Years End
for T.L.C.

we have busted the doors down
busted the walls down
gotten into the foyers
into the living rooms of each other

do we like where we are
are these places, are we persons
to sit with, to eat with,
to live with, to sleep with

how long could a marriage
such as ours last, how many
anniversaries before divorce

my parents celebrated
51 New Years Days
up to when my mother died

here I am at 53, not married yet
when will I honeymoon
when will my anniversaries start

this girl and I
have we come together
or have we come apart

same someone who
saved my life tonight
has tonight broken my heart

is broken-hearted,
heartless though
the way to go


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:17 p.m. 30.12.07

CANTALOUPE

these letters assembled,
does not look like anything
I’ve ever had a slice of,
a taste for or a taste of


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:29 a.m. 31.12.07

There is for me, a weakness in René Descartes’ “Cogito ergo sum” or "Je pense donc je suis." For me no therefore connects these two truths or two thoughts. To make his assertions fit and true for me, I’d instead say: I think. I am. I know. I doubt. I’d say that’s me in a nutshell but I am late, too late and unable to put myself in anything or anywhere. Some other entity already did. Too late as well to define myself, I already am. I’ve already been. Long before I got around to pondering such weighty matters, already I had been made from matter, made to enter matter. From where, I don’t know. By whom, I don’t know. At times I am grateful to have been given the gift of me, at other times, I want to scrap it, give it back.

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:57 p.m. 30.12.07

Years End [chorus]
for t.l.c.

this girl and I
have we come together
or have we come apart

same someone who
saved my life tonight
has tonight broken my heart

is broken-hearted,
heartless though
the way to go


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:17 p.m. 30.12.07

Aimé Césaire
for t.l.c.

for colored girls only

this sort of erection
affection, connection

waited so long for such an affair
with rainbow,
able to dance the limbo


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:50 p.m. 29.12.07

Sandwich Us
for T.L.C.

i.
to avoid cracking up,
I clap myself up

a few seconds between each
hard as I can bear

the sting is what I need
what I crave

a couple times a week

ii.
no pictures of the night we met
unable to reference
what she ignited, when

how I’d like to know,
in case an antidote is needed
to the state I’m in

in it already, up to my neck
when it’s over my head
and I’m drowning in it,

I might need rescuing
might need to undo this

might learn to swim in it
to breathe in and out in it
might learn to live in it

antidote though,
in case I need it

antidote in case
I was ever without her,
couldn’t have her as I do

butter for my toast,
to spread between us

stick us together better,
sandwich for lust

no pictures of
the night we met

that night a thin line
between knowing
and not knowing

between who I was
and who I am,
a changed man


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:11 a.m. 29.12.07

Floors of A Building
for T.L.C.

i.
blood-let a poem
out of me while I live

tiny tot has tickled me
with what I know not
unable to unknot

though try I did, try I do

all knotted up in lines of verse
naughty poetry,
rope about a tree

after all, after weeks
verse together
attached to her
pull, inseparable

ii.
center of the book,
staples through us

tiny holes hold us together
pierce us, cause pain
make intimate, make us

to come apart,
we’d have to be
ripped apart, torn apart

have an apple,
have a heart

iii.
advantage to take
of who is less
than five feet tall

who is short of self-esteem

though I suggest
I’ve come to bring some

is my desire to see
what I might get away with
while tide is low
see how far I can go

walk out to sea
before the water’s over my head
before tide comes in again

out a mile or two
too far to swim to shore
before I’m out of breath

what is the length
and breadth of her,
the height and depth of her

as interested in her
as land I wished to purchase
I’ve an exquisite structure
in mind to erect

I want to pitch a roof
over our heads

iv.
I was in Inagua
when she was born
in what month is her birthday

I was 32 when she was born
what can she offer me
what or who am I empty for

were I to swallow her
would I be full or empty still,
hungry still

is she meat or drink,
air or just image

able to fill my eye
but not where there’s a hole inside

whole lot a women,
I choose a child

I’d need SMA
to keep her alive


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:04 a.m. 28.12.07

Verse Dress
for T.L.C.

our pens, our knitting needles
balls of chord, our fists or hearts

without end fashioning in unison
for head or feet, for her or me

poem made for her for Christmas,
shared with friends around the world

girl I hardly know and me
attend poetry festivals in verse alone

in hat and bag,
with an umbrella,
off to town in ironweed
as mad as could be

poetic deeds to do
until doomsday comes
or to prevent it descending
upon our city


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:44 a.m. 28.12.07

Words Make A Necklace
for T.L.C.

