Thursday, July 12, 2007

Empty Out Words
for Sonia Farmer

words we sit upon shelves, letter by letter,
in patterns like bowling pins

how we spend time, time others kill

how many hours spent in a lifetime
active like this, in such activity
others inactive or destructive

when does one assembling words
know he is, she is poet
self-convinced, the world convinced

is it the Nobel Prize, some other honor
or some time long after we die
that it's confirmed that time spent
assembling letters into words,
in patters as if upon a shelf
amounted to something
was meaningful

not unlike an afternoon spent
tossing stones across a lake or pond,
across the sea to see if you can make skip,
bounce, what is not at all a rubber ball

poets firing letters off, rounds of twenty-six
instead of bullets

not easy to find something to fill time with
to kill time with


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:04 a.m. 12/07/07

2 Comments:

Blogger Ubiquitous Art and Literary Magazine said...

haha fabulous!!!!! See what good conversation can do? Love it.

Thursday, July 12, 2007 6:54:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

you're right, Sonia. It was born out of our passionate communication. We must have touched something - somewhere in each other. Thanks for being so deeply available.

Thursday, July 12, 2007 7:42:00 PM  

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