Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Smoke Signals by Jedediah Smith
A field of Turkey is on fire
cupped in the palm of my hand.
My briar pipe with birdseye
woodgrain burns without burning,
latakia sends slow scented curls
and clouds around my head
as I write, shutting me
from your view, allowing
me to make magic words
in a fine and private place.
I'm a shaman - watch my smoke.
Jedediah Smith teaches literature, mythology, and whatever he can get away with at City College of San Francisco. His poetry has been published in California Quarterly, Ekphrastic Review, Mojave River Review, and The American Journal of Poetry. He also edited Parlando: Collected Poems of Ray Clark Dickson.
Hate Anger Flowing Thru Words Veins Expelled Thru Poems Voices Somewhere There Must Still be Beauty Left Look For it R.M. Engelhardt i...
Today I woke up & wanted to bash someone’s head in I mean, I really really wanted to do it so bad I could feel my forearm...
A brand new love affair is such a beautiful thing.. . With hair the color & texture of grackle feathers the woman at the table beside mi...
As my dog lay dying, I didn’t turn away from him, even though his insides hung outside, and my father’s hands pulled desperately on my wr...