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...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
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Archive for December, 2016

the cake lady

Tuesday, December 27th, 2016


Lady K’s become the Cake Lady.

She made an antique book cake for Michael O’Brien’s bookstore closing a week ago.

And for Christmas she made an upside down sweet onion cornbread savory cake.

And same day (it took her three days of making fondant reindeer and magic mushrooms and Christmas trees, plus the white chocolate birch bark) she made a gingerbread cake (which included Guinness Stout as an ingredient) with whipping cream & mascarpone cheese icing, surrounded by white & dark chocolate birch bark topped by a scene of trees, magic mushrooms, and a reindeer of homemade fondant.

Then she made a fondant bull because she gives one family member a homemade bull each Christmas to inspire financial success in the coming year.

I’ll be putting up an agentofchaos page documenting all this in a few weeks, but here’s a taste of her Christmas baking.



wouldn’t trade for fame

Wednesday, December 21st, 2016

art book cake Lady made 4 Scriptoria’s last open mic

Lady’s wondering why I stopped blogging. Things just got a bit much … had a magic final reading at Michael O’Brien’s used book store Scriptoria in the basement of the 148 year old Zion Church in Tremont – it’s being turned into condos going for maybe half-a-million.

After the reading we got hit on the passenger side of the car, which entails getting estimates and repairs. Passenger door only opens a foot now so Lady crawls out my side when I drive.

Meanwhile we also need to get $300 for rear brakes, our dying then living now day by day MandyCat has us in an emotional Schrodinger’s box, plus the car tires and vet bills have meant no marijuana for months now, while I’m getting nervous about the doctors removing one vertebra from the front of my neck and bolting in two metal rods through the back in three weeks.

Then there’s Lady’s Christmas Eve birthday followed by Christmas followed by New Years, all of which thins the finances and depletes my inner social well.

Other stuff too, you know, basic life stuff, getting through the day where an accused child rapist and admitted sexual predator and thief is now going to become our Degenerate-in-Chief and the massive racism and sexism and bullying such voting reveals in way too many millions of what I formally thought were decent human beings but am obviously grievously wrong.

So I stopped posting. Have 25 new poems written, but felt no need to show them… think I’ll wait until I get out of the hospital with a hard collar around my neck and the metal rods in my neck which accessorize the metal rods in my shoulder and metal rod in my hip before I post the poems to give me something to do in between the pain pills.

But Lady’s asked me to post so here’s the blog starts I’ve let slide.

~ ~

Conversation with Wife 31

“You’re my Sweetie, you know that?”

Well, they did call me the Calorie
back in my marzipan glaze
I’d ride to the troubles
and folks would shout
We’re saved, here comes the Calorie!
and they would cover me with cinnamon.

– Smith, 12.20.2016

~ ~

Have a new nickname for MandyCat – going to call her Lazarus. Yesterday was essentially a deathwatch for me… I sat with her for 7 hours, talking to her, telling her to go or stay, whichever was best for her, and twice her breathing stopped, then started up again. After awhile I put the tip of my finger in between her paw pads – sometimes when I do that she squeezes my finger tip like we’re holding hands, but this time she swatted me, and I said whoa, this ain’t over yet. And this morning she’d eaten all her dry food during the night, which she hadn’t eaten in a week, and then demanded tilapia, so I gave her some with another steroid pill in it. She’s still frail and off-balance, but there’s a lot more of her here now. So, ever onward.

~ ~

Had to do food shopping for our sick cat this morning. Roads covered with 10″ of snow, so I went just down the hill to Walmart, a place we try not to shop due to the damage they do to local businesses and the social service infrastructure (their salaries are so low, many of their employees are on food stamps).

As I headed for the exit, I found a worn $5 bill flat on the floor. Picked it up, with my first thought I’d turn it in. Looked around, no one around. Went looking for a manager. Couldn’t find one. Started thinking this is a lot of time and trouble to turn in a $5 that the original owner wasn’t going to get back anyway because they’d have no idea where they’d lost it.

Thought about leaving, but realized I wouldn’t feel good about myself, and eventually found a young manager, handed him the $5, said “I doubt the owner will ever get this back, but just in case, here.”

Came home, told my story to Lady, she said “You did right.”

“But, the owner isn’t going to get it back, so I just gave Walmart $5 more dollars they don’t deserve.”

“Yes, but you may have affected the manager, he might mention it for a ripple effect.”

“Well basically I did it to make myself feel good, bought myself some self respect with a found $5. Wonder what I would have done if it’d been a hundred dollar bill?”

“Then you would have DEFINITELY returned it because someone needed it and would have come looking.”

“Probably, but folk with $100 bills tend to have more money than they deserve, but you’re right, I couldn’t feel good inside keeping other folk’s money. I’d never make a good politician or CEO. Beside, for $5 returned, I can post this and make myself look good.”

As I headed down the stairs to feed the birds for a second time, since we feed them twice when it’s below 14 degrees, I thought of another possibility – I feel we exist in an aware Universe, no god or anything, just some overall awareness with a wicked sense of humor, and this all could have been nothing more than a pop quiz to see what I’d do.

