Tuesday, July 31, 2007

In The Rain In Pain
for Carol Scriven

all you have to do
is drop down dead
like rain falls
like snow falls
like waterfalls

why rely upon a walking stick
when dying is so effortless


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:16 p.m. 31/07/07
In What’s Pitch Black, Light
for Jax

God has been e-mailing a long time
things he sends into our heads
in an instant, all the way from heaven
where much of what is sent
over the internet comes from
like these thoughts,
like much of what we think up
or think down


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:52 p.m. 31/07/07
Chilly
of Bloneva

it’s a white evening,
maybe it’s snowing
maybe it’s snowing in Eden
and Eve has her clothes off


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:33 p.m. 31/07/07
To Mark Me

don’t want, won’t want
her negative teeth

in my apple


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:11 p.m. 31/07/07
She Opens Wine
for Sonia, Leah & Kendrick

music of lightning, thunder, rain


though severe and without lights,
crashing thunder, flashing lightning
splashing rain, our dinner music


artists gather about a table, after grace
partake of lamb


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:15 a.m. 31/07/07

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Kouyomjian
for Charles & Susan

“No Place to be Somebody,”
I'm always able to recall, along with,
not Charles Gordone, but Susan Kouyomjian,
the playwright’s fiancée

white white white
with this black American playwright
as militant, as angry as Amiri Baraka

why was she with him? “I love elegant things,
especially elegant thought”

best answer ever gotten to a question

how come, we wanted to know,
was he with this white woman
contradicting his play, its message,

“She's black!” he said, end of story
he’d not be seen capitulating,
soft, sleeping with the enemy
nor his daughter, nor his wife

who was as white as milk,
Gordone, in an instant, made black,
made over, edited, revised,
like some part of his play

was that what he told whoever asked

defiant as a panther, as prepared to pounce
who in the Grand Bahama Players
rehearsing “No Place to be Somebody,”
with the author, dared cross him,

back talk him or them, comfortable,
joined in defiance, prepared to battle


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:20 a.m. 29/july/07/07
Lethargic Flags

culture wider, deeper
than many suggest, suppose

too lazy, too shallow
to launch into the deep

too many stick to the shores
to what's sure, until even then,
even there, they're gripped by,
shaken by uncertainties

not knowing where to run
grab a gun shoot someone
as if there were not at least
an alphabet of options


© obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:52 p.m. 29/07/07
Starbucks Buddies
for Sonia Farmer

i
writing is like when
my pen is smoking
or like a smoking gun

ii
I want to drink you like milk
should I shake you initially
shake you before I swallow

iii
I want to erotic-meditate on you


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:20 a.m. 26/07/07
Unable To Enjoy

overturned, down the drain,
not even a little bit left
of Joy the wind blew over

dollar ninety-nine, bottle empty of lime,
leaves a dull pain


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:07 p.m. 29/07/07/07
Mestizo
for Grissel Gomez Estrada

how confined we are
to our languages
who we can and who we can’t
have lunch with

how close we can get
to who have our same words on their tongue

as gooey as ours, as gooey as us
sleeping, steeping in one same tub
one same tongue, one same song

Mexican woman in a different bed
in a different room
wall between us to weep down


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:30 p.m. 29/07/07

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Break of Day
for Dickson Wasake

happy if she alights on me
if she dawns on me
let her alight upon him
afraid as if she were a bumble bee
brushing, frantic

as if this dawn were full of bees
full of these and bees bight

all right if I were up to my neck
in these, in bees
big joke to laugh at
once he's behind glass

looking out upon the sun
coming up rather than outside
up to his neck in honey


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:42 p.m. 28/07/07
Sour Grapes
for M.G.S.

not difficult at all
for her to find marijuana,
not surprising to find she's smoking
when her dad left marijuana
in her genes pocket,
in a packet in her genes


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:18 p.m. 28/07/07

Our Father Prayer
for Angela Palacious

people go to England, Canada, elsewhere,
think that they are up there
but it's all down here, even when,
even where it snows

went to Scandinavia but I was still on earth

waiting here, waiting there,
for thy kingdom to come,
thy will to be done on earth
as it is in heaven


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:45 p.m. 28/07/07

A Way Home
for Dickson Wasake

forgive me therefore
if I sometimes look lost,
if you see me arrive at crossroads
not knowing readily, which way to turn
in this archipelago,
not of 700 islands,
but a countless number of them,
beginning in Bimini,
ending in Trinidad


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:36 p.m. 28/07/07
With Jesus Asleep
for Paul Anthony White

we're in this boat together,
my children, their mothers and me

any one can make it rock, can make it roll
attached to it and to each other
as we are, inextricably, irrevocably

we must be respectful of, as well as
towards each other, anyone able,
to make the boat rock, make the boat roll,
even able to make the boat capsize

what is true for me and my family
equally true for me and my nation
or for me and all humanity

in all these instances
I am as much a part of the whole
as the whole is part of me

intricately attached, intricately tied,
one to another


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:45 a.m. 28/07/07
Butt-ends
for Gregory

along with the cigarette
you're shortening,
sucking in, sucking on

you're shortening my life
along with your own


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:13 a.m. 27/07/07

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Until Day Clean
for Sonia Farmer

eliminate walls, divides between us
spaces in hotels, open into convention centres

age, race, two partitions I want to take down
permission, assistance, tentatively given

