Sad News

[annaswirls]

More bad news

SmithPeter has not been around here too much lately.

Doug had many names for reasons I do not wish to go into.

I can say that his reasons had nothing to do with anything selfish, or to fool or to hurt anyone.

That is why I do not think he would mind my divulging his aka's. He told me that while he did not make them public knowledge, he did not try to keep these names secret. I figured out the ones he was using were the same person the first time I came to literotica and he never denied it even though I was brand new to the board. Most people who knew him knew all of his names. Some knew one or two, but not the others. I wonder if the newer people at lit knew smithpeter as much as they knew his akas.

I think that now he is gone it is just as important to recognize the other names which he has been posting under a lot lately. They mean as much as the more recognized smithpeter

I want people who did not read all of his work to have a chance to do so. I want everyone to read his poetry. Yes his privacy was important to him and he was always modest and humble, but he loved when people read his work and made comments. Keep an eye out for him, and buy all of the books you can once he is published, and he will be.

I will start with the name he used during his last days. The last two posted were written the night he died.

Air2O

2Rivers

oxalis

svelt walker

(03SP does not have any more poems archived here)

I know I must be missing at least one, it is 4:30 am I am working on little sleep and no food.

Signing out, my poems do not want to be here right now. Bye,

Jennifer

aka (it is only fair)
annaswirls
sibilaire
scattered showers
seattlerain


ps forgive me Laurel, please but I just checked the links and was heartbroken to see the disrespectful pictures of insincere passion and false love. I hope someday all of his work will be shown with beautiful photograps and sketches and sincere beauty.

 

[eagleyez]

Well Jennifer-



Doug would probably want you to eat and rest and take good care of yourself.

I know I do.

My heart and prayers go out to you.

May you catch a piece of peace...

 

[WickedEve]

wespeak
There are 7 poems under this name. we for Wicked Eve and sp for smithpeter and together we speak. I think you can tell which lines are his. They are unique.
He had many poems at the Thought Cafe which were stored at eveshabit but removed recently. I know he saved them on his hard drive. I can't remember any other names but it seems as though there was another.
And anna, he wouldn't mind. He knew most everyone knew anyway.

 

[Angeline]

Palau

There are poems on a few other sites besides Thought Cafe, too. Plus, he sent people poems all the time, as feedback, as notes. I'm sure many of us have collections of them...

I used to laugh at him and tell him that I didn't care what name he used--his poems were always immediately identifiable to me. His writing style was one of a kind.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

I couldn't post here yesterday. I just couldn't.

I had been talking to him on email and preparing a feature with some of his poetry on my site, and I think the best thing I can do now, for my own sanity, is to finish it as soon as I can gather the strength. I hope he would approve of it.

 

[jthserra]

Light
  for SP


electric
         to spark a glow
   an arc
     of idea
incandescence
    in his words

gentle man
        fades
   in filament
     a circuit broken
   suddenly dark

    a moment --
        then light


jim

 

[Angeline]

I couldn't post here yesterday. I just couldn't.

I had been talking to him on email and preparing a feature with some of his poetry on my site, and I think the best thing I can do now, for my own sanity, is to finish it as soon as I can gather the strength. I hope he would approve of it.

I think we all agree that the best thing we can do for him (and ourselves) now is read his work and be thankful that we have it. Your plan is a good one, sweety.

 

[Angeline]

hating things
by 2rivers ©

toilets, they catch shit
self deprecating porcelain
a thing of beauty
to an engineer

it is art for engineers
a joke

that artist’s loft is noisy
too much glass and clanking steam

the artist I see is covered
for a peek, a finger point
a mouth full
drawn down to an edge

so this poem ends in want
not hate
want and beginning

 

[jthserra]

2 rivers too...

