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WALKING ON THIN ICE

my breast friend

tvlady(foto idea by Lady K)

My Lady Love

I came to Cleveland for the cleavage
now my wife’s my breast friend

She must be from Sweeten
since she’s such a sweetie

– Smith, 8.10.2016

ladybee

art by Lady K, Mother Dwarf, Cat, Kevin Eberhardt, & Smith

hangingon

hangingon2Hanging On by Lady K Smith

Spirit Bone

There’s truth in the dark
in the hours before dawn
if I could find the inner light to see

it whispers “I’m here”
soft and seductive
just outside my human
in the hour of the wolf
when sleep won’t come
and wake ain’t here

no baby being born
no madness lurking
so I light some nag champa
and om a hum job for the soul
while making coffee for mind and flesh

the truth is there
somewhere
playing hide and seek
offering wee peaks
like an old stripper with wrinkled skin
hiding behind pastel scarves

– Smith, 8.9.2016

In the “Priced Out”: An Examination of Gentrification show curated by Shawn Mishak at Doubting Thomas Gallery 856 Jefferson Ave, Cleveland, Ohio 44113 opening Friday 12 August 2016 at 6pm there’s a piece by Lady K Smith, one each by Mother Dwarf Smith (1926-2005) and Cat Smith (1957-1987), a collaboration by Kevin Eberhardt and myself, and a piece by me along with a slew of pieces by other artists.

trapped

trapped2Trapped by Mother Dwarf Smith (1926-2005)
parents

parents2
Parents by Cat Smith (1957-1987)
futureappears

futureappears2
The Future Is Closer Than It Appears
Kevin Eberhardt & Steven B. Smith
miasma

miasma2
Moon Over Miasma Steven B. Smith

life list

anglesmith

Morning Mantra

Not enough sleep
not enough money
not enough productive use of time
not enough faith in magic
not enough silence
more than enough body pain
with more self inflicted
on my mind body soul
a wee bit of wisdom
a small kernel of hope
a decent sense of kind
a large love of wife and cat
a gratefulness for friends
and an appreciation
for ornamental grasses, birds,
sky, sunsets, the hour before dawn,
clouds, day, night
topped with being thankful
for my ease with words and making art
served over a life worth riding
seasoned with somewhere sometime somehow
and future grass to toke
makes me start my new day
of Sisyphus

– Smith, 8.7.2016

yourmoveyour move

duck soup

tempest1
tempest2

Status Report 228

The rise up
sometimes weighs down

The ever dark diminishes day

Seems lessons always cost
in time or money or climb

Just keeps going
this it it is

One step in step of the other

Savor some yesterday
keep hope for tomorrow

It’s the bait that sets the trap

– Smith, 8.7.2016

ducksoup

mothless morning coffee water

blackcoffeeblackcoffee

Mothless Morning Coffee Water

!st cup coffee morning 1
1 medium beige moth
death by flame

1st cup morning 2
1 thin black moth drowns in water
1 more flies in flame

1st cup morning 3
1 small beige dies by drowning

1st cup morning 4
no death
coffee tastes the same

– Smith, 8.6.2016

lookout

moth wrought coffee

brownbarkmothbrown bark moth

Moth Wrought Coffee

Slightly sad third pre-dawn song
figuring moth coffee mythology done
but glad for no more death.

Then tried to pick up piece
dark brown bark from kitchen counter
which fluttered its wings
said sorry moth
and let it be
still there
alive.

Filled black cup with water
poured in cowboy coffee pan
picked up my white cup
filled halfway before seeing
small beige moth struggling to live
so poured into drain strain.

No movement
sorry dead moth not walking
dumped into dry garbage
in case it rose again.

Three coffee mornings, four dead moths.

Makes me wonder
how many dead moths per pound of coffee?

– Smith, 8.5.2016

mothcoffee

moth water coffee

survivngmoththis morning’s surviving moth

Moth Water Coffee

Reality’s got a splendid sense of humor.

Yesterday heating pre-dawn water
to make cowboy pan coffee
a broad beige moth flew into the gas flame
despite my warning.

This dark morning heating coffee water
a thin black moth drops in and drowns.

Not wanting moth dust and body part coffee
I dump it and start over.

It’s a Robert Frost joke.
How will the moth die?
Some say fire
some say water
both suffice.

Then a second black moth
flies into the flame
as a second beige moth
hangs on the wall and watches.

– Smith, 8.4.2016

With gratitude to Reality and Robert Frost.

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost, 1920

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

– Robert Frost

And yesterday’s moth coffee poem.

Moth Flame Coffee

Turning on the gas
to heat pre-dawn pan coffee
a small beige moth
frantically darts about the stove.

Just as I warn
“Be careful little girl
you’re heading for the heat”
she flies into the flame
adding fuel to fire.

Coffee tastes the same.

– Smith, 8.3.2016

mothflamemothflame

moth flame coffee

journeysendjourney’s end

Moth Flame Coffee

Turning on the gas
to heat pre-dawn pan coffee
a small beige moth
frantically darts about the stove.

