She Sails or She Shipwrecks
a response in verse for M.N.W.
1.
the muses and me,
nine of them, one of me,
the muses and God, the company I keep
2.
how could you, to show your appreciation,
with music, bludgeon your customers, your passengers
just as well use a club
when they’re all inside, when the doors are closed
let them have it, blows upon the head, upon the nose
until bloody
what they get for support shown, for patronage
this is what their money buys,
endless supply of hits in the face,
hits from below, from on high
in the cathedral, during mass, Even Song,
at a wedding, at a funeral, organ music, like perfume,
fills the church up to its high ceiling,
bathe the people in pews, present to worship
this planet, more and more,
like a warship we were traveling on, sailing on,
spinning, turning without end
will all life on it, end up down the drain,
the dream, down the drain
3.
more and more,
with my tongue alone,
able to shove open shut doors
4.
line of verse must lift weights
when insufficiently muscular
or who writes them down, puts them on paper
this pen in my fist is a weight to lift
unprepared to put it down
it’s my ammunition, it’s my movie camera
its weight to me, familiar to me, second-nature to me
pass what pass out through me, what pass into me
with shovel, with grub-hoe, with pick-ax,
a farmer, a gardener plants and grows
a grove, an orchard,
fruit trees, heavy down, it’s harvest time
the mangrove swamp, with trees with roots
above the ground to brace them up
5.
der pendulum must swing
all the way north den all the way south
like der tongue of a bell, otherwise no meaning, no sound
each second must be used up
before the following second drips,
drops into existence
6.
army of ants
for what event are they on the move, on the march
in such numbers
what in ant history being commemorated,
along my bathroom wall
my house, but they’re unaware of this
their path, something, somewhere they possess
they connect by their numbers, sheer multitude
river of black ants across white wall
wish I knew what event this was/this is
uninvited, though this ceremony, celebration,
happy or sad occasion, occurring in my abode
had I insecticide spray, I’d decide
what could and what could not take place
tens-of-thousands in procession, I’d annihilate
I recall the chosen, crossing the Red Sea
it parted for them
exodus from Egypt was not to be thwarted,
was not to be aborted
how ant-like we humans are
in comparison with who created the universe
at times we’re saved, at times we’re sifted
7.
her smile, bigger than she is, prettier than she is
as if competing with her as two sisters might
her smile so big, is so very bright
are such pretty white, perfect white teeth
numbered among the 206 bones contained in her body
her smile is without flaw, her teeth without gap
8.
she is very delicately made
on the stage/in my arms, the distance crossed
in her white dress, her small ripe breasts
why does she shake so
she trembles when she comes to the edge of her world,
of what is reality for her, refusing to cross, to go forth
she’s delicately made, her bones protrude,
her elbows, about her wrists, her pelvis bones,
her ankle bones
in spite of this she’s pretty as can be
maybe she has too much sugar for me,
too much fat or too much grease
TCBY is said to be fat-free
growing up, the things I would eat/could eat
O Henry, Kit Kat, Ritz,
sausage, Potted Meat, Weenies,
bacon, cheese
how very long I’ve not had a meal of eggs,
a bowl of oat meal
9.
the sunsets, sunrises we’ve slept through
spectacular light shows
we age anyway, day by day
eventually full of days, full of nights
we turn grey rather than full of the colors of sunrise,
of sunset
those moments of glorious silhouettes
lights in the background, from instant to instant changing
in the foreground, the black leaves of trees,
the patterns of these
the distance, the difference,
between heaven and here, heaven and earth
the distance between
the sun, the moon, the earth
10.
budding leaves, budding wings
when will what we write be able to fly
take leave of earth at will and alight
until this is achieved, the audience will leave
before the curtain comes down
before the mouth of our would-be poet
closes
11.
she knows not how to aim at art,
she misses therefore, fails to hit it
what does she target, what is her target
Zen in the Art of Archery might help, might assist,
once she’s receptive
I know a man who writes, who refuses to read
he says his fear is other writers’ influence
is this excuse, is he too lazy to engage in the labor
craft of writing requires
writer needs vocabulary, hers is very tiny
as well as very weak
from insufficient reading, insufficiently strong
unable to wrestle, to put into place,
stubborn words, stubborn verse, stubborn lines
rejecting her authority
choosing to have their own way, their own say,
undermining constantly
what she attempts to make words say
12
tongue in the bell bangs back and forth
for the story to be told
all the way forth and all the way back
until the bell is black and blue
and gold
13.
give her my footsteps to step in, to walk in
until she has her own steps, her own story
to step in, to tell
her own spell to cast, her own words to spell
Ryan’s daughter and the professor, on a stretch of beach
their steps washed by waves
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
