Booklets
Booklets designed and created by the artist, Pam Smith.
The poetry is from the mind of David Feela, writer and poet.
The poetry is from the mind of David Feela, writer and poet.
Amaryllis
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Amaryllis
Snow drifts against the picket fence,
icicles won’t leave the eaves,
but the amaryllis shows up
in a cardboard box from Virginia
as if riding in its own suitcase,
soil spilling onto the porch
even before the carton gets opened.
It wants to get started.
It requires a south-facing window.
It asks for a drink.
Everything about amaryllis
feels pink, like lingerie
in a basket, painted fingernails
and a glossy magazine.
I blush to think
what blossoms it will bring.
icicles won’t leave the eaves,
but the amaryllis shows up
in a cardboard box from Virginia
as if riding in its own suitcase,
soil spilling onto the porch
even before the carton gets opened.
It wants to get started.
It requires a south-facing window.
It asks for a drink.
Everything about amaryllis
feels pink, like lingerie
in a basket, painted fingernails
and a glossy magazine.
I blush to think
what blossoms it will bring.
How Many Lives Rush Through
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
How Many Lives Rush Through
The mullioned window
makes a pattern on the wall
projected by the evening sun.
I’m counting diamonds,
a jeweler of the ethereal trade
squandering the moment.
In the chair beside me
you are reading a book, a whodunit
that takes place in Egypt
when pharaohs wore cones of wax
to keep their scalps cooled.
Someone has died, someone
is dying, someone contemplates
death. You pause to look up
from the page as all my riches fade.
In the lamplight we are just two again.
makes a pattern on the wall
projected by the evening sun.
I’m counting diamonds,
a jeweler of the ethereal trade
squandering the moment.
In the chair beside me
you are reading a book, a whodunit
that takes place in Egypt
when pharaohs wore cones of wax
to keep their scalps cooled.
Someone has died, someone
is dying, someone contemplates
death. You pause to look up
from the page as all my riches fade.
In the lamplight we are just two again.
Intimacy
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Intimacy
“I expose to men the origin of their first, and perhaps second, reason for existing." --Leonardo da Vinci
Possibly the trees know
perfect intimacy, their roots
tight against soft earth,
and the flowers, the shrubs,
the grasses and weeds.
It’s not as if intimacy
isn’t discussed. Pleasure keeps
producing the same movie
about itself. It’s a box
office thing, every week
something is number one,
but the wilderness
knows how close we’ve come,
and are coming.
Possibly the trees know
perfect intimacy, their roots
tight against soft earth,
and the flowers, the shrubs,
the grasses and weeds.
It’s not as if intimacy
isn’t discussed. Pleasure keeps
producing the same movie
about itself. It’s a box
office thing, every week
something is number one,
but the wilderness
knows how close we’ve come,
and are coming.
Putting the Brontosaurus To Bed
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Putting the Brontosaurus To Bed
A tedious 150 million years,
you must be weary, down to your skeletal remains
from standing at the Museum of Natural History,
all that time the lower primates
gaping in disbelief. Such a long stretch
of memory strung together, having missed the oil baths
and naps of at least a century.
It’s time to close the doors and turn out the lights,
unfasten those wires from the ceiling
and let you curl up on the floor.
Sleep, brontosaurus, sleep
that brontosaurian sleep you deserve.
We’ll dim the sun, cover you
with glaciers before we’re done.
you must be weary, down to your skeletal remains
from standing at the Museum of Natural History,
all that time the lower primates
gaping in disbelief. Such a long stretch
of memory strung together, having missed the oil baths
and naps of at least a century.
It’s time to close the doors and turn out the lights,
unfasten those wires from the ceiling
and let you curl up on the floor.
Sleep, brontosaurus, sleep
that brontosaurian sleep you deserve.
We’ll dim the sun, cover you
with glaciers before we’re done.
Research
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Research
The idea required somebody
older and if not wiser
at least less fastidious
about disappointment.
I volunteered.
They placed a stack of folders
in my outstretched hands
and sent me home early.
I spent the entire weekend
avoiding the task,
but I carried the folders from room to room,
set them on the table while I ate,
placed them in the chair beside me
while I watched the television
and even took them to bed.
On Monday everyone wanted to know
what I thought. I told them
I could live with it.
older and if not wiser
at least less fastidious
about disappointment.
I volunteered.
They placed a stack of folders
in my outstretched hands
and sent me home early.
I spent the entire weekend
avoiding the task,
but I carried the folders from room to room,
set them on the table while I ate,
placed them in the chair beside me
while I watched the television
and even took them to bed.
On Monday everyone wanted to know
what I thought. I told them
I could live with it.
The Artist Does Drapery
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
The Artist Does Drapery
Every window that lets light in
is fashioned to keep light out,
or at least to stop the lamplight
from leaking into the night
With her bright windows framed
like paintings in a gallery,
every sunrise is an opening,
every sunset a memorial.
is fashioned to keep light out,
or at least to stop the lamplight
from leaking into the night
With her bright windows framed
like paintings in a gallery,
every sunrise is an opening,
every sunset a memorial.
The Homeless Winter Olympics
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
The Homeless Winter Olympics
No chance for the gold
he settles for the white,
a medal of no distinction
awarded for not finishing
anything. He lugs
his blanket to the park
and unrolls it like
a toboggan on a hill
then climbs aboard
and shouts, Here I come,
won’t somebody
please stop me?
he settles for the white,
a medal of no distinction
awarded for not finishing
anything. He lugs
his blanket to the park
and unrolls it like
a toboggan on a hill
then climbs aboard
and shouts, Here I come,
won’t somebody
please stop me?
What The Fields Giveth,
The Cows Taketh Away
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
What The Fields Giveth,
The Cows Taketh Away
Cows concentrate
with their heads down
on what the field preaches --
sunlight warming their hides,
a scent of alfalfa hay,
fresh water in the mud hole
from yesterday’s rain.
Any news that rises
ruminates for the day
and faithfully each cow
broadens with praise.
with their heads down
on what the field preaches --
sunlight warming their hides,
a scent of alfalfa hay,
fresh water in the mud hole
from yesterday’s rain.
Any news that rises
ruminates for the day
and faithfully each cow
broadens with praise.
Witching
Accordian style booklet.
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Closed: 9 1/2 inches x 3 inches
Open: 9 1/2 inches x 12 inches
Witching
is the process of searching for and locating
the lost, holding a twig
that dips and twitches as it points
to its mysterious pleasure.
And I’ll admit, I’ve tried.
Picked up a forked stick,
moved slowly about the yard,
but all I found was the root of a tree
where the stick probably came from.
I suspected if I kept it up
I’d find my own grave
so I threw the stick into the bushes
and went about my life in the usual way,
misplacing things and finding them again
when I wasn’t paying attention.
the lost, holding a twig
that dips and twitches as it points
to its mysterious pleasure.
And I’ll admit, I’ve tried.
Picked up a forked stick,
moved slowly about the yard,
but all I found was the root of a tree
where the stick probably came from.
I suspected if I kept it up
I’d find my own grave
so I threw the stick into the bushes
and went about my life in the usual way,
misplacing things and finding them again
when I wasn’t paying attention.