i
I’d wreck you with dick, with this

you certainly couldn’t take it,
take this, take dick, little as you are

as innocent, as sweet as you are,
what can I, could I keep you in
what container, what dish, what tin

how I get like this, I wish I knew

ring upon the chain about your neck
certainly looks a lot like mine

I’m unable to get you off
or keep you off my mind

what tin am I in,
what do do or what stew

ii
a minute of her to watch,
minute girl, with such large hips

what could I do with her, with them
to music in her soul, her marrow,
a collection of songs

she writes about social ills, about loss,
hers and ours

she writes to get a handle on
what, for all of us,
has gotten out of hand

she won’t allow her own life
to become undone

she knits back with poems
what life unravels

in a world of rebels,
she draws her pen
to stem the tide,
the flow of blood,
the waste of lives
as young as hers

iii
she has her own hips now,
her own horse to saddle and to ride
I want to go over the hills with her
upon thundering hooves


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:38 a.m. 27.12.07

Toy Two Enjoy

shock her panties off
shuck her panties off

corn to shove up in her
make her holler, make her sing
joy to the world

her Christmas present,
my presence in her, shoved into one

two persons as close to being
in one space
and in one time as can be

shock her panties off
shuck her panties off


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:12 a.m. 26.12.07

Stadium of Onlookers
for J.S.

tough pass
and you have to catch it

pussy, at times like mittens
other times like mitt
for catcher or shortstop

pussy at times decides the day
wins the game

however it’s thrown,
might have to leap or dive or slide

whatever it takes to catch it
to catch out who hits


©Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:49 p.m. 25.12.07

I’ll Eat Elsewhere
for J.S.

i
like an alley, a short cut
I had to take,
I had to go through
to get to the highway I’m on

highway I had to get to
to go on with life, with living,
to get to where I’m going

you must not imagine
that that or you were a sort of aim,
a sort of target or goal

it was merely an alley
I had to pass through
however unbearably unpleasant

I had to take that way,
go that way, to get to a clearing
to hear clearly, directions, instructions
for the rest of the way

ii
your pussy was but a corridor
to a much larger room,
a bitter way to awakening

you can have your pussy back
you can keep your pussy now

I’ve made all the use I needed
to make of it,
I am finished with the smell
and taste of it, bitter as piss


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:27 p.m. 25.12.07

To Wait To Waste

everybody’s doing
their own killing

since the courts seem unable
to get around to it

a bit of justice as sweet
as a hand full of mints

justice is a gun in hand or
a knife in hand or
hand me a knife,
quick


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:22 p.m. 24.12.07

An Oskar
for S.F.

he wants to see me naked
he wants to see my whiteness
all of it

he wants me to drop my dress
he wants me to be
his bride of the wind

envious of painters for whom
models undress

a poet must find other ways
to cause his model,
what she’s wearing,
whatever outfit, to become undone

he wants who would sit
with him or for him,
to become undone

he wants to be able to
or to have to, plait her back
like hair

plaits upon her back,
when he is done
besides which, she is bare

he wants to see me naked
he wants to see my whiteness
all of it


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:03 p.m. 24.12.07

Verse Behavior
for t.l.c.

going to strip you down
to your pussy hairs, put you in,
push you in, pussy in a poem

walls of words, all I’ll allow
you to wear

would you like it to be
summer, spring or winter

choose the temperature


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:49 a.m. 24.12.07

Picture Perfect
for T.L.C.

unsure, insecure eyes, smile

I want to fuel her with confidence
use my dick to do it
like that long stick
service station attendants use
to measure amount of gas
left upon the premises


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:28 a.m. 24.12.07

Last Train To Jacksonville
for T.L.C.

i.
I want to touch the beauty in you
spill it all over the place
words like poui petals
for everyone to see
and be inspired by

ii.
we will all get to heaven by and by
with right hymns to hum
when we’re down and out or lonely

are you lonely for me baby,
another song for who is blue,
forlorn, uncertain of friendship

fortunately the answer is,
“ Yes I am!”
“I’m comin’ home!”
it goes on to declare

come Christmas and cold weather
companionship as significant
as Rum and nuts to fruitcake


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:07 a.m. 24.12.07

In A Tempest
for t.l.c.

pissed off
pitch off the bridge then
what do I care

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:41 p.m. 22.12.07

Familiar Eyes
for T.L.C.

she is it for me, she sits for me
although not really

I make portraits of her
set eyes upon her twice

unlike Gertrude Stein
sitting for Picasso
unable to recall how many times

his portrait of her then, still not complete
had to finish it off, finish her off
from memory

this girl in my life, girl of my dreams,
seen twice, I make endless drawings,
portraits

though I am unable to recall
what it was or is about her
by which I was captivated

she’s bewitched me, sure of that,
intending or without intending to

how old we are, here since Adam
all those persons in between,
in us as well, all awake, alive,

link us to creation’s commencement,
to that first week

who among her ancestors
among mine, through her and me
overjoyed to meet again,
greet again

who among them, passionate lovers
wanting to, through us,
suck tongue once more

get in bed together,
copulate like rabbits
or just have tea, watch a movie
or walk by the sea

what of persons among us,
acquaintances
upon the other side
of the Atlantic Sea

other side, African side, of slavery

friends before Europeans came
able to speak a tongue she nor I
know a single word of


