Akee & Codfish
for N.B.
rank body odor
after a long day at the clinic
I like even better
than her perfume
I like when she gives it to me raw
I like best what’s truest
what she produces,
woman from Jamaica,
more than what’s manufactured
in Paris
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:43 p.m. 7/11/07
Where Too Find Pearls
for N.B.
she should blow her poems
out of her nose, like snot
she should fart them or shit them
or spit them,
she should never speak them
words out of the mouth
out of a common place
out of a
too familiar place
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:31 p.m. 7/11/07
for N.B.
rank body odor
after a long day at the clinic
I like even better
than her perfume
I like when she gives it to me raw
I like best what’s truest
what she produces,
woman from Jamaica,
more than what’s manufactured
in Paris
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:43 p.m. 7/11/07
Where Too Find Pearls
for N.B.
she should blow her poems
out of her nose, like snot
she should fart them or shit them
or spit them,
she should never speak them
words out of the mouth
out of a common place
out of a
too familiar place
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:31 p.m. 7/11/07
posted by Obie Quiet at 6:05 AM
3 Comments:
you are not afraid to go, to look, to search for a poem between folds of a girl's skirt you'd go anywhere to find pearls.
You do cause me, Dee, my darling, to reflect upon the fact that the limbs of a woman and the crotch where these limbs meet, are as much a part of nature and even more inspiring than limbs and crotches of trees. Maybe the sweetness of the crotches of trees rival more strongly the crotches of women when, in such crotches, there are hives of bees with honey dripping from them? Have I here brought into being yet another poem? Have you here, by your sweetness, inspired yet another poem, DBA?
Here is another response to your comment, my darling. I suppose I do need poetry to be about something far worse or far more profound than collecting shells along the beach. Where I'll go for the pearl of- or for the pearl that is poetry is one thing. That you'd allow me to, is yet another thing or is the other half of the whole magic of poetry. I recall the muse who inspired "Akee & Codfish" initially consenting to my writing of her: "Just do not include the word pussy," she said. I wrote of her for about a year avoiding using this word against which she'd warned. One evening alone with her, I told her of this long ago established limitation. She said that she did not at all remember that and told me that I was free to imagine anything and everything and free to use any word at all. We have this sort of relationship, you and I. The "Akee & Codfish" muse though is another man's wife. I write of you, Dee, as if your were my own twice - my own wife and my muse.
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