I'll always remember
The lick and scratch of that grass
Stiffened by late summer heat
And sublime depravity.

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 02-28-13

MY LAST WINTER COAT

MY LAST WINTER COAT

Dust clouds the glazed glass of the beachside shack.
The impaled wooden supports no longer stout.
Now their painted flecks dot the damp sand.
Random waves pull them oceanward to glitter the resident fish.
Where there once were paintings upon the slate wall now rests an ancient surfboard.
It's bronze-colored leash beats a slow tap in the April night wind.
Effete bees do a slow crawl across it's splintered ridge, troubled by nothing.
I sit on the porch and send lit matches into the dark California rain as the moon completes its dark trek.

--Cecil Smead

One of the poems from my latest book of published poetry. The book is called Always A Playground Instructor; Never A Killer.

Posted on 02-23-13

JELLYFISH

JELLYFISH

Recently we visited an aquarium. The sign said:

Jellyfish are some of the
Oldest creatures in the world.
Origins of their species date
Back 250,000,000 years.
They have no heart.
They have no spine.
They have no blood.

Maybe it's better not to have them.

-cecil
Also from my latest book.

Written by Cecil Smead
Posted on 02-23-13