Obituary   Henry J.  Joey  Smith Jr. of Meredosia, Illinois   Buchanan   Cody Funeral Home

most of the anger went out of my heart years ago. my kids did that for me… their unconditional love and coming to understand what it is to be a parent. knowing what a gift that is, i could only feel sadness for you.

you told me once, maybe twice, in a drunken ‘i love you, man’ speech about how you were doing me a favor–staying away. and i let you have your cop-out, because what the fuck am i supposed to say to that? your buddies when they get a chance love to tell me how you are. a handful of stories that i’ve heard a million times. none of which suggested you didn’t have any balls. jumped off the bridge, fought everyone in town, set the truck on fire, almost drowned each of your kids teaching them to water-ski… except for me. i don’t have these stories. you didn’t teach me to play the comb or shoot pool. at best, i got my love of roger miller from you.. my love of the jeep and my praise of the open road. we probably shared these things and much more. i just wouldn’t know it. it seems you knew well how to live in the moment with what life brought to you. i can appreciate that. it must be ingrained in the Smith blood and I thank you for it.

still, there is so much more, isn’t there? who you are can be boiled down not to what you enjoy in life, but what you’re willing to sacrifice for. when you’re looking at a person or a situation and you know.. you know it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker and still you say bring it on, bitches. let’s feel the pain. push yourself harder, be better. expect more than should be expected and fail bigger than should be survived and get right back going again.

however long i have left in this life, i’ll be hearing about the various issues i’ve caused my children. knowing me and my ways, yes–there will be plenty. i’ll take it though. i have grit all day long for that. because, i tell ya what.. i see what kind of people they are and i’m proud. prouder than anything, ever. they are because of me and despite me. that’s just how it goes and i’m sorry that you didn’t quite get that. the family tells me that your last bit of time was difficult and i’m happy you are no longer suffering. i’m only sorry i didn’t get to say goodbye..maybe i’ll catch you in the next life..maybe you’ll have bigger balls or i’ll be less scary, who knows. you would laugh right there. that horrendous laugh of yours. and it would make me smile, despite myself. this is how i’ll remember you. roger miller. pool table in the basement. beer in hand. singing, laughing …like this is the only moment, ever, worth being in.

well, there ya go


Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days is now out from PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS only $15 plus shipping

signed copies will be sent out December 1st. want one? order here, yo. 20 bucks, all told.

paypal it at this link #woot

nothing to lose, right?

Nothing to Lose (or Freedom)

i need to be
that guy …
the next one in line
as the door closes,
the last one picked,
the “we just sold out”
of every kind of whatever
you’re looking for,
the flat tire,
the flat busted…
left for dead,
fucked over six ways
to Sunday,

that guy whose lover
stole a pigeon heart
and took a big dump
on his head.
fuckery, so insane
so very needless…

all reason, if there ever
was any–
is totally obliterated.

want to be that guy
“that kind of pissed that leads not to revenge
but to a reckoning”

people will shed a lone tear
and shake their head a lot
i will keep on gathering great poems
sharing the news about great poets
new ones
old ones
killer ones
fucky ones
we’ll call it
the “didn’t make it to twitter
because it had too much
character” book

i want to drive down the great river road
i want a reading
right now!
in bars
and bowling alleys
i want to read/scream
at bikers and rednecks
housewives and whores
i hope they throw stuff
and spit on me
chase me out to the car
“we don’t like your kind
’round here”
but they will secretly
worship me
and my freedom
and my hoard of poets
from the suburbs
the city
the farm
they’re multiplying like gremlins
one dash of sit and spin
and they’re out ruining christmas

i want them all
(not to make them famous)
to make them infamous
to spread their disease
of think
of cut out the bullshit
and get to the point
i want America
in her glazed over Red Bull eyes
to really
wake the fuck up
this is no time to let it ride
the great depression
is your brain on ice
your investment in image
the “i’m okay- you’re okay” is a dead hippie lie
the 1% is selling everything
is selling you, me..
McDonald’s and Twilight books
medication via
TV ads
the party is over
the beatniks are dead or dying
the outlaws are a joke
the wild west is tamed, my friends
rail against that which seeks to defeat you
every day
every hour
get in your car
don’t kill the first thing that gets in your way
kill em all
kill em all
kill em all,
they call us the X generation
with nothing to lose
but our Nirvana CDs
and Fight Club on DVD
didn’t you get the memo?
the they have
co-opted your identity for mass marketing
you can now buy
the special edition director’s cut t-shirt snuggie toothpick rim job
with decal

get the fuck
out of your house
and stick a fist up their ass for doing this
don’t buy the hype
use it against them
like those goddamn
nothing to lose
asshole poets
that you love

–Michele McDannold
from Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days
Punk Hostage Press

Stealing the Midnight from a Handful of Days by Michele McDannold from Punk Hostage Press

this is your intervention


poetry lawn dude








rather than being accidental

pretty sure the best laid plans
mean nothing
to the sharpie
on your name tag
to the misfitting sweater
and comes in a package underwear
you are chipped nail polish
the broadcast-live
unfiltered on design
the seed of doubt
mother nature uses to
the broken
but there is no clean break
there is only sleeping at the wheel
a contortionist running metal
burn one thing for another
the shelves are stocked
with gas ovens
and bottomless drops

take your pick, kitten
your secret is safe
with me

–Michele McDannold 11/1/14