2 little poems, the second unfinished

And when I watch the news


And when I watch the news I look

not at the urgent reporter

gabbling into the unfolding event

trying so hard to see meaning in the mayhem


but behind and above him

at the chaotic mosaic of heads

the angry men confirming the story

in this hot dry place


and I pick one small blob

from all the rest

a faceless distant orb among

all the separate faraway drops


and I think “Who is he?

Where does he live?

What did he have for his breakfast?’

Him and all the billions of others




People pay money to go into a room

Where someone makes them do it


Every laugh

A moment of high solace

A shout out to the chimpanzees

A signature you cannot predict

The burly dude with his high-pitched whinny

The machine gun holler of the tiny girl



Arthur Smith. Has Gigs