wall of rocks between our two properties
to fling aside

instead of Robert Frost's neighbours
mending wall, assist, antithesis
of “good walls make good neighbours”

fuck being neighbours, better to be in bed
naked as I can make you
skin between us, walls sufficient

cock for you, crow when it’s in you
wake the naighbours

man and woman joined, enjoying love

able to get to Amsterdam inside you,
Red Light District,
pretty beauty, select from a window

who needs money for cunny, love’s enough for love

when Françoise Gillot, visited Picasso
what love, what art they made

couple together, change the world
six plus billion wake, find the world’s different
knowing not why

wind blew by, blew chocolatery, us,
into a fairy tale town

as many sweets to treat you with
mayor resisting until he couldn’t and gave in

treats in a window, eat until insensate
over walls society erects, out of this world

tear them down to hold you, melt like tar melts
upon asphalt roads in this city
in summer


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:29 a.m. 26/07/07

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Nations to Stop At
for Christian & Kamau

dialect, considered, especially by those
initially educated in our Caribbean,
to be static, blur, occurring when the dial's
not right on the station

in our case, English or the BBC being that station

Kamau Braithwaite introduces us to
our own nation language, not static at all,
not some nebulous place between stations

nation language, another station
without static, as clear as day as they say


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:51 p.m. 25/07/07
Summer Stormy Weather
of L.M.M.

like someone deaf
all manner of hurtful, offensive things,
about them, against them, said in their presence
unable to wipe a smile away

still able to get a sack of mangos
perfume from which, fill an old house
with new air, with new atmosphere


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:55 p.m. 25/07/07
As Afraid As A Mouse
of L.M.M.

she thinks she is a moral compass
she does not know what day it is
what way to go

to get out of chic charney bushes


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:55 p.m. 25/07/07
My vote is for Hulan Hanna, not for Commissioner of Police but for Prime Minister.

I hear no one in leadership in this entire country speak as he does against the enemies of society, enemies of law and order, enemies of peace and tranquility. Every one else it seems is prepared to grin and bear it, to invite us generally to put up with it.

This land of ours is not at all too far from Edenic. Look about when it rains, when the sun rises or at twilight, between sunset and nightfall.

How can we allow who is unappreciative of peace, insensitive to beauty, to make life in The Bahamas, especially upon New Providence and in its capital, Nassau, a thing to get out of, to throw up and spit out. Antisocial persons with their noises and misbehavior, make life here so distasteful.

Hulan Hanna is the man, is the voice, which seems more than any other, not to compromise. Is this not how we produce productive families, children who are model citizens? Is it not with resolve, with the toughest possible love? It is not at all unlike an electrician, mason, carpenter, plumber who pulls out whatever tool is require to get the job done, to get whatever it is he's assigned to, is working on, functioning.

Am I to feel happy to bring a wife into communities as out of control as these inner city areas, to bring children into this world in such unsafe, insensitive places and raise them where criminals and the criminal-minded continually have the upper hand? Where they run things as is said on the street?

The behavior on the street, in and on vehicles, along Kemp Road, for example, leaves one to wonder what country we're in and why such persons seem to have no one to answer to. Why it seems, is there no law or God to fear?

Half-a-dozen Hulan Hanna's, I am certain, can turn this place around, could make me and everyone else, who is law abiding, proud to say, "I am a Bahamian". At Present, I do not at all care to boast of this.

Jacques Chirac, mayor of Paris from 1977 to 1995, made it safe to walk about Paris even during the night. Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, brought about similar respect for law and order in New York City while he served as mayor, 1994–2001.

Look, fellow citizens, our entire population is just above 300,000, why therefore are things socially out of control? It could only be that who should be fighting crime is instead in collusion with the criminal element.

Hulan Hanna seems like, speaks like, sounds like pure water to me. He quenches my thirst when I hear him speak. This evening on the 7 o'clock news I heard him and I cried. He for me is a sign of hope. It seems he’s on the side of God, on the side of good, and not like those employed by light as well as darkness.


Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:53 p.m. 24/07/07

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Walt Disney
for Mark McWatt

roller coaster ride, winds, twists, rewinds,
returns to where the poem commenced

tracks to guide it to its outermost reaches
and back again

strapped in, you’re safe,
unless the tracks collapse or something breaks

chance you take between when you pick a pen up
and when you put it down


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
2:04 a.m. 26/july/06
Hooked On Her Crab Soup
for L.M.M. & J.C.S.

so very generous, so very giving

she'd give you the shirt off her back
even fill it in, fill it out, fill it up
with her worries

allowing all this, permitting it all,
she imagines, for no charge, for no cost at all


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:55 p.m. 24/07/07
Mad As Hell

is this someone trying to create
a new imperialism
wanting to impose upon us
all over again, an English
or Canadian Weltanschuung

haven't we our own,
aren't we attempting to find it,
dust it off, polish it up

she is suppose to be of us
is she insider or outsider
she’s mixed up mentally

I prefer what Haitians bring to the table
to her imperial bull shit,
bull shit she’s trying to bring back

