I Am 54 Today
i.
I am as old
as the century was
when I was born
what if I were able
to make it all the way
to 2054
all the way,
my footprints along life's beach
so far, has life been
more bitch or more beach
or a dog and its maker
alone along the sand
scavenging for bones
or a rider upon horse back
making waves, sea water splash
oh, the monkeys, in 54 years,
I've had go for rides, upon my back
used to long for angel's wings to flap
wish still I were able
to get about the globe
without passport
what privilege, what limitation
nationality has been
this rock upon which
I've spent most of my days
7 by 21, when the globe
is 24 thousand miles around
what is it across
is it the same across, as it is around
since it is no longer flat
not a saucer flying
with biscuit and tea
or biscuit and cheese
how long have I slept
in the years I've lived
how long living, how long dreaming
how much time left
for dreams to come true
mom and daddy
both here from Long Island
here no more
I used to read my father
articles I wrote,
which appeared
in the newspaper
or articles about me
in The Guardian, The Tribune
The Freeport News
ii.
my father was 41 in 1954,
my mother 37,
I their ninth child,
I've been here a while
since my mother's breast milk
since her breasts
in a child's small fingers
since her nipples
in a greedy mouth
in eager jaws, going and going
until I overdosed,
until I blacked out
until it was time for chalk
writing upon blackboards
until I held my own slate in my lap
where my notebook is now
upon it I write
this poem on my birthday
recollecting Dylan Thomas
on his high hill, in Wales
with gulls above his head,
squawking about
what am I talking about
hawking about
what am I puking up
or spitting out
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:50 p.m. 30.03.08
Stonehenge
I have come to English
from elsewhere
like Conrad from Poland
like Khalil Gibran from Lebanon
like George Frederick Handel
from Germany
I have come to English
from elsewhere
like the Jewish-written
King James Bible
I have come to English
from elsewhere
like the Psalms of David
I too am in exile in English,
in England
a strange man in a strange land
I have come here from
who knows where
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:14 p.m. 28.03.08
1954 to Now or 54 Today
as if she had something I wanted
or something to offer
what do you want for your birthday
she asked
as if to stir something up
she is in no way able to satisfy
what I’ve waited ages
for someone to satisfy
not several persons but one someone
I want that someone
to walk into my life
or someone I knew once
to return, still twenty-two
though she must be fifty-two now
that is if she is still alive
I was in love once, a long time ago
careful ever since about such risks
hoofs of my heart over rocks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
12:35 a.m. 30.03.08
Our Poems Come Out
for D’Aguiar
are we bleeding them out
are we breathing them out
are we sweating them out
or farting them out
shitting them out
or spitting them out
puking them up
or sighing them out
how are our poems
coming forth from us
are they like boils
which fill up with puss, then spout
our poems, are they coming
from our mouths or our pores
from our backsides or our fronts
do they drip or drain or run
or do they explode
like fireworks, like bombs
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:24 a.m. 27.03.08
Color of Desire
for E.G.
when a woman gets
what is equal to an erection
raging like a fire in a fireplace
what use does she make of it
what of when there is no log near by
to shove in it
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
3:33 p.m. 29.03.08
Smell of Sea
Smell of Feces
for Arthur Seymour
lets us compare though
the sun sinking
and a cesspit stinking
the cesspit's in my back yard
the sun though
is 93 million miles away
though it seems to fall
like a box of crayons
into the blue sea, blackening
sending waves crashing
against shores
against rocks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:19 a.m. 29.03.08
In & Out of Season
for N.T-B.
i
write to taste her
right to taste her
green tamarind, green mango
salt upon them, suck them
want to suck until I taste her
until honey dripped
to lick, savor, save her, save it
box of honey bees to release
jars for honey to collect
how sweet her nectar is
ii.