Oh my...

sp was an incredible voice
one I will miss


jim

 

[jthserra]

Cat Hotel
2rivers

she lusters where others prowl or skirt
near bodies of deep
chaise arm sprawled
svelte, olive
clad black

low nocturne whisper
from away down
narrow hall of doors
windows fog

tangled tossed sheets
fur rubbed all ways
lipstick, nails
charcoal gray
scratching

marred for passion
he begs more for more
gentle, clutch or rough
and tell
a rusty hinge,
a bent screw
at the Cat Hotel

Ruby purrs
she licks her own
paw, flicks her
long visible silvers
for his attention
her glint, her sheen
his swan


the first I remember reading of 2rivers... from that point on, I loved everything he wrote.


jim

 

[Angeline]

Doug played me the song that inspired this poem. Peace to my dear jazz friend.



rahsaan
by 2rivers ©

fill it
make a hole bigger
sign it, make a hole sound
bigger

growl in a way that makes men
check the zipper,
their honeys are loose now
just look at them go

joy and prance, all met and spent
the lady in us all gets up
does a twirl with something’s
meant minding and
the floor drops away
the rhythm kicks in, the bass the intent
and the no more way to get home
no matter the guitar not strummed
whacked at

sax is lit is junction between heaven and coal with sugar to remind us or just me or just you that time is hot not cool as the expression glows behind things that could pick up need to feel god and her son demideities hidden in folds about ruffles and buddha and his chum joking smoking back with mohammad poking blue sky vishnu west near flats staring down trees that bear fruit for karma bent jerks rolling up sleeves ready to rob the store of all goods pertaining to jerkhoodmanship on the day this song was blown down the tubes,
up the neck
across the reeds
through the soundboard
into the floor
out unto the sky
hitting me on the way past
big fat whoa and thank you, rahsaan
and hitting me

 

[annaswirls]

Thanks Eve and Ange, I did know of those, especially Palau, and even had that site open last night.

I checked all of them last week, hoping that there were more poems coming.

He also has poems at erosha, and senses at play

 

[annaswirls]

shake the dust off of your wings

I sent these lyrics to him a while back because the song reminded me of him, as did Townes VanZandt. They were alike in many ways. They were gentle genius, and they left us too soon.

I listened to this song by accident today and it made me feel a little better. "Shake the dust off of your wings, and the sleep out of your eyes."

Read it, it is a little eerie. It feels like him talking. Townes knew he was dying when he wrote this.



Artist: Townes Van Zandt
Album: High, Low And In Between
Title: To Live Is To Fly


By townes van zandt

Won't say i love you, babe,
Won't say i need you, babe,
But i'm gonna get you babe
And i will not do you wrong.
Living's mostly wasting time
And i'll waste my share of mine
But it never feels to good,
So let's don't take too long.
You're soft as glass
And i'm a gentle man;
We got the sky to talk about
And the earth to lie upon.


Days, up and down they come
Like rain on a congadrum
Forget most, remember some
But don't turn none away.
Everything is not enough
And nothin' is to much to bear.
Where you been is good and gone
All you keep is the getting there.


To live is to fly
Low and high,
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes.


Goodbye to all my friends
It's time to go again
Think of all the poetry
And the pickin' down the line
I'll miss the system here
The bottom's low
And the treble's clear
But it don't pay to think too much
On things you leave behind.

I will be gone
But it won't be long
I will be a'bringin' back the melodies
And rhythm that i find.


We all got holes to fill
Them holes are all that's real.
Some fall on you like a storm,
Sometimes you dig your own.
The choice is yours to make,
Time is yours to take;
Some sail upon/dive into the sea,
Some toil upon the stone.


To live is to fly
Low and high,
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes;


Shake the dust off of your wings
And the tears out of your eyes.

 

[Angeline]

You made my little girl laugh,
stupid jokes. Knock knock. I'm
not sure who laughed more
but I know you made her giggle,

and say Mom that smithpeter
guy is funny, and you said my god
she's a worse wiseass than you,
and you know you made me giggle.

All these poems of yours
so full of pain and beauty, love
lust lonliness joy wisdom, all
tied up in lines every day writing,

writing sometimes eight or nine
of them a night. You can submit
them pretty late, you'd say, and there
they are in the morning. I read

every day, and now I'm reading
and the words are rolling up against
the clock and my tears down my face
because I want your poems but you,

I want you, too, to tell my girl
another knock knock joke. I don't
want to tell her you can't anymore.
All those poems and that's all

I can think.

 

[echoes_s]

I came here, read this post, stunned, and not knowing what to say...
went and read SmithPeters poems, came back, still speechless, saw more names, went and read them, came back.
I remembered I had sent him an email about one poem I wished to know more about and really liked, but there are so many of his poems I enjoyed...