I thought we'd gotten rid
of that perspective
I thought we'd taken that flag down
governor general's daughter,
a traitor, attempting
to hoist in our midst
the flags of other nations
she's spent time in
a decade here, a decade there

she needs to decide upon nationality
pick a nation and cling to it

she needs to find the city of sense
the seat of understanding
and sit in it, shut up and knit,
plait straw, shell peas or peel potatoes

her words most certainly
do not plant seeds
do not make things grow


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:28 p.m. 24/07/07
Pop Music Pop Culture
for Sidney Poitier

giving birth to and bringing up
lunatics and monsters

these women so unlike our mothers
without our fathers
cut off from the olden days
attempting to raise children
with T.V. wisdom

raising who inevitably
have to be erased or razed down

all over the road
wallowing and hollering
when these lives, blank of humanity
are taken by others,
equally zombies

like ghosts killing ghosts in this land

anybody thinking
they have a right to parent
however wrong their ideas are
passing them on
or with little or nothing to pass on
and jealous about input
from any other source

their own doll baby to take care of
as if life were a toy

children growing up
to be monsters too soon

society's strings to play and to pop
along with nerves


© Obediah Michael Smith. 2007
8:33 a.m. 24/07/07
Pinch Ouch

I find the smell of pee inspiring
my own stale pee to inspire me
this instead of an uncommitted woman's perfume,
haunting and teasing me

smell of pee, constant, available to me
women come and leave, come and go


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:29 a.m. 24/07/07
In Words Hiding
for James Rolle

my aim, as writer, as poet
is to pull the string of language
like a string to flush with

to cause God to fall out
into the lap like a cat

deliver who was lost,
was missing for some,
not believed in by others,
so that whose lap
I succeed in causing him to fall into
would have him, would know him,
would not have to not believe
or merely believe


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:28 p.m. 18/07/07

Monday, July 23, 2007

Like A Moth About Light

though these are not the worst of times
I am not in the best of health

early to bed early to rise
makes a man healthy wealthy and wise

what of these attributes could I have
when I'm up all night almost always
living like this for years

3:08 a.m. and I just ate dinner
up from 2 p.m. without a bite
without looking away at all
from my computer screen


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:12 a.m. 23/97/07

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Bonehead

little or no intellectual meat,
unlike the mangos we feast on in summer


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:34 p.m. 22/07/07
Glum To Chew
for L.M.M.

depressing, distressing,
just plain uninspiring

in spite of this and so many other poems
negativity inspires

Wilfred Owen’s and Siegfried Sassoon’s
poems of war or John Keats’s poems
inspired by illness

but artists always try
to brighten up a dark room
lighten a dark world


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:17 p.m. 22/07/07
In The Mourning Time
for Dawn V. Hanna

could we have been broken to behold,
to be held, to be whole,
for him to have to hold us
to fix us

when a baby cries and is picked up
or to be picked up

when something drops, breaks and we pick it up,
collect it piece by piece,
would we ever have caressed it so, loved it more

does the father love us best, love us more
love us most, when we are broken
when he is mending us


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:43 p.m. 22/07/07
Alleys Sally's

holes for rats to make their nests
imagine I'd be eager to enter
imagine all men are rapists, are lunatics
how conceited, some women


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:12 p.m. 22/07/07

Some Light To Shine
for Robbin Whachell & Erin Green

i
take a camera, take pictures
instead I take a pen, bring back poems
when I travel, however far, for however long

ii
about to fall asleep
breathing like see-saw
so well measured,
that well balanced
outlet, intake of air
not about to take off,
about to fall asleep
to lift off to dreamland,
life as light as air

iii
I’m suppose to express myself
with a gun or a knife as well
how come I’ve found a pen instead
to fire, to stab with, to light fires with
scratching poems in the dark when the lights go out

iv
is this not part of planet earth
which God, in Genesis, made in seven days
has Kemp Road broken off
or dropped off of what’s holy
like a crumb upon the floor for roaches

v
poems I’ve had to dismantle
the two-backed beast to write
toy of love to dismantle and reassemble
poems to assemble in between

vi
stars like snowflakes
when it’s dark enough to see them
you among them, instead of trembling,
in awe

vii
interesting how the body is definitely
wired together
who wired it up,
I wonder


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
written between 2:31 a.m. and 5:20 a.m.
17/07/07, during a power outage.
Erections To Shun

instead of a woman, vagina,
a man, a man’s behind, a man to grind
pictures appearing upon my computer
popping up like a good idea


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:54 p.m. 21/07/07

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Kemp Road Latin

witnessing, witness in this ghetto
like a spy from another country
having to report from this station

plot afoot to overthrow these Philistines
order them to speak Latin


© Obedaih Michael Smith, 2007
6:32 p.m. 21/07/07
Cabbage

Lord, I want to be ahead,
feel ahead and not behind

I want to be a head and not

a behind


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:06 p.m. 21/07/07
Who Can Help

things I cannot shit out or throw up
unable to go north, unable to go south
I must work out somehow

divine intervention needed
to deal with Carla Oliver,
with Island Care Couriers

for this assistance, for his assistance
I pray upon my knees


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:31 p.m. 21/07/07
Where To Place Sperm
for Lady Eugenie Nuttall

bahama mama
eating mango in the rain

mango skin dropping
from her teeth and from her hand

as she goes along the side of the road
across the yard of the store
she approaches, shortly after leaves

as mindlessly, she’s dropped
upon the earth, children she's had

and we wonder why they grow up
wild like weeds, choke the garden
until mown down


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:08 p.m. 21/07/07
"Sadder still, all identical by default and so ingrained in their genetic make-up. The tragedy for me as mortal is that they cannot change, they must continue to wear the armor they were born with, perform a role already defined.
How both a blessing and a curse At least they know what their role is going to be from life to death...dvh"

Dawn, I find this bit above so very frightening; especially from someone as near enlightened as you; at times I would suspect or have suspected a racist mindset; gestures, things you'd say; not that you are not free to it; as it is you who have to live with it; and against such things we must each manufacture our own insulation and carry our shields or know how to disregard; so certainly you're free to it.