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:54 p.m. 22.12.07

Pinch of Salt
for Sidney Poitier

I used to want
a pinch of his celebrity,
now I have a fistful of my own

but must I, like Clint
Eastward, in a western,
turn to bounty hunting
for a fistful of dollars


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:46 p.m. 22.12.07

Breakfast In Bed
for t.l.c.

she never gets on
in the morning,
on my cock
nor on-line


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:22 a.m. 22.12.07

Out The Light
for T.L.C.

what meaning look
what looking means

friendly, not unkind eyes
looking out, looking at
I like this soul, this girl in bed

not yet shut eyes
not yet gone sleep
poems, hers or mine,
keep her awake

figuring out
how words connect
or counting sheep
or she should be

she stares out at me,
nosy as The Mona Lisa
eyes follow whomever
about the room

not a thing between
her room and mine

attempt to put a screen up
between room where she is,
room where I am, creating still

I hang a net of words
about her bed
to keep mosquitoes out
to protect her from
the biting bogeyman


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:31 a.m. 22.12.07

Fond of Her
for t.l.c.

comes a horseman
comes a horse woman
comes a horsey ride


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:45 a.m. 22.12.07

Breathing Air
Beating Hearts
For T.L.C.

not in her circle,
she’s not in mine,
is there any point
in asking her the time

our clocks,
though the minutes are the same,
the hours are not just zones apart
but years apart, decades

miraculously though,
we occupy the planet
contemporaneously

able to shake hands, converse,
have coffee, dinner, sex or tea

can climb into bed together
when I couldn’t with Plato,
Sappho or Socrates

Sarah nor Mary Magdalene
Mary Queen of Scots
nor Count Leo Tolstoy

she and I for some reason
on planet earth together

to make what happen,
what difference
to have what impact
upon humanity, upon
human history

can chase butterflies in one field,
in one afternoon
swat flies in one same room

I am unable to
get into a boat
with Saint Peter


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:29 a.m. 22.12.07

What Light Left

am I suppose to marry
what she brings, our exchange

not wait for elegance, glamor,
not wait for good grammar to waltz in

I’ve been waiting, with her attached
willing to do what she does
to bring what she brings

appreciating as well as
feeling short changed
for so many moons


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:15 p.m. 21.12.07

Obie,
It's we the readers who should say thank you. As I mentioned to you before, the night we got our copies of CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, POEMS TO SIT ON TO SHELL PEAS, and ON THE HINGES OF THIS TOWN, our family came together to experience your new work. Three hours later, our three younger children ( ages 16, 14 and 12 at the time) and Dennie and I had been taken through a kaleidoscope of emotions, wit, laughter, joy, reverie, sadness, nostalgia etc. as we read aloud your wonderful poems. It is unusual for us to all equally enjoy the same artist's work, nevertheless there we were, and there we are.
God bless you, Obie... and keep you strong and productive in your work.
Peace and Love,
Stan, Dennie, Brooke, Chike and Nejmi.

Tia

M & M
and my
literary daughter

we’d have had
a child together
after all


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:14 a.m. 18.12.07

Out of The North
for Crystal Fraser

see you again
screen between us
we pass through
able to easily

reach for embrace
handed a handshake

moment unexpected
moment of sweetness

maple syrup, fist of snow,
to enjoy you with


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:16 a.m. 20.12.07

An Outfit
for Sonia Farmer

in black, arriving
descend the stairs
into my senses,
into my arms

romantic love we generate,
insufficient to overwhelm,
enough to fill a thimble

little bit of liquor to drink,
to drunk this old man

not too old to wish I were a rich man,
a fiddler upon a roof
able to fiddle for you

able to climb into your attic
status of Picasso

when Françoise Gilot visited,
upon the floor she dropped,
the outfit she was wearing

beneath it she was naked


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:12 a.m. 20.12.07

What It Takes
for Crystal Fraser

eyes over you, asking why
of my feelings, why was I moved

all over again, penetrating my senses
colors, littleness, elegance,
key to my soul, to my safe

I want to keep you in it


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:42 a.m. 20.12.07

Art Alters
for T.L.C.

sheet of paper
becomes a table cloth, a canvas,
becomes a sheet upon a bed,
becomes a sailing boat

get ink- wet ink on white paper


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:53 a.m. 19.12.07

Wish Grip
for t.l.c.

what poems I am able
to write of you
as if I were holding you
instead of my pen
of words


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:43 a.m. 12.01.08

Chat Room
for T.L.C.

I'd see very dark women
and I'd get goose pimples.
Often though the very dark woman
does not know how she affects some people.
Just my cup of tea and there they are
wanting to add cream
or bleaching cream.


