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