AS I WANDER THROUGH THE BOOK OF LIFE

By David Smith

As I Wander Through the Book of Life

by David Smith

As I Wander Through the Book of Life is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

© Copyright Feb 2012 by David Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Visit and/or contact us through our website at www(dot)WritersAMuseMe(dot)com.

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ISBN 978-1-927044-29-2

DEDICATION:

To the great migrant poets, the ones continually in search of their hearts, not tied to the rigors of traditional poetry. Oh, yeah, and to all those folks out there who have the balls to read this book. Love Dave

P.S And to Charles Bukowski, without whom this questionable example of ‘stream of what-the-fuck!’ would not exist.

P.P.S. Also to Mary and Paula of WAMM who have made this book possible. Duck, Women! (They should probably be at the front of this, but being here gives ‘em more time to get the hell out of the way!)

AS I WANDER THROUGH THE BOOK OF LIFE:

A Prose-etry Collection

by Dave Smith

1. As I Wander Through The Book of Life

2. Unlock the Doors

3. The Grapes of Wrath

4. Life taxes the death of boys

5. A simple paid for whore

6. Today my name is George

7. Halitosis East of Java

8. We walked on pads of ochre clouds

9. Unraisened vignettes

10. On the road to Damascus

11. Evenings filled with lightened share

12. A paternoster for difficult times to come

13. For the love of a beer, a grin and five on the side

14. Mutter’ Ridge

15. God and his accoutrements sit highly on a throne

16. Thanks Pops you corny old fart

17. Amidst the scarlet hearty heather

18. Aborted

19. Friendly fire

20. To sit and jaw in Satan’s craw

21. Defined by Gods and surly ban, shall we forget dear Christopher Wren?

22. Rhetorical Reciprocity

23. What Up Dog?

24. Meritorious plumbers – palmetto cigars

25. Confronted with the giggle snare of life’s immoral pomp

26. Random

27. Mice who follow shallow heed

28. Have I?

29. While suckling at random diversities

30. Amidst the crust of stolid bread

31. Charades is a game for children

32. Lithesome trollop winsome lass

33. As you read do not dismay

34. Maggot do not stink

35. Fags and hags and strident trailor tails

36. Eyes set upon themselves

37. Requite makes right in glorious prose

38. Christmas and Strawberry Ripple

39. Where monsters lurk

40. Let there be light

41. Cheshire Cat

42. Offshoots of sprouting Christianthemummies

43. Acquittal

44. Ode to booze

45. Refilled platitudes are lovely queenly grunts

46. Pilgrims progress retributional turds

47. Whore derbies and other hats

48. To speak of death – humdiddly um dumb dumb

49. Who cares for Candle Wick?

50. doubt

51. oh you peaceful commode

52. Thank Christ my King has fine new clothes

53. Please hold us Sylvia

54. Oh my soul does rumble when you look at me

55. Clichéd honor

56. Now

57. The beast is risen

58. Polemic Pilgrim

59. Why do you strafe my witless soul?

60. If distance fondles true regret

61. I think God is a woman

62. Stand Aside Young Valiant

Wandering through the book of life

I wander through the book of life

sweet different roads each traveled on

Those ones that took my crooked way

such passion in each foot step walked

While children look to me with hope

waiting for that softened stroke

to ease their horror, tomorrow’s wake

such passion in each foot step walked

For what am I but aged oak

with knot holes blackened opaque sight

Can beauty be as roughened edge

or must it slide as perfect hide?

If either or an answer is

then answers are but different strokes

Of those that paint with callow heart

or numbers be as perfect art I wander through the book of life

sweet different roads each traveled on

Those ones that took my crooked way

such passion in each foot step walked

While children look to me with hope

waiting for that softened stroke

to ease their horror, tomorrow’s wake

such passion in each foot step walked

For what am I but aged oak

with knot holes blackened opaque sight

Can beauty be as roughened edge

or must it slide as perfect hide?

If either or an answer is

then answers are but different strokes

Of those that paint with callow heart

or numbers be as perfect art

Unlock the Doors

The scribe that sits, veritable splendor

nothing to do but candor’s pique

inevitable time will tell the word

faith unheard is a trial of first

Faith so slight in light

words that fill the trollop’s heart

in splendor sitting scribe’s vain fight

for moral pluralistic tripe

Dawn a new day stops the scribe

of lust he does no more describe

such folk that sit within himself

yet fail to fight yet softened bell

So ring that copper dullard’s chime

let him crack the first wave’s time

standing to the frock of life

that whimsicaled, trident, spear of death