~ ~

There’s more but I’m less so done for now.

Except for this. I was sure I’d be rich and famous. Thought so for 50 years now. I’m 70. There’s a vague chance it could still happen, but not likely. But though I’ve not gained acclaim and financial success, I do have a wife who loves me whom I love – we’re each each others favorite person. And we have a magic cat that makes us three. And we’ve fine fine friends, and my in-laws are as good as they come, the poetry and art and fotos flow freely for both Lady and I, and Lady is quite good at what she does, which is design websites, so if I had a chance to trade what I have for money and acclaim, I wouldn’t. I’m rich in love and like, and I cherish that.
meandlibertyme & my 5-month old niece Liberty Lynn Green


buncha stuff – music, dreams, poetry, art, the 3 Fates

Wednesday, December 14th, 2016


Kathy Kieth, the editor/publisher of Medusa’s Kitchen, published my Stations of the Lost (for Lenny Bruce) poem online Sunday. This is pretty amazing since it has something in it to offend almost everyone. I wrote it as a stand-up comic routine for Lenny Bruce, and I thing he would have liked it.

As Mae West said, “Those who are easily shocked should be shocked more often.”

This is my 15th appearance in Medusa’s Kitchen since October of last year when poet D.R. Wagner included my found Ferlinghetti poem at the end of his weekly feature. I am honored to have become a monthly member of their crew. My next feature will be Dec 23 with my anti-Christmas poem/song Ex Christmas.

Right Sock Wrong?

We are born in cave of shadow
washed in birthing pan
walk with shadow in search of sun
till washed again at end

How well are our ways wound?

If I put left sock on left foot first
instead of right sock on right foot
does it make a difference?

Or yesterday’s right on today’s left?

Does the moving shadow
of my belt buckle on the floor
portent play of day?

Do things change if I put my pants
on left or right leg first?

What about both legs at once?

I know kindness to others,
listening, caring, compassion, patience
sways day’s way.

But what of stretch or no stretch?
yawn or no yawn?
left or right side of bed arise?

Is there a right right
and a wrong right?

Of the mother thread of life
Clotho spins and sings of is
Lachesis measures in song of was
and Atropos cuts, sings will be

Do they care what sock I wear?
or right left of wrong?

– Smith, 12.14.2016

Lady and I woke at 3:20 this morning and lay there talking.

Told her in my dream I was a young 40’s Harrison Ford and was lying on top of a bed with my ex-girlfriend Melania (our next First Lady) who was her current age age. We were both fully clothed and it was not romantic. I was worried I wasn’t going to get the movie role I was trying out for, and she was helping me prepare. I asked her why she kept breaking up with me and she said because I was so insecure.

Then Lady told me her dream.

She was back in elementary school, drinking beer (Guinness Stout), but was an adult. In fact all her classmates were adults too. She was taking stuff from her purse and putting it in the supply cupboard – 20 packs of Post-It notes, cookies, some other stuff, and slices of roast beef.

“That must have been some purse.”
“It was.”



in my Jungian daze

Monday, December 12th, 2016


Long Ago and Far Away

I tell my younger wife
in my Jungian daze
long ago before the moon was full
before pen pals
before pencil pals
in the goose quill days
we had to go out in dark of night
for black to grind
and trek to oughter water
to make liquid ink to write
on the cut down clarinet reeds
we slowly beat to pulp
and dried for paper and envelope
hoping the snail express came that year
to take our letter
and communication was soooooo slow
it took seven years to get an answer
from one who lived just down the street
but it was two miles uphill to their house
and three miles uphill back to ours
before the TV worked
this box that just sat there
next to the dinosaur egg
doing nothing
jack squat
and we said what is that box?
why do we have it?
so we had no commercials
no reality shows
no faux-haired orange-skinned men
who tried to grab pussies
with their hands so small
they couldn’t clutch logic
so lied a lot
and whined in their cheesy suits
and we were happy

– Smith, 12.12.2016



the small hands man

Friday, December 9th, 2016

white people

Mr & Mrs Sisyphus

Wife sick on couch
brought on by stress
of over work and money worries

The daily rolling
of the worry rock
up our uncivilized hill

In this country
we eat our own
after we eat everyone else

But don’t worry
every sale comes with
a conditional warranty

Nothing will break
until you get it home
and through your front door

Break two
get third break free
for thrice initial cost

All ingredients
guaranteed toxic
shoddy, bad for the body

Step right up
get your new uselessness here
no need to wait

Small initial payments
which will rapidly bloom
bigger than your eyes, head, or check

There’s a trump for every chump
small hands optional
truth not included

– Smith, 12.9.2016

Donny Chump, the small hands man


lizard brain wants!

Thursday, December 8th, 2016


Lizard Brain Wants!

I’m down to strong grass
and strong coffee
and I’m out of grass.

Time to sage the soul.

– Smith, 12.8.2016



no breaks, just aches

Wednesday, December 7th, 2016

Great Eye in Sky

Yesterday was bad-good, bad-good.