Then again it might not be based upon race at all because what race are you of or do you have or I, apart from the human race to which we all belong.

Maybe it is just good, old delusions of grandeur; imagining yourself, deep down and in your head, to be all a dis; all a dat; while at the same time, in the same breath, assuming others to be lesser mortals.

It cannot be that they are as splendidly made as I, you'd imply. You'd do this it seems, unwittingly. This is when and where, exasperated, abruptly, I used to end the conversation.

Once you e-mailed back after we'd rung off to ask: "What did I do? What did I say?" seeming entirely unaware.

Suggesting what you do regarding ants here, is for me a more extreme fallacy and even bigger nonsense than: "All Chinese look alike" or "All black people look alike" or "All white people look alike".

To imagine that there are no differences in character among ants because you are incapable of observing them, is the very same as ants or some other species imagining that Bahamians or human beings are all the same and are all doing the same routine.

What I do wish to grant you though, is that this latter conclusion might be entirely so, entirely correct only among us, with our different jobs, professions, churches; believers and nonbelievers; nationalities, classes; poverty, wealth; we imagine our differences are vast, are infinitely varied. These might very well all amount to but extremely minor differences. And what you imagine to be the situation among ants might be quite exact for us.

Among ants though, or any other species, maggots, flies, buffalos, termites, bacteria, viruses, mosquitoes, they too have their churches; their Hasties, Hannas, Thynes, Butlers, Smiths; their clashes, their parties, their conflicts.
Two hands Tied
for Francise Joseph

half a dozen holes I'm down in
climbing from, slipping and climbing

she imagines I'm available to enter into,
go down one more, once more and live

more than Houdini was capable of
what she invites, expects; suggests she fears

only available for hugs and kisses
not sex on the rocks, not straight up

one woman frustrating me, enough to live with
more than one to sleep with, can do without

let words be enough and gifts, and agape,
hands for God to deliver gifts to whom he selects

buckets to catch rain water when it fall
in squalls from heaven


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:35 a.m. 21/07/07
Store Across the Street
for Mrs. Rolle

four screws for a lady
in need of assistance
to get them in deep

fixture about a light bulb to fasten

without being aware, how starved I’d been
for four screws, to screw screws

to attach me to growing up
dad and big brother, instructions to follow
buildings without end to erect

these buildings standing still


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:44 p.m. 20/07/07

Friday, July 20, 2007

Sent : Friday, July 20, 2007 3:10 PM
Subject : tickle itch words [an excerpt]

Is it that we are, in our culture, in our world, generally, afraid of love and instead choose to be constipated, fearing that love will catch afire, burn down forest, straw market, Rome?

Why are we so afraid to love; afraid of it being the wrong love; the wrong person; afraid of it jumping the track it should have been on; bursting out of the skin it should have been in?

Why, Juanita, are we so afraid of love? Is it actually as volatile as fire, flammable, needing to be kept apart from fuels like gasoline; requiring us to switch off vehicle engines when we pull into a service station?

I wish we didn't have to be afraid and could just love. Jesus, I think we miss life, miss out on living and worms in the end feast upon us with so much delight when we in life should have been as vigorous, as lively.

Am I preaching? Forgive me.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Life Biscuit
for Dickson Wasake & Sonia Farmer

all the meals anyone eats
over the course of a lifetime

what they extracted from these
these substances, flavors, combined
offered us, offered up

most exquisite element
of several breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks
numbering in the tens-of-thousands

when we're bare, when we make love
and salivate over, on, into
what is the most delicious dessert

concocted by who we’re making love to
for us to savor what they savored,
what they saved for us of all they ate
and ingested


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:26 p.m. 19/07/07
On A Wedding Day
for Vaughn & Sobeyda

1
to town, to bed, to wed
she’s gone to my head

2
not in a suit and tie

in a conversation,
where I’m most comfortable

3
shopping for a wife
in a Spanish super market

up the aisle with a woman in his trolley
finally

with a dress to alter
with address to alter

4
wedding in the rain
however heavy the downpour

not quite as extreme
as a couple under water
marrying in a sea garden

horizontal in masks

upon their backs,
breathing apparatus

bubbles going up
as they make their vows

5
a little God or a large amount
for Vaughn and Sobeyda
to spread on toast
to have with tea

God in a jar like jam,
like orange marmalade

knife to spread him with
like the gospel, like apostles


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007




19 Jul 2007 08:23:09 -0400

Morning

I was actually not kidding - I do mean my 2nd wedding (which of course,
is no where in sight right now). I love the way you captured the entire
event and events of nature of the day. You have captured the visual
aspect of the wedding. As I was unable to attend the actual ceremony, I
had been asking for some description of the actual event. None, of
course, was as colourful as yours and so I actually can now envision the
most auspicious event in full splendour and with a view through the eyes
of "the poet"


Thursday, July 19, 2007 1:30 PM
subject: handel's messiah
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

happy to provide a window or a few in what was a wall. many thanks Shan, for your own inspiring words. your intellect impresses simultaneously. let it not waste or sleep where literature, where art is concerned.

have you visited NAGB yet? has Simfone ever been? oh, these precious things at hand we fail to take advantage of; so many taking drugs, having sex like a drug and taking lives. wish someone, something can redirect us, in large large numbers, to the arts, to poetry, to our own poetry inside. thanks for inspiring these thoughts. unfortunately those persons who should, cannot hear us.