Delicate Soul
by smithpeter ©

When she falls
Stutters in step of life
Speaks sobs and wringing
Body letting go

So many walls between
What was and what can not be
But wanting her, needing her to know
There is someone


plundering the hostess
by oxalis ©

a ribbon of thunder and spark is aimed at my head
also open thighs
now tight clenched

your words welcomed, steep against my calm Sunday afternoon
steel balls strung just so
stealing the appropriateness of an innocent meeting

calm does not last
fury and stiff resolve
replace clear skies

you mention passion
I see you,
you give me reason to abandon or stoke my pirate ways

I pray camp under pine near sand
dressed in little cotton triangles
we roar, fucking the rude waves


poetry circle
by 2rivers ©

look across the table
don’t put down the phone
don’t fall in love
just consider the reason
I talk to you, a stranger with eyes,
a brain and lungs
who sees my desire, hears her breathing
purred through coffee steam,
knows the curl of her lips
out loud speaking thoughts,
-distance concepts-


left alone words
by 2rivers ©

allow shifting
between long and short
show this student the mercy
your lover feels
give him an opening to die for

play with clocks not time
hold your only possessions
in one fist
as infinity held in its place
given to neck craning

what wind is hot in our single mind
is it a one thing or two or mass
your face comes in my turbulent bed
to wake me and toy and flicker needs
invent a number for not quite yet

mind please, press moist lips against
and confuse my retina never kissed till you
trap us inside your desire
barb us, cleave our will
apply the leather blinders of forwardness

press clove near wound
make us crawl the mile of your legs
invite the break of lust to rabid fever
transfer a single olive to my cavity

please, understand


a good thing
by air2o ©

sipping from a candle flame with my eyes
it’s lured oxygen transforms into light
as my memory seems to be trading places
with empty gaps

A small sign goes up in yard near road
Space Available,
No Experience Needed,
Good View of Road and Yard

people driving cars turn their heads,
too bald, too old, too empty, not lived in enough.
Former porn star Sharon Mitchell stops to draw blood

Another brush with greatness speeds away,
slight wave out window,
a fly is left behind. Sharon Mitchell’s fly.
A good omen

The fly and I live happy together for years.
Fly years


The one I remembered the most was


we room
by smithpeter ©
entering a different room
the lighting is similar
positions are different
I experience mannequin envy

we keep our hands warm in each other
our step is march
our heels clack, noses bleed
from our own loftiness

It is a wonderful life
being room to room led
fed and oiled and spoiled
food and water and sex

we are offered toys and tokens
which we grab, fight over
hide from each other
throw out crashing glass

smoke forced apart
pushed into door frames
separated by bulletins
scandal that brings back our drool

entering a different room
with soft surrendered animal fur
no sign of knives
hides for laying against

chant is appropriate
gospel singers surround us
their mission is to see every all
sing the notes, walk off with words

the hymns of time collide
Love is God
cross stitch cadence
quilt of pain, glued with passion

last room before journey begins

I am saddened I did not get to know this great, kind, and noble man and poet, feeling so much a loss...
...thank you for posting his alias's so we can read all his works

 

[BooMerengue]

This is for my friends whom I've grown to love- for one reason or another. It poured from my heart right after I saw Eve's post. So it's especially for Eve and Anna, and Angeline, but for all of us.




Ritual has it's place

I won’t say that I feel your pain;
I can’t imagine it.
But I remember how I felt
when I had the same look on my face.

I won’t say ‘this,too,shall pass’;
it never goes away.
Never.

But it will one day recede
as do the tides
to a place where it is
manageable.

I will say this.
He gave so much of himself
to Lit, and to other places.
Why would you leave?
He did this for you!

It is an ancient custom
to leave a gift for those
who have passed on.

It is an ancient custom
to gather in memory
to chase off evil spirits.

Come... Gather here
among friends who also hurt,
as is customary.

Bring your gift.
Tear out your hair.
Scarify your cheeks.
Cut off a finger.
Ululate your pain to the Moon.
Bow your head in prayer.
Sing Kaddish.

Gather hand in hand and
make him a chorus he cannot help but hear!
Guide his steps towards
the place he wants to be.

This is my gift to smithpeter, and to all of you, my friends.