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:30 a.m. 18.12.07

Picture Eyes
for T.L.C.

engaging eyes, engaging me
where is this place where eyes meet

four eyes, like four wheels
vehicle of love, its tires pumped up

unlike the tires of my heart
oftentimes all flat

vehicle our romance makes
our eyes meeting makes
wheels to take off on
then into outer space
for an eternity of weeks

with you I could holiday
would like to hall tail away
from the wheels of this world

where is it where our eyes meet
entranced when you look at me
your picture keeps my company
when you’re asleep


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:23 a.m. 18.12.07

Speak of A Race
for T.L.C.

what it is I’m determined to convey

the beauty you have,
how beautiful you are,
cannot be improved upon

however much the mainstream
excludes you, discriminates against you
you are as beautiful as beauty is,
as beauty gets

talk about being unable to breathe,
it was I who was breathless to behold you,
breathless as was all the audience,
while you read

for you to suggest that you are lacking
or missing something or doubting something

missing someone, bothered by being rejected
by someone

is such a contradiction, is so paradoxical
when, cookies that you are, I can eat a pack of
every afternoon, until I passed away

I would then, most certainly, be able to die,
after having lived a life of happy days

package you, bottle you
distribute you about the world
secular communion or for a new religion

I’d be priest gladly, in such a church


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:28 p.m. 17.12.07

Splashing Through Kemp Road
for Janet Donnelly

I want the sweet look of rainfall
to savor, must open my blinds

feast for my senses
relaxes and excites me
in one same stream

delicious what is paradox

wet street, sound rain makes
like a Jazz drummer’s sticks

their tips, landing upon that,
upon this
each, a sharp, quick note

Stravinsky composition when it rains
with wind blowing too,
blowing through

falling-rain-and-blowing-wind music

wet street, late night, traffic light
in wet street reflected, as it changes

two minutes to two,
but a few cars passing

I like the stillness of this time of night,
the sound the cars passing, splashing,
make


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2 a.m. 17.12.07

To Tell To Spell
for T.L.C.

you’ve been examined
female doctor,
your body upon a cold slab,
like a slab of meat

who is human and alive though,
able to remember later

ten years later,
able to write a poem of it, of this

unresolved event,
intercourse at fifteen
first time, not the last time

became a woman then,
was a woman since

sins you commit, book of your own,
in heaven, to enter them in

enter the dragon in us all,
when the door to life is swung open

it swings forth and back
like double doors to a saloon,
in a Western


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:39 a.m. 17.12.07

Waves Rocks
for T.L.C.

here we are arguing
over art
over life
overjoyed


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:57 p.m. 16.12.07

Leni Riefenstahl
for T.L.C.

you have to go way up in passion
to find poems

German photographer
wanting to make photographs
of The People of Kau
to show the world

went in among them
married one of the men

though he never knew,
never wore a stitch of clothes,

though he was, to the mind of some
the pole opposite her German culture
racially, otherwise,

she wanted to taste of it
wanted to feast upon it

to enter it like a cave of bats
to be lost in it, in darkness

when she emerged
left man and tribe, she had images
the world had not ever seen

I look for symbols similarly
for otherness to taste, to eat, to drink

want to enter, girl I met recently
discover in her, what she herself
is unaware exists

want to offer her a glass of herself
to quench her thirst
a dish of her own identity
to eat like mutton souse

does my wanting to bathe in her river
frighten her

journeys art takes, often interrupted
subjects uptight, thinking,
is it sex he's after

does he want to stretch my pussy
or my mind

small-minded-place, small-minded people
great-big behinds, little on their minds


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:24 a.m. 16.12.07

kum ba yah

do God! you God! my God!
I’m due a visit


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
9:48 p.m. 9.12.07


A Couple of Friends

they are not easy to swallow, couple they are

come upon them and wonder
where to run, what way to turn

awkward couple, not easy to take
but are they medicine, expected to taste bad


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:57 p.m. 12.12.07

How To Eat A Banana
for K.S.

eating banana like a dick,
already exposed to it

out for lunch, eating her banana,
head going up and down

primary school teacher in shock
in the staff room,
reports what she saw

seventh grader eats lunch like this
with her head going up and down

what games is she practicing,
is she preparing for
as important to her
as discus or javelin,
long jump or running track
or running quick

as important as hopscotch
or jump rope or ring play

early graduation
for who eats her banana
with her head going up and down

her mouth around banana
like a shaft she shoves
out and in, in and out
of her twelve year old mouth


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:54 p.m. 15.12.07

Grape Wine Wine Press
for T.L.C.

how she’s able to face
who she’s able to face
what a face she has to prepare
to meet the faces we must meet

met her and I have been translated
don’t know now
what language I’m speaking

stare into her eyes, I stutter out poems
I’m talking in tongues
to the tune of
all my nursery rhymes combined