well screwed
she confessed she was
why she was all lit up like a bulb
bulb to screw in, to screw out
to light up or not to light up
the house
bulbs screwed in
as long as Christmas lasts
afterwards screwed out
or the plug pulled out
all lit up last evening
because she was or had been
well screwed
the plug had been plugged in, pulled out
but her lights were all still on
turned on just to look at her
all warm and all lit up
how I wanted to alight upon her
my wings among her petals
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
27.03.08
Mackerel Gatherers
for S.R-S.
what an erection I could have
and for how long
off what I ate today
mackerel and noni and chocolate
and wheat bread
what of these aphrodisiacs
my blood pumping
heart fiercely beating
able to gallop like crazy if necessary
you'd be in big trouble
were I to see where your thighs meet
your opening
covered with a texture of hair
I have yet to test
with fingertips, with piercing eyes
before I pierced you
where you're pierced already
want to stay in you like an earring
to keep a hole open
whole wheat bread always makes me hard
makes me remember all the sex I've had
all the sex I have not had
makes me want to open all the windows, doors
let breezes in
what of the room you are
is it in need of airing in and airing out
what of the ceiling fan
should we leave it on, spinning
while we, beneath it, wind and moan
is the moon out
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:39 p.m. 28.03.08
Kiss Away
for S.R-S.
your knowledgeable mouth
your tongue full of verbs
wonder of the vocabulary of angels
worry about love making
opening a poet's eyes
you'd deprive the world
you'd rob posterity
as good as can be
as good as candy
guarantee as many honey bees as possible
be released from the bee box
certainly there’s a shortage
have you seen the price of honey
on food store shelves
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:10 a.m. 28.03.08
How Many Horsepower
for T.L.C.
I want to make something
of your misbehavior
your disrespect for me
your unwillingness to submit
is this what is delicious about you, defiance
how hard, how tight,
I’d have to hold you, squeeze you,
to get you to, to cause you to submit
aware, after all, that I could not be defeated
or disarmed, if you struggled against me
however fiercely
submission, sweetness - if you whispered
I could be made to take the garbage out
or tie or unloose the goats or go for bough
with hatchet, chop wood or wall
or lift you from bath to bed
or with an infant to deliver
lift you to car or ambulance in two arms
I’d do anything for you dear, anything for you
if you knew which buttons
got the cup to fall through
which button for coffee, hot chocolate
or orange juice
choose belligerence
as puny as your powers are
choose to rage against me
as if you were the sea
how can you or I
crack the coil around creation
are you even able to open a corn beef can
with the key attached
inside, beef or horse meat
from Argentina or elsewhere
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:29 p.m. 26.03.08
Battle Art Wages
for T.L.C.
small children concerns
is what she’s always occupied with
without end inviting her to graduate
but can she, can she join me
come away from immaturity
from concerns of early twenties
I’m over fifty, in the ocean swimming
miles deep, beneath my kicking feet
sharks, whales feast about me
as well as God knows what else
unable to get her out here
even in a hovercraft
she clings to shore and to religion
to what she thinks is
or what she knows
of right and wrong
reluctant to abandon her moral laws
her religious logic
I am, I suppose, like that marlin
Hemingway’s old man
fished for for three days
too big for her skiff
not outfitted with
required emotional
or intellectual equipment
to make much use of me
all she knows to be is defensive
unappreciative
bird or fish, as old, as big as I have grown
she has no clue how to cook
how or where to begin to feast
little as she is
I should be able to devour her
in one swallow
but she’d be throwing
kicks and punches
I’d be the one savaged
I’m certain
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
9:29 p.m. 24.03.08
A Sinner’s Loose Stomach
for A.P.