Thanks again for that late night/early morning you delivered me home, remember, the morning the lamp pole on my property's boundary, virtually exploded and I was soooooo afraid; like those shepherds keeping watch over their flock by night? my flock were books, paintings, my own poetry and my house itself.

with much love.
Obie from u.n.c.l.e.
Any Bliss Left
for Shamija Moncur

bruised man, stretched, strained
strings about to pop, so near exhaustion
near sleep or near dying

will I keep, should I, or assist demise

water what I seek, rest, what is life-giving

a poem in what is strained
a poem though I am drained
out of this old man, out of this old world

promise to keep before I sleep

delicious in my arms, in me still
full woman, fill her clothes out
fill my arms up, my senses, with brown skin,
with eyes lit with fire flies,
too illusive to catch

with breasts suggesting, “bare them!”
to look at, to suck up, suck on, suck in

until I were fully alive again
look her up and down, lick her up and down

undress her with eyelids, two pairs
I open and shut with passion

want to roll away the clothes she wears
a piece up, a piece down
until she were wholly naked, holy bare
until I was holding her naked

beating hearts, two drums in the morning
coming forth to carry me home…

joy enough to want to die, to want to end life

life would end, another would begin
were I to eat her, fuck her, were I about to

like two lovers on a Grecian Urn,
in Spring, about to kiss, always about to

I'd want her wet before I entered,
centered myself in earth and heaven
axis for the world to spin on

world of her hips, world of mine
turning in time to a CD of love songs


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:12 a.m. 19/07/07

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

She Say She Wan’ Be Raster
of M.G.S.

I don't suppose it's easy
coming up between parents
as different as their mother and me

I suppose easily, one can get morally,
as well as otherwise, confused

these denominations of Christianity
wrestling for souls


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:05 p.m. 18/07/07

Monday, July 16, 2007

Many Tiny Pals
for Eric Rose

thousands of ants in my house
even more termites
thought I lived alone
thought I had but a few friends
turn my back a minute, turn back to find,
ants in the thousands
in my bowl of dinner
when I thought I was dining alone



© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:31 p.m. 16/07/07
Stop Ringing Dem Bells
for Tisca Pratt

wanted to kiss from
Le petit prince
all the way to the sky
to be high, to be wet with you
on a rainy afternoon
before it was too late

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:50 p.m. 16/07/07

Mass In the Ghetto
for Desiree Cox

dilute this solution
they saturate more and more
to the mess they attempt
to make of life, I bring
I add light


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:18 p.m. 16/07/07
Over-the-Hill Alleys
for L.M.M.

hold brakes in your own life,
not in mine

it’s winter in the mountains
snow-covered sides, I want to ride
I want to slip, I want to slide

never wanted to glide through life
through nights, through days

I know I do


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:26 p.m. 16/07/07
Thought
for Tisca

is it that our children choose us
their small hands in who we marry
choose who their parents will be

before us, our creator, our ancestors
after us, our children
caught between the past and future

we think our choices are our own


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:52 p.m. 16/07/07
The paradox involving these persons with their music disturbing us always is that they are very very ignorant and very very poor.

Their music loud is an attempt to suggest to us and to themselves, that they know something about something – about music; and that they have something; money enough with which to overwhelm us.

But if they had knowledge they'd know that there was far more to music - far more music than what they seem determine to deafen themselves and us with.

Had they the wealth, the economic might they wish to suggest they have, they'd be far more subtle about it, probably out upon a yacht somewhere or traveling the world.

Do we hear even a squeak from who owns Kelly’s or Starbucks or Solomon’s or Pritchard?

So quiet are these persons we often don’t even know that oftentimes a number of these successful, big businesses in our midst, have the very same owner. Norman Solomon at one point owned eighteen stores.

Haven’t we sense enough to make and to operate such entities as Solomon’s, as these malls we can only work in and shop in, happy to do so? Are we instead so foolish that all we can make is a big noise, a big nuisance of ourselves?

The fools among us, without end disturbing the peace, have little sense and little else.

As I am close to these persons in very many ways, and love them dearly, how very badly I wish our circumstances were otherwise.

Though we haven’t a national library. Though many educated among us would suggest that outside of C.O.B., we haven’t a good library; to my thinking, all libraries are good and we have several dozen in New Providence and scattered among our family of islands.

There are in any one of these libraries, thousands of books waiting to be read, capable of transforming lives, capable of providing anyone with initiative, an education: to be self-educated, even as Malcolm X was, reading the dictionary from cover to cover while in prison.

James Baldwin transformed himself, his country and his century. He read all the books in a library, near enough to walk to from where he lived in Harlem.

Mandela’s 27 years in prison, were not spent in prison, they were instead spent in books.

Frederick Douglas, born into slavery in 1818, was by law not allowed to learn to read but he did learn to read and he wrote books. His was a mighty voice and his a mighty act against the institution of slavery.

We with our freedom, too many take for granted, much of it bought with blood of so many and bequeathed to us, what are we doing in response? How are we ourselves laboring to add to these freedoms and to add to the light in our dark world?

These irresponsible noises, this disrespect for neighbor and for society, indicate a lack of civility, a criminal disconnectedness to those who fought and died for what we have been handed upon a platter and therefore squander.

