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Archive for July, 2015

call me Venom, call me Cassandra

Sunday, July 19th, 2015


Summer Cleveland

Humidity slow, steady,
heavy with heat,
flesh gravity’s tired bone.

– Smith, 7.19.2015

Call me Venom.

I proposes, God disposes . . . into the laughter machine.

The previous beehive inspection I wore protective netting for the first time because I was tired of getting stung and having right hand left hand right thumb right bicep turning red getting hot swelling up itching into madness.

But I didn’t tuck my shirt in and a sneaky bee crawled up and bit my belly. Then I must have given one a ride into the house on my jeans because an hour later one bit my belly two inches from the first sting while I was sitting around talking. That’s one way to liven up one’s conversation.

Sooooo, this time I tucked my jeans into my socks and my shirt into my pants and said the only way they can sting me now is where my ear touches the hat net or thru my shirt. Call me Cassandra.

It was a near 90 degree day, the protective gear is made of canvas, sweat swept down my face neck torso wetting shirt to flesh and a bee stung my belly through the cotton.

That makes one unstung inspection last seven tries.

Next time I billow my shirt out after tucking in so they can’t touch flesh.

This makes me grin, it’s sort of an on-running serial joke between me and Reality with Reality ahead 6 to 1 so far, but next time I’m betting on the Smith.

It is special the taste of honey freshly harvested from your first hive, way well worth the sweat and venom and itch.

(the fotos are neighboring bumblebees, not our honey bees).



eventually we

Saturday, July 18th, 2015



Eventually we
will stop fearing
skin that differs

Eventually we
will not be hating

Eventually we
will stop stealing
wealth of others

Eventually we
will no longer worship
god of hate

Eventually we
will bounce bowing
power money fame

Eventually we
will cease
enslaving women

Eventually we
will rise to we
or blood will run the streets

– Smith, 7.18.2015



dream wake

Friday, July 17th, 2015


Life 9

Gone from dream
yet not awake,
which way do I go?

– Smith, 7.17.2015



Old fan notes on 1962 WCW (who died in 61)

Wednesday, July 15th, 2015


Old fan notes on 1962 WCW (who died in 61)

Leafing through 53 year old copy
of William Carlos Williams’
“Pictures from Brueghel and other poems”
I rearrange a previous owner’s margin notes:

Only if Amy & me lost everything separately
could we be useful together again

A stutter step from an MD
required to be as invasive as a priest no matter what

Medical report: She died of death
cross horse mucilage

Dance is the measure
the Sisypuss of fuck
female spiritual hand off from the pagans
(any with a tan Mexican Barbie doll?}

If you say one can’t go to the country
it’s because you say he can’t go anywhere

Roads don’t grow like trees
holy communion hamburger
force that thru the green fuss pothead poets

Pictures of beauty are beautiful pictures
and not beauty or beautiful
the wholeness integrity to me’s
from the coordination of all the fractured facets of a life

Pure whole design in your art if unaccompanied by
a coordinated correlative correlated private privacy
is scattered

Art is a symbol and thus partial
fractured art + ? kind of privacy can = wholeness oneness beauty

More terrified of women & thus a lover of many
WCW wz a fixer & a watchman
& mean

Walkin in Memphis
You a Christian?
Baby I am tonight

– Smith, 7.15.2015

Couple readings ago on the way out of Guide To Kulchur Text, Art, and News Book Store I mentioned I needed some William Carlos Williams poetry and Ra Washington reached beneath the counter and gave me a battered copy of Pictures from Brueghel. I glued it back together and was delighted to find a previous owner had written frequent notes in its margins. So of course I copied them down, selected maybe 2/3’s of them and rearranged them into this. Added nothing except an ( and an ), and changed nothing beyond making two comments into one line. Believe from the phrase Dowery ’99 these comments were probably written in 1999, so a 5th edition of a 1962 book likely printed in 1967 had comments written in its margins by an unknown previous owner 32 years later which were turned into this poem 16 years after that. Now that’s parentage.



which now is now

Tuesday, July 14th, 2015


The Thinker by Rodin, Cleveland Museum of Art

Status Report 42

There is now night.
There is now day.
There is now past.
There is the now not yet come.
Which now is now?