I invent a melody for the stars in her eyes
stars fall from a starry night, a starry sky

Van Gogh’s ear is bleeding through bandages
his great grand nephew, recently
lost his life, his head

I on the other hand, blessed with new life
with this beauty

what has linked up, who has linked us
I must thank

tanks of ink across pages,
to get me here, to where she is
to celebrate upon this paper plate

I ate the grapes I had heaped upon it
now I pen a poem upon it
for heaven’s sake


©Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:06 a.m. 15.12.07

Tile Layers
for T.L.C.

a little bite, a little bit,
who was brittle, supple for a while

heart wildly beating
horses hooves over prairie grass

a little bit, a little bite,
then good night, lights out

up as usual all alone
desert night I know, is mine to cross

camel’s humps, filled with water
for this Sarah crossing

I go back and forth
I know this journey well

what is hell for some is life for me

enjoyed though while she rode along
through night

we saw owls hunting, rats killed
claws, beaks, tearing supper apart

hearts beating fast
but not even drama
could keep her awake
could keep her from sleep

I’m able to stay up, I sleep in the day

want a girl to join me
across these dark hours

someone to watch the sun rise with
clouds’ pink cheeks to see
before we make indentations
in our shared pillow

snoring through the day
rather than the night

it is congestion upon the streets
I’ve adjusted to avoid

this town needs two stories
maybe even three floors

people able to go about,
in a small place
upon different layers


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:49 a.m. 15.12.07

Egg Shells
for T.L.C.

hungry for your verse
for your best and your worst
anything of you will do

don’t know how I get so, how I got so

spell you cast and I am smitten,
stricken,
in need of bush tea to cure me
of what I’m afflicted with

it must have been
the melon of your hips,
your sadness, your helplessness
which rendered me helpless

ever since, am I ill or well
elated or down cast
down trodden or lifted up

contact, I know
has changed me irrevocably
not the same since

little as the package is
which you are, which contains you
potent as death, as life, as waves

how angrily they crash
music they make
and the spectacle
blue sea suddenly white foam

what have I come up against,
gone up against

what’s come over me, gone over me
leaves me energized and spent

I feel like sixpence, spent
on toffee, candy, gum
youth of today want money
to buy guns

I want a girl to write poems of
to fill my pen with bullets or bubbles

I have poems to fire off
who I hit, fire to fall into
I fall in love

muddy when I rise, my clothes as well as I
in need of washing

I want you to, do you want to
go by the river side to bathe bare

clothes off our backs upon the rocks,
will dry while we swim

thin as egg shells, the space between us,
your skin on my skin
wet all over with river water


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:34 p.m. 14.12.07

Chilly White Wine
for O. Archer

tooth to get at, to extract
pulling out my sweet tooth
end with, end of endless craving
for goodies, for good things

eat more, hunger more, hunger for
fork in the road
I must take up a fork in the road
to eat with

would have to wash off the dirt
off the fork in the road
before placing it, pushing it
shoving it dans ma bouche

fermer la bousche
French Blacks on a train in Paris,
conversing, chit chatting
I was glad I understood that
phrase or two to pick up

things we drop, we pick up, we wash off,
put in our mouths, in our minds

however far will we go, magical girl,
as sweet as if dreaming

what will we quarrel about, when
ugly human emotions too soon arise

moon rise, sunrise, Christ rose
roses for a girl, 14 when I was 42
when I was blue she was bright

as right as grapes to write about
skin to remove, to peel away

peeling bells in the morning
when mass commences at 6

Palacious, sacred gestures, sacred steps
altar boy, hand full of bells to chime,
Eucharist to celebrate, to drink up,
to eat up

as hungry for wine as I am for the divine


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:05 a.m. 14.12.07

Blow Out The Stars
for O. Archer

we have love to make
like cakes to bake, to put icing on
to shove candles in
stars are holes in night, leaking light

we have stumbled into stars tonight
some have come on
others have gone out

you have gone home
where is this where I am

seated before my computer
as I have been for some time,
for some months, trapped and freed
this night out has given me wings

pray our prayers, knowing not
how or when answers will come,
from where and in what form

heaven must be missing an angel,
trite song, trite line, comes to mind

out of my heart though,
I wish would come, words to say what I feel,
what I saw

what wish is this, finally granted
when did I wish it,
with what are you connected

reward for what deed done
or grace undeserved

as undeserved as life is, as breath is
as your small breasts
in a hungry man’s mouth

as small as you are
such a force to contend with
to reckon with, to wrestle with

you and me in a ring without ropes
we could roll out the bed
we could fall on the floor

bones I could chew up, could spit out
whatever it takes to get the marrow out

what will tomorrow bring


©Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:37 p.m. 14.12.07

Taught To Ululate
for C.D.O.

