Blow Out the Candles
on the thirty-fourth anniversary
of Bahamian independence
i
however bad the weather is
it always passes and I remain
here to last longer than a squall of rain
ii
woman like dat
would broke up yur bed
rip up yur spread
when der iron in der fire
start tur turn red
iii
the sea rose and it was red
and it was rosy with souls
iv
write a calypso to get right up and sing
for people to get right up and dance
time to catch up with Ancient Man
v
how long did it take
who had been enslaved
to remember their humanity
to recall it fully
vi
out of the cup of the present
of the moment, as if I had spilled
just day-before-yesterday
I was so in harmony with existence
so in the pulse of being
vii
two dolls together
their clothes ripped
their eyes black
when who owns them
comes back
viii
she is bigger and biggety
and beating them silly
each hand filled with a boy
with a boy’s neck
a boy’s life in each hand
handles them rough,
knocks them about
as dark as they are
but as big as them both
she laughs, they grimace
hurting but free, they walk away
insulting remarks
they hurl over their shoulders
heading north
heading south,
she deflects with two words
she makes into a shield
“Yur ma!”
and off she goes
she’s mauled two males
her fix until she finds
two more tomorrow
to do in
to show who rules
who runs things
is she as able to get her sums right,
her verbs or does she as recklessly,
as viciously, split her infinitives
ix
I want to be able
to remember what happened
dish water of time
I wish I were able to hold on to
I wish I were able to hold back
water I bathe in with her
I don’t want to let out
but it was time we were into together
I do not wish to unplug the drain
but even dreams end when we wake up
roused by rooster
or St. Margaret’s Church bell
x
empty coconut head
waiting for poetry to accumulate
like jelly
xi
blank tablet
black board
for the muses to write upon, across
with white or red chalk
this to say instead of talk
xii
as many skins as onion
to cry in, to sin in
xiii
knit me back, knit me black
into the fabric of here and now
want the blood of existence
flowing through my fibers also
through my fibers again
vital part of being, I wish to be again
xiv
politeness is a gift
without which
you may find yourself lifeless
beside the road
xv
what a love affair
she and I shared
like icing on the cake of existence
on the crust of creation
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:29 a.m. July 4, 2007
on the thirty-fourth anniversary
of Bahamian independence
i
however bad the weather is
it always passes and I remain
here to last longer than a squall of rain
ii
woman like dat
would broke up yur bed
rip up yur spread
when der iron in der fire
start tur turn red
iii
the sea rose and it was red
and it was rosy with souls
iv
write a calypso to get right up and sing
for people to get right up and dance
time to catch up with Ancient Man
v
how long did it take
who had been enslaved
to remember their humanity
to recall it fully
vi
out of the cup of the present
of the moment, as if I had spilled
just day-before-yesterday
I was so in harmony with existence
so in the pulse of being
vii
two dolls together
their clothes ripped
their eyes black
when who owns them
comes back
viii
she is bigger and biggety
and beating them silly
each hand filled with a boy
with a boy’s neck
a boy’s life in each hand
handles them rough,
knocks them about
as dark as they are
but as big as them both
she laughs, they grimace
hurting but free, they walk away
insulting remarks
they hurl over their shoulders
heading north
heading south,
she deflects with two words
she makes into a shield
“Yur ma!”
and off she goes
she’s mauled two males
her fix until she finds
two more tomorrow
to do in
to show who rules
who runs things
is she as able to get her sums right,
her verbs or does she as recklessly,
as viciously, split her infinitives
ix
I want to be able
to remember what happened
dish water of time
I wish I were able to hold on to
I wish I were able to hold back
water I bathe in with her
I don’t want to let out
but it was time we were into together
I do not wish to unplug the drain
but even dreams end when we wake up
roused by rooster
or St. Margaret’s Church bell
x
empty coconut head
waiting for poetry to accumulate
like jelly
xi
blank tablet
black board
for the muses to write upon, across
with white or red chalk
this to say instead of talk
xii
as many skins as onion
to cry in, to sin in
xiii
knit me back, knit me black
into the fabric of here and now
want the blood of existence
flowing through my fibers also
through my fibers again
vital part of being, I wish to be again
xiv
politeness is a gift
without which
you may find yourself lifeless
beside the road
xv
what a love affair
she and I shared
like icing on the cake of existence
on the crust of creation
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:29 a.m. July 4, 2007
posted by Obie Quiet at 4:41 PM
3 Comments:
Oh this is amazing, very amazing..i cant describe what i felt but this is for me a kaleidoscope of experiences, indeed happy independence!
And to you too though it’s ours I hope you enjoyed immensely. The Bahamas embraces you, mafudian.
What am I most interested in is the time in which this was written. 3 YEARS AGO. I was 15. You seem to have been in a relation with another woman child or girl or simply or not so simply flirting[with your pen].
But apart from personal comments this poem is absolutely amazing. There is something very potent and mysterious about this. The situation is not quite clear to me but it seems like one of importance to you to me and to the nation.
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