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Archive for June, 2017

soft pause in land of tooth and claw

Monday, June 12th, 2017


Two dimensional shadow
climbs three dimensional bark
in rise and fall back and forth
as setting sun slants golden leaf
with dance of quantum light

soft pause
in land of tooth and claw

– Smith, 6.12.2017


2 bee bites, 2 short poems

Sunday, June 11th, 2017

Last week during hive inspection, a bee stung me through my sock on the inside of my right ankle. Yesterday one stung me on the inside of my left ankle. Right on the bone both times. How do they know where the closest flesh is?

Good Cop Story 2

Before this year,
last time I got stopped for speeding
was 41 years ago driving Baltimore to D.C.
at 2 in the morning
delivering microfiche to a customer.

Cop sat me in seat next to him.
I pulled my license from my shirt pocket
and a joint fell into my lap.

He looked at it.
I looked at him.
Looked down at it.
Picked it up.
Put it back in my pocket.
Nothing said.
He finished speeding ticket
and we went our ways.

Of course
he was white
and I was white
plus I was extremely polite.

– Smith, 6.10.2017


Sisyphus Sundae

Sun’s up
I’m not
Air’s crisp
Mind’s knot
Body aches
Money’s thin
Life’s a scrape to make the end
Raise foot
Forward plop
Get through slop
Cherish cherry on the top

– Smith, 6.11.2017


2 short poems… on lying, and water

Friday, June 9th, 2017

How Long the Nose, Pinocchios?

Richard Nixon 1973:
“People have got to know
whether or not their president is a crook.
Well, I’m not a crook.”

Trump’s spokeswoman 2017:
“I can definitely say the President is not a liar,
and I think it’s, frankly,
insulting that question would be asked.”

– Smith, 6.8.2017



Watching raining water outside
While drinking water inside
Water here
Water there
Which is real?
Which one’s wet?

– Smith, 6.9.2017

There, I’m up to date on the poem-a-day challenge for June with Mary E. Weems and Lady K. Poems are hard to come by this month.

From 1964-2008 I wrote 5-10 poems a year, with none at all from 1975-85, but once we returned in 2009 from living in 10 countries on 3 continents for 31 months, it jumped to 300+ a year. Take fotos and write poems… pretty much what I do these days.


word run

Thursday, June 8th, 2017

In 2006-9 when we lived in 10 countries on three continents for 31 months and we blogged it with fotos, we had a hefty blog readership.

Since we moved back to the U.S., blog traffic has consistently fallen.

Now with me doing little but posting 1 to 7 new poems a week, readership has basically stopped.

Oh the horror of poetry.

Word Run

Word Run ran like rain away
seeking sun of brighter day

Word Run roamed Rome for a week
for better treatment of the meek

Word Run slips before the fall
knowing fair’s unfair for all

Word Run sees rich ain’t right
their moral lack a social blight

Word Run done did right by wrong
which is why I sing this song

Word Run fun we wish for you
to live your life in service too

Word Run rounds square night life
eases darkness with some light

Word Run wants the best of you
to build a fairer truer true

– Smith, 6.8.2017


many mini me

Wednesday, June 7th, 2017

Remainder Bin

Stink bug stink bug
stuck inside my think mug

I’m but monkey trying to grab
reflection of my banana
from the mirror

I look through bars of belief

Ache in back, vague in mind
if body pain seasons human
I’m 5-season salad

Many mini me’s

In my flight to the unfinish
and lost degeneration
life’s more luck than logic

I’m slow buffered dawn
pausing the worm of ambition

Fish-gilled wool swim about my brain

Sittin’ here with the chickens
tryin’ to raise some scratch
watchin’ the plot thicken
wishin’ time would get off my ass