I still make the noises
I used to make her make
she used to make me make
we used to wake the neighbors
with our lovemaking


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:49 a.m. 11.12.07

Marcus Rothkowitz
for Holly Parotti

break through, break out,
go ’bout yur business

Rothko gives us doors,
many to choose from
to go through, to break through
to burst through

color like paper, bright
colors to crash into, to flash through
however hot the fire
however these flames raged

colors to keep us in or keep us out

open your mout’, breathe out
open your mout’
if you want an opening
to leave through

out of your mouth
like breath exhaled
and out of prison

without keys, without guard
containing you all your days
afraid to appear upon
the other side of a coin
all you had to do was flip it

want to know as well
the world upon the other side
of Rothko’s art

colors in large sheets
were these divides between
Russia and the U.S.A.
colored curtains, hung between
two homes

or did they, do they
separate hell from heaven
life from death

evil and good in separate rooms
divided by color, nothing more

what keeps me where I am
in or out

what keeps me stuck
clucking poems out
like a hen in a coop


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:18 a.m. 11.12.07

Art Hands
for Holly Parotti

in need of someone
to manage my blows

I throw a lot of blows
want to think only
of blows I throw,
of where they land
of the opponent falling,
skull hitting the road

Hemingway’s officer
in Italy, in Across The River
and Into the Trees,
after two punches thrown,
walked away quickly
not wanting to hear
his victim’s head
hit the pavement

want someone to manage my blows,
just want to throw them,
upon my toes dancing
like Cassius Clay


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
7:46 p.m. 04.12.07

Tale To Tell Of Africa
for D. E. Wasake

one African mama, skirt ta hol onto
an you know her better dan us
all we know bout Africa, we proud of

what you talking bout shame
who could put Africa down
when we want Africa ta pick us up

in it is der birtplace of all humanity
or das jus what somebody say
an it een true

in Africa great, in das where
der lion roar and der waterfall roar
an herds, like no where else on eart
tunder across planes

what ta be ashame bout Africa
all I know is dat I wan’ get dere
I will kno wus true when I see it
truer dan national geographic

Africa fur me is big and tall
an it go way back
slavery jus about four weeks
a history, of der story

what ta be ashame about Africa
ashame bout monkey

in monkey wonderful too, beautiful too
could clime an could make fun
even mak fun a people

monkey noises, what dey mean ta say
what dey tryin to say
mean tings bout Africa

who coul say mean tings
bout who dey tief so much from

what dey sayin, Africa stupid
ta let dem get away wid it
wid what dey carry off

gol and people an ivory
and animals ta fill deir zoos wit

but der nile still dere
dey couldn’ carry dat
der sahara still dere

der tief, say der Japanese,
lef the moon, shinin in der window

in Africa is creation
yur can’ carry dat
yur gatter leave it

in dey gur burry yur in it
cus it bigger dan a stadium a people
laffin at or about
what dey don understan’

in you here ta teach us
who dum an’ bline
an’ hungry fur identity

ours still bakin, still cookin
we don kno if or when it gur done

we stick a flag in cake batter
but it leanin’, it fallin, it can’ hole up

cake gatter be done ta put icin on it
ta stick candles in it


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:09 a.m. 10.12.07

Cemetery Keys
for J. & L. Callender

people say
our city’s a wasteland
our 700 islands
cultural deserts

not so for Lee
when I want culture, says he,
I sit at the piano

similarly so for who,
with fingertips, write poetry
or for who reads braille


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:17 p.m. 09.12.07

Know No Sacrifice
for A. Hamilton

is it because you treated her
like you’ve treated me,
treat people generally,
possibly, why she’s gone

failing to keep promises
live up to obligations
however small

would deprive me
of what’s owed to me
of what’s due to me

in the main time growing
a belly, large, a belly big

all for me baby
when attending a feast
spending, expending, expanding

those to whom you’re tied
going hungry, growing thin


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:42 p.m. 09.12.07

Kit Kat
of Frederica

such flair

how she walks
what she’d wear

can’t help but stare


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:00 p.m. 09.12.07

Slings Arrows
for Giles Wells

what attachment
to seeing and saying
what ability to trigger tears
to make them spout
like saliva at times does
like blood at times does

the body rejoicing
in response to pleasure
in response to pain

ecstasy we seek, we ecstasy seekers

gun-play, knife-play
or with swords fighting

pens spouting words
men, women, not of the world,
of the word

pull these out, spill poetry

Christ spilled his guts
for the world, for the word


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:39 p.m. 09.12.07

A Pot A Trumpet
for D.E.W.