Just as I warn
“Be careful little girl
you’re heading for the heat”
she flies into the flame
adding fuel to fire.

Coffee tastes the same.

– Smith, 8.3.2016

afterlifeafterlife

back in bees-ness + psychedelic steampunk dream

lastofdaisybees2

lastofdaisybees

last of old hive Daisy

We back in bees-ness.

Bought a box of swarm honey bees two days ago and installed Hive Ivy out in Ashtabula. The last two hive were Daisy 1 and Daisy II, and we figure Queen Daisy I, II, and III have had their say.

Hive Daisy I the bees disappeared the first week of February after giving us 125 pounds of excellent spring and fall honey. We think bee diarrhea weakened them, but there were no bee bodies so we really don’t know. Hive Daisy II started off with a bad queen, the workers killed her, we improperly re-queened and the workers killed her too, so we quit because we couldn’t afford anymore, but Lady’s father bought us a swarm from another beekeeper.

Placed new Hive Lily on higher ground closer to her parents’ house.

Where the old hive had been there is a clump of bees clustered beneath the beehive stand. I think they were the remaining female workers who were out gathering pollen when I moved the mostly male drone hive down next to the pond.

After we were done setting up the new hive, I noticed a strip of wood blocking part of the entrance, and as I knelt down to remove it, a bee stung my upper lip. Pure liquid fire, intense pain. It’s still swelling – I have thin lips, but my upper lip now looks like Angelina Jolie’s bee stung lips. If it gets grotesque enough, I’ll use it as my FB profile photo, though most of the swelling’s inside my mouth. First time I’ve been stung above the neck. Lady was stung once on her right temple and it made her dizzy, woozy, shaky, enough so we were worried.

Should have fall honey this year.

When Lady woke me this morning I went Wow Wow Wow There’s no way I can write this dream down.

I was in an Alice in Wonderland old timey psychedelic Mexican town with a lot of characters who were my people. There were snakes, and shape-shifters, and people with tentacles. We were trying to find a guy named Clay who’d disappeared after telling me what to code but had never gotten back to me on how the testing went.

The people I was helping had come to me because I was the last one to see Clay. They kept giving me small amounts of marijuana and laughing. As Lady woke me I’d just told one of them You can never have too much marijuana and he laughed and said How about a small amount of marijuana and a badge?

When we started out I thought they were angry with me, that I was in trouble because I’d not coded my program right, but I’d taken extensive notes of what Clay had told me as he’d taken me through this strange land in which I’d understood nothing but this time through after awhile I realized we were going through the same places and events as I’d been with Clay, that I’d written good code and now we had to find Clay and save him.

It got so strange I began taking notes in my back pocket notebook and when one of them asked why I said This story is too good not to write and he said Don’t use my name and I promised to change all the names except Clay’s, but after awhile I gave up taking notes because there was too much happening, all of it strange and surreal, the colors explodingly vivacious. I even called Lady to explain I’d be late getting home.

When Lady woke me at 4 a.m. so she could go run 10 miles before dawn, I staggered out here to the keyboard lurching back and forth off balance not quite awake and now I’m sitting in my undies sweating in the heat needing to badly urinate my morning bladder typing away like mad with two fingers and the cursor keeps jumping around so some of this is up and down the paragraph between words so I’ll have to unscramble it but this is the best weirdest most surreal dream I’ve had. I could gladly live in this dream forever.

Dusty Mexican roads, failing antique pickups, intense vibrating colors glowing everywhere, Mexican music, Zeppelins floating in the steampunk air, the dream went from me thinking I had screwed up the programming code to having more fun than is possible, and I contributed to the adventure, figuring out some of the clues, saving a few of my people as we were shot at. They were wearing long ragged earth-tone western overcoats with colorful scarves and earrings with black mascaraed eyes and they were funny folk, droll, witty, would make jokes with serious faces to make me think I was in trouble, then hand me a few buds as they laughed.

I could see the dust hanging in the air from driving falling-apart pickups too fast through the desert, could see the mold on the dimly lit dingy brothel hallway walls, could feel the crystal trichomes on the gorgeous red and yellow and green and blue streaked marijuana buds they gave me. Must have had 20 to 30 pounds of grass stuffed in my pockets, yet none of us ever smoked any of it during the dream – we were too high on the adventure itself, didn’t need it, although I got a buzz through my skin just handling the stuff. One dude handed me a card saying here’s a clue and the card was 9 large vacuum packed buds that had glowing crystal trichomes I could see from two foot away.

This was a three-day dream – 1st day Clay gave me the specs as we walked through the wonderland, 2nd day I wrote the code, 3rd day we went to save Clay. Lost so much of it between sleep and wake but what’s left is pure treasure.

When I was smoking a little every day, I could not remember my dreams, something to do with the short term memory buffers being wiped by the THC – I knew I had dreampt, but not what.

Now I’m in my 4th week of not smoking, the dreams are coming fast and fortunate, and if I wake during them, I come out with lots of detail. This is worth being unstoned.

Could be the best dream I’ve had, although almost all of them are surreal fun . . . darn few bad ones.

newhive

new hive Lily