There is everywhere and always a lack of reverence in our land. We need all available hands, still working on the building, building the temples of our liberation and freedoms.

Obediah Michael Smith.
July 16, 2007
2:15 a.m.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Slight of Hands
for L.M.M.

often times her Sunday dinner
is instead like Christmas dinner

as if to confuse or to cause me to doubt
my calendar


© Obediah Micheal Smith, 2007
8:38 p.m. 15/07/07
Like We Did Last Summer
for Omi Taylor

poet provides or should provide
a wonderful twist of a way
of seeing, of looking


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:55 p.m. 15/07/07


Do Me In
for Omi Taylor

I was about to do in an apple
I’ll do in a banana instead

with teeth and digestive enzymes
to go at it with, poor banana
will not know what hit it
will not know itself,
will be utterly transformed

in a minute or two

on its way to being part me,
part feces,
part pee


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:17 p.m. 15/07/07
On Sunday On Kemp Road

so many hiccups in life
boy with his girl on a motor bike

both of them good looking
one minute romantic
next minute near tragic

picking themselves up
out of the middle of the road
limping, looking for bruises

traffic come to a standstill
people gather to look

I heard the hit, I went to my window
my pen my camera


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:36 p.m. 15/07/07
In the name of God, what's going on on out streets? These noises definitely amount to, as well as indicate, a terrible evil, and I hear no one in authority say one word about these noises being disallowed.

Is it because policeman and politician, now men in government, are all part of this very same abominable evil?

I see this connection clearly. I hear from privately owned vehicles, the same volume of house-shaking, earth-shattering noises which accompanied campaigning this past May and up to election day. But it has not gone away. It seems they, politicians, sanctioned these noises then and they do not stand against them now. This is part of the insanity I've written of earlier, elsewhere, which political culture and its mentality release into the culture generally and permanently.

These noises need to be shut off, snuffed out. Political campaigning is over. These are the inconsistencies about governing which for me amount to hypocrisy. The need for grouper and craw fish season; the need for national parks; the sensitivity which these regulations suggest, imply; even the need for national health insurance. These certainly suggest caring to me.

But when these same persons in government, with every square inch of the nation, as well as everyone to see over - to be custodian of, how is it that there is such hush regarding these ungodly disturbances, especially from vehicles on our streets? How come there is silence, not a word, about eliminating smoking in public places in The Bahamas? Around the world this is being implemented. Why not here? Isn’t this Paradise?

Is it that where members of government live are like our nation's national parks and Kemp Road and other such areas are outside of any such protection? My demand is that you go far beyond Urban Renewal. I want to see the most inner of inner-city areas, treated like our nation's national parks.

I want Kemp Road and other such forsaken areas to become Edenic, like before the fall. No one informed me that Judgment had come and gone and I was assigned to hell for my sins. Attention has to be brought to these areas in our country to make them immediately fit for human habitation. These areas, criminally, are left to fester like sores.

The mayhem gets worse and worse, with little attention being paid. Bad habits and attitudes, towards who is neighbor in our inner-city communities, become worse and worse habits. This neglect, on the part of the-powers-that-be in our land, makes me ache. It seems, so-called leaders, only want the people to exploit to get into office; deep down though, they do not care genuinely, about transforming their lives.

Littering is another sin I'd mention before I shut off and shut up. Who has taught Bahamian adults and their children this habit? Who will help them to break it? It just gets passed on and on. Who will awaken these people, our people, to the fact that the ground they walk over and litter, is their country, is their earth and it is as much their own as themselves? Not realizing this is what is truly disenfranchisement and in comparison, voting is but little or nothing.

Who in God's name, is teaching Bahamian citizens principles - of citizenship and what it is and what it means to be a human being - what it is, this gift of society - what it makes possible - what we get from it and what in turn, we must give to it, in order for it to function, to work? It is delicate. It requires reciprocity.

Too many see themselves in society, only in roles of taking and taking - from politicians down to the most ordinary citizen; though there is nothing and can be nothing ordinary about citizenship. We have to give back as much as we take out of this social situation or it's gonna die and we're gonna die. Cold and simple.

Obediah Michael Smith,
July 15, 2007
6:15 p.m.
[edited 3:31 a.m. August 13, 2007]
Shoes Off

hard-on
to sit on,
to fit on,
to groan on

come on


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:22 p.m. 15/07/07
Pieces Fit

must you annoy to be noticed
make noise to be noticed

noticed for disturbing, destroying
rather than for keeping, preserving

what breaks glass houses, breaks teeth
instead of the peace, the pieces


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:31 p.m. 14/07/07
Sum Plums

I want to sample your simple equations


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:40 p.m. 12/07/07

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Effervescence
of J.C.S.

come on so ticklish,
everything bubbling up,
7 UP, balloons

troubles and you, as if weightless,
from down under, rise to the top

however heavy the minute before,
the burden of life, she’d bring lightness

blossoms in summer, floating in air


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:29 p.m. 14/07/07
Brushs
for Ted Chamberlin

Yaddo or my own yard
two storey house, my own,
in the middle of the ghetto

seeking space and peace and inspiration
in spite of unbearable disruptions, intrusions,
the street entering

heaven sometimes fills my house

alone in my house, it's summer, I'm naked
in spite of street noises,

able to conceive poems,
lay them like eggs, in soft tissue paper


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:54 p.m. 14/07/07
Welch’s Grape Juice
for George Lamming

how comfortable he is about
his right to our time

drinking it, giving us his to drink
without apologizing

even when we’re unable to hear,
unable to understand
his guttural pronouncements

in juxtaposition to when
he enunciates as clearly and as loudly
as Dylan Thomas
reciting his Welch verse