Miles Davis, I understand,
used to cook a really mean chili

just shy of done,
he’d call his closest friends,
Alex Haley among them

on the phone, when they’d answer
he’d say, “Chili!” one word
and hang up

it was up to those friends
to get their hips
over to his house in a hurry
not for curry, for chili

Miles Davis chili, as hot
as music from his trumpet
was blue and cold,
like chilly wind through your clothes

his chili was for those
close enough to call,
close to his heart and soul,
his bosom buddies

I take it you no longer care
for my cooking,
for this single word invitation

in apron still, must remember
not to dial your number,
phone on my kitchen wall

I’ll give your portion
to my pet leopard
she roars when she’s hungry
entire neighborhood, able to hear
when her belly growls

lion on MGM, makes a similar noise
a movie commencing

too much love?
my mother asked once
I’d screwed up my face
in response to her kindness


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:39 p.m. 08.12.07

Who’s There
for Giles Wells

instead of always
running behind money
how about money
coming to find me

in however large amounts,
in whatever size bills

I’m tired of chasing money
I want money for a change,
to chase me

money, wherever you are,
I want you to seek me out,
I want you to find me

tired of wealth and me,
playing hide and seek


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
3:14 p.m. 08.12.07

I Have A Plate
for E.J.

something about the portion she is
I find to be my cup of tea
just enough food for me,
to fill me comfortably
as day goes by, as life unravels
needing us two to pick it up,
fix it back


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:34 p.m. 08.12.07

Fresh Codfish
for T.S.

i.
in nearly every poem
she conducts us to her bareness
to the truth of her being
as if to ask us
are you ready for this
can you handle it

the door knob to turn
to get into her bedroom
where nightly, she sleeps naked

we must go on tiptoe
if we wish to join her
across her bedroom’s wooden floor

awake or asleep,
she’s usually dreaming

ii.
what buttons to make
a woman accept a man
wanting to come in her

with a finger, depressing device
to activate buzzer or bell
beside her front door

WELCOME mat to wipe his feet off
if admitted

this door though are her thighs
which, if she decides
if unable to resist, she spreads wide
lets Dick enter Jane

a chain reaction follows
the tumbling of lock parts
of locked parts

a man allowed to enter a woman’s heart
cause her blood to back up
and her soul to backfire
her pistons to fire

iii.
weight of a woman’s hips to carry
must help her with her load
up and down the road
ups and downs to undergo
once you’ve gone with her
once you’ve raised her skirt
like an umbrella
or gotten under
like a tent in bad weather

what’s light as well as what’s a load
is hers and yours to lift, to carry

as difficult to lift at times
as it is for jet or spaceship
to lift off with overload

iv.
she’s such a little child,
she’s been taken out too far
into such deep waters
where waves are rough
and whatever’s on it, is pitched,
tossed

out too deep for her age
tried too hard, too rough already

she walks with her chest up,
with her breasts protruding

as if she had not fallen hard
between too many waves

as if she had not broken something
an axel, over roads with holes
too deep and too many

hole discovered, made wide
like the girl with her, her size,
she should be whole still

v.
she’s happy with herself,
in her skin, in the clothes
she’s chosen to wear this evening,
this night, this morning

dark, tight, blue jeans
expensive, tight top
with arms and much of the top
of her body bare

her belt is lemon-colored
matches the inner shirt
of her undershirts

white slippers she wears
are like shoes for ballet
I know she’s never taken classes

she dances as she enters
steps she’d have learned in clubs

she passes along my street
constantly, like a tomboy

with a boyfriend tonight
assumes she is, seems to be, female

we all have roles to play
in this town, in these times
in this life


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
[between 11:48 p.m. 29.09.07
and 1:15 a.m. 30.09.07]

Seamstress Address

why does going
have to mean divorce
Poitier, Hanna, Scott

citizen of one nation or another
must embrace one,
push the other away

what about being seamlessly joined
citizen of the world

each nation though
in spite of U.N.
or international law,
has its own statutes

states in the Unites States,
map upon the body
and upon the brain

the same for citizens
of our 700 islands

I want to come together
instead of apart


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
8:27 p.m. 07.12.07

Of Substance
for D. S.

I am tough in that
I am genuine, like leather,
what’s authentic, made to last,
truth that’s beauty, beauty that’s truth


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:36 p.m. 06.12.07

Black To Africa
for Olive Eyotaru

I want a woman, black
I want my woman back

is Africa lost or am I

who has drifted off
up close, Africa next to me,
up against me, to dance,
for intercourse

I want to take her clothes off
strip her, not to rape her

to gently rise, with the sun coming up

with flamingoes,
a flock of half-a-million or more
ascending, salmon-colored
into a blue shy


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:29 p.m. 04.12.07


Wine Skin
for Olive Eyotaru

unadulterated darkness,
this woman’s skin, I wish to sin in
mango I wish to skin,
plums from a tree,
not in a tin


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:01 p.m. 12.04.07


Lime Juice Sea
for E.J.