how I dare not get too near her
do I fear her holiness
contaminating it, corrupting it
rubbing against it roughly
rupturing, bruising it
like the petals of flowers
or do I fear becoming holy
do I fear wholeness, what is it
with care I step
about the place where she is
about the state she’s in
I could cuss, could think vile thoughts
imagine what is not at all holy
words or whirls or worlds
grew up in a bar
the men smoking, drinking,
boasting, wishing
rough raw thought of men
their cuss words, irreverence
visited by these
become what I witnessed
machismo, vile aspirations
harsh creeds in my brain
in my bone marrow also
can I become uncontaminated
claim innocence once again
after all my senses have been soaked
in Gin, in sins I overheard
some things they craved
I too learned to crave
I find the news as bad
the things we hear or overhear
and contemplate
things we might not have imagined
how do we scrub away the darkness
once we’ve been in it
or remove the scent of the cave
from our clothes and hair
bats nesting upside down
inside our brains
how do we be in the world
and not of it
even a lady, even a priest has senses
open-ended, unable to ward off
shield out what offends
Christ with leapers, sinners of all kinds
as close as clothes about him
how did he wear them, love them
and maintain holiness
delicate spiritual walk to walk
without it shifting
a train upon tracks at times jumps its rails
a ship upon its course
is sometimes blown off course
or tossed about
are the winds and the waves gentle,
merciful, careful, respectful
about the ways of God,
about whom he employs
who is concerned
about the Lord’s anointed
who removes his shoes
because he’s crossing holy ground
holy ground is crossed
on screeching tires
on motor bikes, backfiring
and upon one wheel
what of reverence
for the things of God
for the servants of God
for the service of God
are there no holy hours left to observe
for everybody to respect, time to reflect
to remember our mortality
to remember that dust we are
and unto dust shall we return
haven’t we all souls to save
chins or heads or legs to shave
in preparation for
that great gettin' up morning
after having been dead and buried
after rotting in graves
worms sucking us up
as if through straws
until our grinning skeletons
alone are left
to what do we genuflect
while we still can
to what do we submit
or do we wait until we’re made to
until we’re in the dirt
or under water or in fire
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:19 a.m. 24.03.08
Among Limbs
for S.R-S.
a woman’s body, what a trap
like a rat trap
a pussy is a piece of pork
or sausage or cheese
rat sniffing, smells a meal
hungry for life,
but life’s wrapped in death
to get at it, to gnaw at it
is suicide
what calamity
is called down upon your back
your body, your head
what whip-lash, what backfire
this desire often brings
has heaven designed woman
like this, like a trap set
a sweet in a scissors
to cut you in two, in half
do we let God off the hook
too easily for this design
fruit between women’s limbs
why are these not growing
not hanging from trees
why are we unable to pick them
package them, purchase them
like we can
oranges, peaches, pears,
grapes, dates
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:17 a.m. 23.03.08
A Bomb A Nation
And Easter Day, we didn`t get to the country,
So we took young Cyril to church. And they rang a bell
And he said right out loud, crumpets.--T.S. Eliot
think so excessively much
of what they choose
to entertain themselves with
always so amplified
as loud as shit stinking
they pollute the air
damage the skin of creation
with their wickedness
into every minute, pounding
time as sore as space
forever popping up, shoving up
not the heads of flowers
wish they’d die down
who'd disturb us
I wish were all
dead and buried
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
9:41 p.m. 23.03.08
Alfalfa Sprouts
for Cynthia Sue Fisher
constant presence,
evoked by unbearable absence
why we must remain apart, without a word
worlds apart, walled apart
leaves me/has left me to wonder/to wander
a cell membrane, no more, separated us once
kept together by sandwiches on Branola bread
alfalfa or bean sprouts, heaped upon them
sprouts we grew in darkness
in the cupboard beneath the sink
apartment we shared,
Benjamin Fitzgerald Carney’s, in Memphis
what a world we were at the heart of
we were part of
things she introduced me to,
took me to and took me through
took her to and through some things as well
encountered things together, novel to us two
policeman’s bright search light
in her car, in our faces
asleep in a parking lot, after sex
she across my lap, across my shoulders
where she’d collapsed
cop got us up
unable to get us apart, though he tried
her mother, Margaret, tried and did
wondering still, what she used
what crow bar, what wrench, what tool
after three decades I think,
might she have gotten pregnant
might she have a child, our child
some extreme required to explain
what was a sudden break, a sudden change
a shift in the weather, in the wind
what could have swept her away
taken her away without a word
as far as darkest night is
from brightest day
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
5:59 p.m. 23.03.08
Once Upon A Napkin
for T.C.