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8: 59 p.m. 30/march/07
Christian Patti Gilbert

bring love when you come or don’t come
don't come in me, around me,

don’t come at all


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:39 a.m. 14/07/07

Friday, July 13, 2007

Can Put Right
for Patti Meicholas

pen, what I use to shift the gears

of national literature, of all literature with

writers with this access,
only writers have this gift

others might wish it, can’t have it


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:08 p.m. 13/07/07
Rat Bat

not only is she scared of her own shadow
she frightens me like a scarecrow
as frightening as she is afraid


© Obediah Michel Smith, 2007
8:55 a.m. 13/07/07
A Movable Feast
for Natasha Turnquest

find her body so so interesting
so so interested in exploration

Archeologist in ruins in South America
ants in wood, in the trunk of a tree,
time has hollowed out

holler “Ouch!” if I hurt you
it was never my intention to

don’t run away if you’ve come to stay
I wouldn’t want to ruin a night out
nor a love affair

over twice your age and counting
how many cards in a deck
how many inches in a dick
how many stars in a scary sky
in a starry night

I’ve lived long enough
for you to be born, to see you grow up

must harvest my field before insects do

fruits to dissect to have for breakfast
toast as well to butter, to cut in half
for toast and tea

you to taste, to see to read the Bible


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:33 p.m. 12/07/07

Thursday, July 12, 2007

As Naked As Rain
for Natasha & Sonia

alone's not bad, on my own's not bad
even without descending into masturbation

with all my clothes off
worlds away from boredom


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:11 a.m. 12/0707
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

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Closet Space
for L.M.M.

able to admit, willing to admit,
bits of her, pieces of her as I have done
these twenty-seven or so years

unable to imagine life without
doses of her, amounts of her,
life medicine I’ve need of, I’ve needed

as good as medicine is for us,
up-end a bottle, all of it at once,
troubles can start, death can follow

small doses good for me

all her parts, all her pieces, all at once

don’t know how I’d cope, what I’d do


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:08 p.m. 11/07/07

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Underground Train
for Gilbert Morris

just as blood is not arteries
is not veins

poetry is not words
but how important
what blood needs
to travel along


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:33 a.m. 10/July/07

Monday, July 09, 2007

I just pray
that we are "independent"
of what we ought to be,
but "dependent"
on what we need to be.

God bless.
Fran
Empty Gestures

she's reduced what she does
what we do to routine

actions, reactions
equally without color

she's shifted into neutral
out of first and second

third and fourth required
to get anywhere
but she's not equip with these gears
so she's chosen neutral
given up on romantic ambitions

menopause upon her
she's sweating it out
soaking it up with a towel
she refuses to put aside
or put down


it seems she's put aside our affair
after years of not knowing
how to fragrance it with flowers


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:26 a.m. 9/07/07

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Holtz Save the Day

i
how like our parents
we are when we sweat
how we smell
sweetly connected

ii
must by-pass her like surgery
get on with life

iii
she always was
just a big lump
a big clump of something
clunking along

somehow she landed
on my land, in my life

iv
what is she
an angel or an armpit

should I swallow
or should I spit

v
this planet for our feet
its fruit, its vegetables
our teeth to sink into these

how colorless our lives
when we draw together
when we draw near

so much more exciting
when we/what we draw apart


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:34 p.m. 8/7/07
Tree Two Thighs
for Cynthia Maya Fisher

how white her hand is
hugging the tree trunk
she used to hug me

ring on her finger
nails neatly painted

God had mercy on me,
we met

have mercy on me, reunite us


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:30 p.m. 8/july/07


Vows
for Cynthia Maya Fisher

so easily lost among millions
among the stars of the U.S.A.

face no longer flesh
voice no longer fresh

etched upon paper,
picture more than nothing

ripped photograph,
reassembled

love partner, teacher
life pivoted, changed
upon her, within her

I'd never known love
she and I shared

rear geraniums
grain germinated

seeker after pleasure
I sought to make sacred
our erotic escapades


© Obediah Michael Smith, 1986
12:44 a.m. 22/jan/86
Hearts Knock None Stop
for Cynthia Sue Fisher

pelicans fishing still, just off the beach,
washing up upon Lauderdale-by-the-Sea

no break in this process in all these years
since she and I broke up

salt water with fishes,
with pelicans fishing,
wash upon the shores of broken hearts
sting like tears sting
rims of eyes red

tears like rain about to fall, to wash
but memory clings, stains sustain


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:41 a.m. 8July/07
Resist What's Verse

opening up space in the world,
in this city for poetry

like thighs, difficult to open

to outpour words, ink, whiteout


8/7/07
11:25 a.m.
Cock Fire
for Yusef Komunyakaa

gun-like,
poems to trigger off with a bang
to win the human race


8/7/07
10:59 a.m.
Atoms Seconds

"I want to split your infinitive!"
"I want you too!"