Oh Great Mother!
You have taken back into your arms one of your children. Though it is Your right to give and take as you see fit,we,left
behind, need something to fill the void he has left. Guide us to that which You,in Your wisdom,have already set in
place,that we may be eased. Take the blinders off our eyes that we might, just for a moment, see the Great Circle Of
Life, and Understand, and we will be at peace.

All glory and praise to you,
Great Mother.

 

[Guest]

I didn't know smithpeter and I know many of you don't know me, but I do care deeply for a lot of you here.

I just wanted to leave my sincere condolences.

From the little I have got to know about smithpeter through this thread, it is obvious to me that he was a very special man and will be sorely missed.

All of you, at this very sad time, please take care of yourselves.

Katie (Lou)

 

[Angeline]

I didn't know smithpeter and I know many of you don't know me, but I do care deeply for a lot of you here.

I just wanted to leave my sincere condolences.

From the little I have got to know about smithpeter through this thread, it is obvious to me that he was a very special man and will be sorely missed.

All of you, at this very sad time, please take care of yourselves.

Katie (Lou)

Thank you Lou. And now the poet's forum can see why you are loved in the Author's Hangout.

Your kindhearted words mean a lot. If you read his poems, you can see that he was indeed a rare and wonderful person.

 

[Angeline]

I can only speak for myself, but I'm so glad everyone is reading Doug's poems under his various names, and seeing his amazing gift--some of you for the first time. I remember the first poem of his I read and how I was astonished because I had never seen anyone who wrote that way. To me, his writing is like a painting or photograph transferred to words. His poems are visual and tactile--as much about the way words bump up against each other as their meaning.

He was just a natural, I think.

And echoes? Delicate Soul was one he really loved--he told me that once.

Thank you all for the beautiful poems you wrote too, here and elsewhere. It feels good to me to know that others share this appreciation for his poetry.

 

[ABSTRUSE]

Just an FYI, Lou has posted a thread in the AH called Read this please, she dedicated it to your absent friend.

Condolences to all of you here, I will make a point to read his wonderful words and I am sure I will find them as awesome as you do.

~A~

 

[Lauren Hynde]

It only really hit me today; this afternoon. The realisation that this is real, that he is not coming back, not going to send me a poem, a photograph, a smile, a little piece if his world ever again. I will never get to answer any of those last three emails, I will never be able to say thank you for his words, his kindness, his inspiration. This afternoon I cried on the bus, on my way back home, knowing there wouldn't be any new message from him on my mailbox, I sat in my bathtub, feeling the water grow colder, thinking there is no one left to take care of the little grey and white kitten.

 

[echoes_s]

And echoes? Delicate Soul was one he really loved--he told me that once.

It's a beautiful piece and speaks volumes Ange, it speaks with such a strong voice in a hushed way...

 

[The_Fool]

We grieve for him
in his passing too soon.
We grieve for ourselves
for our loss.
We grieve for each other
with our compassion for pain.
But, we should grieve most
for anyone
that never knew him.
Because, in a way,
their loss is the greatest.


Condolences to all who were so very close. I wasn’t so close, but I share in this pain, I feel this loss. Having been away on business, this was a hard thread to come back to. I really don’t know what else to say. I think I’ll close now and go look out the window at the rain.

 

[Angeline]

Terzanelle at 4 am

Beethoven’s Concerto for Violin proceeds
like clockwork, movements trill and roll
in artifice. Nothing’s unkempt, nothing bleeds

that doesn’t feel, that lives without a soul.
Is beauty made more beautiful by pain
like clockwork movements trill and roll?

It’s simpler not to feel when you remain,
when someone else moves on, the world
is beauty made more beautiful by pain

experienced, not held too tight, not curled
within the palm of night always mourning.
When someone else moves on the world

continues, always something new aborning.
Time rolls on, a symphony bypassing death
within the palm of night always mourning.

Time rolls on, a symphony bypassing death.
Faces come and go. You barely catch your breath.
Beethoven’s Concerto for Violin proceeds
in artifice. Nothing’s unkempt, nothing bleeds.

 

[KatPurrs]

There was more love in that man than the world could hold.

My heart goes out to all who knew him, who loved him, and to those who will never have the privilege...He was an incredible poet, photographer, and friend. I cannot imagine the sense of loss his family and daughter feel, or his co-workers.

The last time I heard from him was May 3rd. I replied and was waiting to hear back...

The world dimmed the night we lost our Doug.

Kat