want a million dollars
and I want my mind,
my sanity, want that in tact

whatever track I take
to where success is
won’t want to find success
and lose my mind

how far out is success
to be found

what if you don’t know
how to swim
and you drown


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:56 p.m. 04.12.07

Fish Out A Question
for Jason Evens
who presented last evening
at Sine-Qua-Non Gallery

to produce such exquisite shit,
what are you feeding on,
cat fish, craw fish, stew fish
explain the inoffensive smell of it


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
2:54 a.m. 05.12.07

On Cardboard In Pencil
for Marion Bethel

i.
can’t help but be a poet
with such experiences to record, recall
they’d waste otherwise

what will history discover about us
what will it have to say of our affair
which never ended, which never could

woman-girl I love, I ache, its pleasure too great

she’d turned her back on me
but that was for a minute or four, no more

back in my heart, where she was initially
why did we link up, why did we part

in spite of family ties, tied in a knot as well
we had our trials

too guilty of love and should be jailed
a pail between us to pee and mess
anything to be next to her, I’d accept

who would come to visit
who would bring us cookies to share
with other lovers outside
cooking whatever up to feed us
to try to free us

ii.
silly thought that I’d
rather be nearer Holly
than near you

what need have I to choose
already glued in a scrap book

pages turn, we turn,
over and over like waves

iii.
contained in us
two fragrances crushed
two petal types, combined

I at your funeral, you at mine,
as much tears to pour
as those nearest to us

whatever stands between us
keeps us apart, twins still
in twain, an impossibility

in spite of veil of the temple in twain
the hour Christ crucified, died

with acceptance, from inside
could I have written
what I write in pencil
upon this cardboard
upon which I sleep
upon the cathedral steps


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:47 a.m. 05.12.07

Up Steps
for L.M.M.

to what I’m into, she sometimes comes along

what she’d choose to attend, to go to,
in another direction entirely
where she’s at home is usually elsewhere

though she, at times, accompanies me,
when she does, she tags along
at times, just short of being dragged along

at events where I am at home
she is out of place, present out of obligation

events which are an accumulation of my steps
are not her steps accumulated

her next step and my next step
are different journeys entirely
to add to, to continue


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:37 a.m. 03.12.07

Spider Web

thought there was no spider
just web he could rip,
stone through glass

surprise! spider came running
responding to music, glass shattering
vibration of hurt, of injury

guilty eyes, lying tongue
unable to wiggle out

from my porch, from where
he should not have been, he emerged
trespassing, intruding
mischief on his mind
on his hands


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:15 p.m. 02.12.07

About White People

who thought we
were not even human
are themselves
so un-evolved


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:50 a.m. 06.04.07

Clocks Tick
for T.L.C.

i.
waiting weeks
for my ink well
to fill up sufficiently
to fill my pen up
as well as for you to float
in a pool of words

poem worthy of a fellow poet
woman fresh and new
fleshed with passion, subdued
as honest as dew

ii.
half-dew it is, said Dylan Thomas
of Welch milk
delivered daily
early mornings

delivery, deliver me
you to deliver to the high priest

but for who to marry
Jehovah’s Witness
or an Anglican altar boy

in public, against a pillar, leaning
pillar bearing the weight
of love’s troubles

somewhere to lean
to bare innermost concerns
yearnings of a girl
turned woman, turned poet

parents watched as the world turned
hearts pound, blood pumped

what she made poetry of
combined in a poem of mine
differences make love
and make love difficult

try to cross the gap of years
to her heart, through Nassau streets
how far would I get before
asked about sanity

about whom she loves, wants,
about the fence in between
she writes, worries

pretty, pretty
with the weight of her troubles
she makes poetry

iii.
instead of mushy, soggy
cornflakes in milk, crisp still, crunchy
with bananas, raisins, strawberries
we’re having breakfast

lunching with her school mates
supper with siblings, parents

her mom’s made okra soup
along with homemade bread

after grace, everyone about the table
bite in, until the pot is empty

with pot scrubber, she’d wish
she were able to scrub away,
like pot-cake after dinner,
what gets between lovers

she used to be skinnier
used to be a teenager
once upon a time


Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
4:41 a.m. 02.12.07
[from about 4:25 a.m. to 5:53 a.m.
hard labor]

Sisters
for Petrarch

rivers fall
from as high up
as rain

clouds converted,
translated
into falling rain

not unlike
ice upon a mountain
melting, trickling,
running

not at all unlike
falling rain


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:48 a.m. 02/12/07

Stitch In Time
for M.B.

she’d have had
a baby for me
were it up in her
rather than in her fists
and in her jaws

she swallowed
what certainly
would have become
swallows in the sky

enough swallows
to have made a summer

wings of swallows
instead, within her, flapping
until they went
down the drain

with conception
time and sperm cell marry
time, like thread,
through needle’s eye


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:01 p.m. 01/12/07