8/7/07
10:06 a.m.
Creeping Time
for Cynthia Sue Fisher

she is an old woman, an old, white woman
and most likely wrinkled like clothes

I’m remembering her twenty-one and lovely

as in love with her now as I was with her then
thirty years ago this Thursday


© Obediah Michael smith, 2007
4:04 a.m. 8/July/07
Ambiance Has Sleeves
of Cynthia Maya Fisher

how very kind she was
to have done what she did

to have opened her arms, all her limbs

to have welcomed me in
took me home to her family

shared Lauderdale-by-the Sea

things she let me taste, things she let me see
how swiftly I developed an appetite

she gave me Key West as well

she turned me out, turned away from me
as abruptly and without explaining

kindness turned to its antithesis
completely and so swiftly
I had to eat, I had to swallow

hard to have to do without her
without knowing why, all these years

what a twist of faith it was
to meet her, to love her, to have her

what a twist of faith to lose
all but memories, left in my hand

hands I have to wash to eat
to pick up life, pens, words


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:27 a.m. 8/July/07

Saturday, July 07, 2007

One Coin Two Sides

how very close Kemp Road is
to Paradise

when fireworks explode, my house shakes
I open my blinds
at times my window
to see the colorful display

tonight I went out on my porch
sat upon my concrete railing
to watch to wonder to enjoy

Paradise hardly more than a stone’s throw away
from what from where is oftentimes
because of noise,
next to hell on earth


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:05 a.m. 8/july/07
Scissors To Cut Air

some among them imagine/
they are sensible/ are civil/ are in their right minds/

within their rights/ to take up/ to take away
everybody's space/ fill every ear up/ take up all the air/
use up all the oxygen with their music/
their taste/ their thing/

has it not dawned on them/
other people are other than themselves/
with desires as important as theirs/

though they know you cannot build upon
someone else's lot or land/ erect a tent even/
do not see how similarly wrong it is/
to hog the air/ the atmosphere/

hog the bed shared with siblings/
you could get kicked on the floor/
don't see or comprehend/ space is to be shared/

out of your skin/ besides yourself/
looking for trouble/

what is us/ what is ours and where/ is in our skin/
space beyond is shared space/

go to see a film/ we get a ticket for a seat/
don't these noise makers among us realize/
space is precious/ space is shared/ not theirs/

as criminal is government/ is police/
we put in place and pay/ to enforce/ to ensure
no one's rights are violated/ no one is robbed/

have to go into a store with a gun/
before dumb police realize/ a crime's been committed/

government members in the suburbs/ away from it all/

the masses/ the people/ on top of each other/
with lessons to learn/

no one to teach them/ at home/ at school/ at church/
only this poem/ this poet/

out on the street/ who teaches cuts throats/
we're at their mercy


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:10 p.m. 7/July/07
I Bring her Up
of Cynthia Sue Fisher

doll in a dog's mouth
mercilessly shaken
irrevocably changed
ripped, shredded,
in the name of love

peggy lee was merciful
though we were merciless
with Shoney's strawberries
the meal was maya,
the meal was me

how we rip what we love
with bloodthirsty teeth
though we these days cook our meals
the fire tenderizing
cooking what we'd clamp down on
bite down in

what we favor most
the flavors we desire to be/
to have running down our chins

it was like this a few weeks
I wanted it always
to matter, to be needed

when she could do without me
or chose to even if it killed her
it nearly killed me

living, wanting to die
no need to live
if eyes could not see her

who has had her to look at
all these years

I as if blind, she as if black
blue-eyed, blonde I adored
until the door slammed shut

both of us excluded
from the privileged life

here or there lost
among the continents of time
I never rhymed better
than we rhymed in bed


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:11 a.m. 7/july/07

Friday, July 06, 2007

Generation Gap to Leap Cross
for Dickson

foolish to have thought
you loved poetry more than pussy

oozing poems, oozing pens
ideas oozing

you prefer juicing
you prefer juices at 26

cannot expect you to feel as I do
as who’s past 50

buttons to push to open women's legs
fishing for fingerlings

prostate problems soon enough
to discourage who passes 40
like a line across the road

to turn back, an impossibility
as one’s inclined to do
when black cat crosses
a superstitious traveler


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:51 p.m. 6/July/07
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
Goats Can Chew
for Dickson Wasake

what Caribbean people are
resulted from what slavery has done to us

to an equal degree
from what we have done to slavery

what English, Spanish, French, Dutch
have done to us, coupled with

what we have done to
what we have done with
English, Spanish, French, Dutch


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:52 a.m. 06.o7.07
Offer Up A Prayer

he used to fuck
all the freshmen women
as naive as tomatoes

Solomon and Daniel
long Nigerian dicks

these they used to lotion
how they used to laugh

did I envy, do I envy now
their escapades

spades in the earth
like that scene in Hamlet
a grave for Ophelia

skull discovered,
a skull for the prince
for his soliloquy

our end and our beginning
how interwoven

our sex and our interment
like twin sisters

what should we seek instead
to get out of life, to get at in life
what of ourselves

shelf of sex, too many lying on it

instead of horizontal
what of paths to walk
petals from trees falling on us

Van Gogh world to walk into
and out of
portraits to make of people met
encountered deeply

into the world, out again
but it’s no longer the same

people I meet, I want to change me
I want to change

even if ours are but chance meetings

what’s on Wasake’s aganda
what has he in mind
to do with Georgie, with Marion
what have they in mind to do with him

what do they want
out of The Bahamas
to carry back to Florida

we rip-off artists
want what we can snatch and flee with
rather than what love offers us
offers up


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:59 a.m. 5/July/07