Things stop, things go,
stuff works, stuff breaks,
flux flows or not, sun shines or rain,
endless in-betweens,
mostly general, always specific.

Cat in lap, wife in bed,
the not too bad behind, hope ahead,
happy now building later,
I’m the customer but also the waiter
as good and bad embed.

– Smith, 7.14.2015

846collage in Guide to Kulchur bathroom



bees, twelve weeks, word, sweat, nine stings

Monday, July 13th, 2015


Status Report 41

First hive, first honey —
bees, twelve weeks, word, sweat, nine stings
bring ambrosia.

– Smith, 7.13.2015



one that we nor it’s just

Sunday, July 12th, 2015


Status Report 40

One leaf falls so another may drink.
That fruit rots so this mushroom grows.

We know not the momentum of our purpose,
nor the moment we meet need.

It’s never over when it’s over,
just more sand for sun to shine.

– Smith, 7.12.2015



1st honey 1st hive

Saturday, July 11th, 2015


Status Report 39

Shoulder pain
rises like a tsunami
washing way my best.

– Smith, 7.11.2015

I strained my replaced shoulder couple weeks ago moving our used freezer. Was almost healed until yesterday when I way overused it harvesting our first honey. So back to the undrawing board. Basically cannot use my left arm today.

We got 20-25 pounds of honey from 7 honeysuper frames – there are 10 frames in a box. For our fall honey harvest, we should do much more.

Cool tasting first honey from our first hive. Sooooooooo sweet. Got 10,000 bees April 21, and two and a half months later have 50-60,000 bees and 25 pounds of honey.

We keep spending money on bee equipment too, have at least $500 in this first hive. Much of it one-time costs though, stuff that can be used on future hives.

The gods laugh. I got tired of being stung and swelling up so for yesterday’s hive inspection and honey harvest, I wore protective gear for the first time . . . but forgot to tuck in my shirt so a bee crawled up and stung my bare belly. Then an hour later up in the house after I had changed my tee-shirt and was sitting around talking to folk, another bee who must have come in on my pants crawled up and stung my belly 2 inches away from the first sting. Expected to wake to a swollen belly today but it’s not bad . . . red, slightly itchy, barely swollen. Unsure why the double sting is so mild. Maybe area of body, maybe young bees, maybe getting used to venom, maybe because I took benadryl multiple times this time, maybe none of the above.

So far four single stings and one double sting in last 6 hive inspections. Next time, none.

But there is one intriguing possibility . . . if one of the bees that stung me is also a bee that made a portion of the fresh honey I  ate, the honey and venom intermix and I can mutate into BuzzMan, always buzzed but never having to toke – rather the same principle of Peter Parker turning into Spiderman after being bitten by a radioactive spider. Hmmmmm, the closest nuclear plant to Ashtabula is only 19 miles away at Perry

ladybannerbanner Lady K did for Greater Cleveland Beekeepers Association



they call me . . .

Friday, July 10th, 2015


Status Report 38

My water name is River Eddy
and for trouble I am ever ready.

– Smith, 7.10.2015



Lady Poem – July 10, 2015

Friday, July 10th, 2015


Men as beautiful as women
Flash of earring, hair straight as
train rail, reality of an individual’s hand
musing a feather like a fan dance by Martha Graham
entree to walk in the secret garden
of thought, love quest echoing
in canyons, mind calling soul

Some people call it the happiest place on earth,
those who lived in Paradise Valley, Yamosöpö tuviwarai,
before clash of Paiute and Spanish, slave traffic
melding into the fusion of their children
like sand falling from story-telling hands
strange comfort of syncretism
over centuries

~ Lady



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