I am child of Sisyphus
worship roll of rock

Checking out the lies of the land

It’s the singing, not the song
the ringing, not the gong
the going, not the gone

Up before sun
new dark new start

– Smith, 6.6.2017


demons, doubts, detours

Tuesday, June 6th, 2017

Trickle Tongues

Hey Mister what you doin’
with your hand in my pocket
truth is truth no foolin’
no matter what you call it
you takin’ big handfuls
puttin’ out more trash
turnin’ green to landfills
talkin’ out your ass

it sorta seems like sin, sir
it sorta seems like sin
this talk not talked between us
that goes on round the rim

we make a lot of noise
so we don’t have to listen
to the grass
to the sky
to the trees
but there’s still a whisker of whisper
from head to bended knee

you is what you is
though they say you ain’t
the wrong side of bliss
do tender the taint

demons, doubts, detours
sure slather the wrong side of sure

hand me off through a paint store window
toss me to the other side
where rights crispy don’t burn at the stake
and truth ain’t daily lied

except truth’s not truth till it’s verified
and we’re the butt of truths implied

– Smith, 6.5.2017

I have a self portrait in THE ARTISTS’ TRUST – A Portrait of the Artist from Cuyahoga County: a community project by Liz Maugans, created for the Constant as the Sun Exhibition at MOCA Cleveland.

Click on for an everchanging carasel of over 300 artists, or try to start with mine. A fascinating variety of artistic self portraits/

to better times


turtles all the way down

Monday, June 5th, 2017


Twenty miles over the speed limit
going with the flow
east to the in-laws and weekly bee inspection
Leonard Cohen singing of his journey’s end
versus the young girl flirting with him
who’s just starting out
I glance at a dead deer on the asphalt
who’d escaped the other side
of the concrete barrier
in high delight
for this

Ain’t no warranty
in the promised land of the future
so I’m getting mine now
collecting pay along the way
which is
kiss of wife
rub of cat
sit by lilacs without a hat
play with clouds
soak in sun
speak silent or aloud
– Smith, 6.4.2017


Norman Rockwellville

Saturday, June 3rd, 2017


Norman Rockwellville

Walked a mile to the country school
white wood, two rooms
grades 1 through 4 left room
5 through 8 right
the husband wife teachers
living in the cottage on the grounds
each day I listen to my 5th grade lessons
then 6th, then 7th, then 8th
end of year they close the school
skip 2 of us in the 5th to 7th
the third, her mom said no
did not want her young daughter
in class with older boys with cars
and condoms
which I later understood

Walked a mile other way to country church
white wood, two rooms
youngsters in front
adults in back
preacher weekday carpenter
his family a good chunk of the congregation
one day in front room
sitting behind my 14 year old girlfriend
who’s teaching the kids parables
I run my 13 year old hand
up her leg
under her skirt
into her panties
to a bit of wetness beyond
where I pause in silence
as she continues her sermon

– Smith, 6.3.2017


little red riding dessert soon after

Friday, June 2nd, 2017


You say “that’s just a fairy tale,
life’s not like that”
but I don’t think you’re reading right,
because they’re regular P.H.D.s of life design;
they’ll teach you to tell the troll
“don’t eat me, eat my brother, he’s bigger,”
that poor fathers sell young daughters
to beasts for sleepovers,
if you’re hungry there’s always
a granny in the woodpile
with little red riding dessert soon after,
or tired weary human and lame
a little bear burglary’s okay,
and mutilating mice is fine,
but remember a frog asking for a kiss
is worth more as a freak than a Prince,
and what exactly is Ms. White doing
with Sneaky Sleazy and the seven’s semen?
so yeah, soap operas and fairy tales,
fairy tales and soap operas,
just the thing to set kids right
let them know knives are for backs
stuff is for steal
and truth is to lie for
nothing down
except the duck, the goose, the gander

– Smith, 6.2.2017


Medusa, 2 winedrunks & 1 coffee

Thursday, June 1st, 2017

looks a bit like Little Donnie Chump
(part of a Tim Joyce sculpture)

I was fortunate a week ago to have Medusa’s Kitchen post 9 poems, 9 fotos, and 1 song – check them out at


by John Grochalski
is posting a poem a day as long as Lord Feltersnatch is SCROTUS.

I have two poems up so far, for days 84 and 119:


Primordial Ooze

First pre-dawn sip of coffee
followed by first toke of day
and finally, faintly, from afar
I hear Doctor Frankenstein’s mad cackle:

“He’s alive. HE’S ALIVE!!!!”

– Smith, 6.1.2017


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