Scurrying up the walk in freezing weather after feeding the birds before sunrise, I stubbed my foot on a brick on the walk and fell on my face on the stone, hitting full body flat, chin to slate.

First flash was for my glasses – they were on my face and unbroken. Second flash was for my left knee which I broke last January and it never healed because the doctors didn’t tell me not to walk on it, even though they knew I was… all they said was don’t bend it. Of course in retrospect it’s logical not to walk on a broken knee, but I’m rather stupid at times, and they did tell me to walk from one office to another without a brace, so I figured it was okay. Had I hit it, I’d be hospital bound, which would have interfered with my upcoming January hospital appointment. But I’d landed on my right leg right side right arm and right chin edge, so broken knee untouched.

I stood up to examine the rest of me – blood on thigh, blood on forearm, bruised rib, and chin so sore I thought I might have broken it. But no, no breaks, just aches.

Now that is about as good an outcome for a face fall as one can hope for.

Second bad to good is we thought MandyCat might be dying. She has failing kidneys and she’d stopped eating, lost 13% of her weight, did nothing but sleep. Took her to the vet. It was just a cat cold, so they rehydrated her, gave her an antibiotic, and forced an appetite pill down her throat. Brought her home and she was active again. This is our 8th year with her (she spent her 1st 7 years with poet Wendy Shaffer who has 30 cats and gladly loaned us one), and I’ve never bonded like this with a four-footed floor fur before – the thought of losing her turned me into a tear bag. Should have years left before losing her, and I won’t handle it well when we do.

It’s ironic. We had to give Lady’s 13 year-old cat 3PO to her brother when we left the country in 2006 to live in England, Holland, Poland, France, Morocco, and Mexico for 3 years, and that was hard. So when we came back, we decided to get a “loaner” cat from Wendy we could give back if we ever found the money to travel again. Lady was over at Wendy’s and Mandy came out from under the dresser and swatted Lady’s leg, saying “Hey, you, take me.” Turns out there is NO SUCH THING as a loaner cat because they own your heart.

Oh, the upcoming January hospitalization… a cyst in the back of my neck is bruising my spine, creating a minor tingling and partial deadness in my finger tips and throwing my balance off. They’re going in the back of my neck to remove the cyst, going in the front of my neck to remove an entire spinal disc, then fusing my neck spinal column with two metal rods. Needless to say I’m not looking forward to this. You cut me below the neck and you’re operating on my vehicle… cut above that and you’re cutting me.

Going to ask the doc for a tranquilizer prescription because I’m not up to worrying about this for another month. It’s getting to me. Will have to wear a hard collar for 6 weeks after… Lady jokes it’s a dog collar so I won’t bite myself.

~ ~ ~

2 Open Mic Sat Readings + Scriptoria Book Sale
Basement Zion Church 2716 W 14 Cleveland OH

12.10.16 – Russ Vidrick’s 2nd Sat open mic 3-5pm
12.17.16 – Winter Solstice Potluck open mic 12-2pm

Scriptoria Books closes 12.31.16
10,000 books must go
$3 hardbacks, $2 large paperbacks, $1 small
paperbacks (sets and a few scarce items more)
11am-3pm Wed-Thur-Fri-Sat through December 31, 2016

check Craig’s List under CLEVELAND & BOOKS for changes

~ ~ ~

Life with Wife 3

Kale onion quiche
baking in oven
homemade applesauce
bubbling on stove

– Smith, 12.7.2016



Sisyphus enough

Monday, December 5th, 2016


Sisyphus Enough

It’s an everyday thing
or less
this eating
this sleeping
this cleaning washing
going coming
the coming gone
up and down and down and up
even love is built day by day
then rebuilt
as hope is used
then recharged, re-fused, re-used

In every way
the circle eats itself
then excretes itself to re-eat
in endless repeat
day by day

– Smith, 12.5.2016



waiting at the station

Sunday, December 4th, 2016


Waiting at the Station

Reading bad man news
when lone train moan
faint from the Flats
whispers in my ear
“There’s a better way down the line
if only you would go.”

Been hearing that same wail
since it crept up the mountains
of my youth.

“Come down the track
where you’ll fit in
where they’ll like you
where you’ll like you
where life makes more sense.”

Been saving for the ticket ever since.

– Smith, 12.4.2016



Tsi-s-de-tsi, the 4-foot mouse Captain

Friday, December 2nd, 2016

her third try at drawing Tsi-s-de-tsi
her first two attempts

Lady’s been writing an alternate Earth novel where a 4-foot female Cherokee mouse named Tsi-s-de-tsi is Captain of a large ocean sailing ship with a crew of 6-foot rats who have rescued a young human girl named Beatrice and an even younger human boy named Hill. It’s for both children and adults. She has 64 pages so far, and the writing is beautiful, the story interesting.

Here’s a taste of four recent pages.

I pronounce Tsi-s-de-tsi (the Cherokee word for mouse) as Siesta-sea, but the actual Cherokee pronunciation is something else. You’d have to check online for itthe correct pronunciation.

She reads each new section to me as it is written, and I am thoroughly enjoying it.



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