Thirty New Poems by Daniel L. Smith celebrate the lessons learned from summertime insects in this "sutra for August insects" in the first collection of work in fifteen years. Smith's poetry is self-referential to the craft itself, current events of summer 2014, and results from a challenge by fellow poet Amanda Dowd, also a fellow beekeeper, from France to write 30 poems in thirty days, as part of Seattle Washington poet Paul Nelson, creator of the project. Nelson compiles a list of poets to encourage spontaneous writing and foster creativity, increase networking among serious working poets, and revive the art of postcard writing. Each of the unedited poems must fit on a postcard, sent to thirty other poets, and Smith has been part of this project for two years. His first challenge, in 2013, is referenced in the first poem of the 2014 challenge. So is the murder of Micheal Brown, police brutality from Kent State in the 70's to the present, and intimate relationships among strangers as diverse as the post lady who speaks to insects and garden statues, and an European gardener who deceased lets her garden run wild. Interspersed are observations on dragonflies, spiders, carrots, and other garden vegetables in a delightful romp through a day in the life of a poet. Smith chronicles the month of August 2014 with subjects from actual events, besides the Ferguson unrest he witnesses up close and personal. Robin Williams' suicide, a leak on an airliner during a thunder storm, a leave taking between old friends, a visit to the Bosnian bakery--all chronicle the poet's observations on grief and loss, as well provide a substantial look at what guides the human spirit to sustain life itself, persevering and getting through the days, and documenting the ever insistent "now" of daily life. Some of poems are funny, some other-worldly, all connected by a strand of fragility spun by the spiders of this and other realities. An in depth look at the "hive mentality" witnessed by an observant poet creates a playground for the mind, with Smith's beekeeping background and solid knowledge of nature "even if just a little spot in time and place." As a younger poet decades ago, Smith wrote of the tempests of addictions, the carnality of gradual school (where as John Irving once said "they gradually drain you of common sense"), and the profundity of loss. Now in his sixties, Smith gives a glimpse of observational prowress, celebrating the daily life, transcending parochial boundaries, and freely exalting the minutinae of close observation of nature. "It would be nice to fully comprehend just one square foot of nature, an inch or two deep, and know everything about that space, that fecundity of creation, that detail of a benevolent creator, and give thanks," according to Smith.