i.
without the muses,
white paper, blank verse
without the music,
staff to cross the desert with
a lot of sand
with little laughter
ii.
what stage, what page
of volcanic eruption
represented here
what experiences
from childhood
expressed by musicians
on stage
iii.
instead of friends
warm and fresh and full of flesh
what of who prefers skeletons
prefers the dead
apotheosis of war
skulls heaped up
to go bowling with
iv.
who thinks
I belong to her
leaves me to wonder
about my right
to quick-witted,
lovely, with-it women
deceives me into thinking
I belong to the left out
to misfits
with who’s not included
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:34 a.m. 06.04.07
Bare Secret
for S.R-S.
my toilet seat
how well it knows
what I've not seen
circle about a circle
I wish to circle me
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:33 p.m. 19.03.08
Up A Gum tree
for Felicity
you should hear the dogs
along Kemp Road yelping
a fight going on
though it's over in an instant
where are you located
on this rock, our nation's capital
where are you upon planet earth
easily you could have been Russian,
Polish, from The Philippines
or from Australia
additionally you and I
could have lived and died
centuries apart
instead we are on one island
breathing as the wind blows
as the world turns
hearts beating two drums one time
we take for granted
being alive and well at once
our ability to play instruments
in one same orchestra
it is special, our being contemporaries
witnesses of world events,
events at home
contributors simultaneously
to history, to one world story
our hopes are joined
for a better world
our hearts ache with similar fears
as tides rise and fall
as prices rise and fall
how special that you can read
a poem I write and in person
offer praises
this is for me, not to be taken lightly
or taken for granted
to be able to embrace, to create
a circle of warmth with arms is holy
not to be thrown away
like Kleenex we spat gum in
to get rid of
blue still or pink or yellow
but without a bit of sugar
left to draw out
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:07 p.m. 17.03.08
Through A Glass Darkly
for Jackie Cox
always room for God
upon my plate, upon my palms
within my brain
always room for him to claim
within my life, in my lifetime
in every second of my hours
or are all my hours his
and what I have, what he gives me
a place, a plate
though in bed I wait
night after night
for him to come home
for him to join me
at times as lonely as can be
©Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:25 p.m. 16.03.08
Liberation Abusing It
the too long downtrodden
too long oppressed
with new-found freedom
to stick their toes in
stick their feet in
splash it around
make a horrible mess
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:48 p.m. 15.03.08
We Plait Straw
for M.V.
i.
children at home, aging
away from them
from daybreak
how could she linger longer
but how long apart
we had been
I deserved six or seven minutes
permitted less than two
but how deep, how far reaching
ache of enjoyment
joy to be alive
moments such as these
to look forward to
to look back on
to revisit and to long for
forth and back forever
head and eyes turning
heart and head turning
towards the joy of life
the joys in life
ii.
girl in my arms
of Haitian origin
salt beef, eddies, yams
pumpkins, plantains
sacks of vegetables, fruit
along with charcoal
arriving upon boats
the meats and sweets
the treats she had in 23 years
all of her in my arm
last evening,
weigh her to carry off
to run away with
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
3:35 a.m. 14.03.08
Language Wires
for Michael Pintard
don’t want this language
blowing up in my face
must know how it works
it can be an explosive
or it can be a vehicle
it’s the only one I have
which travels abroad
it travels around the world
I want it to take me places
don’t want it working against me
under any circumstance
or in any situation
whenever or wherever it breaks down
I must know how - I must be able
to get down under it and fix it
whatever noise it makes
however much it drips oil or runs hot
if the radiator of this language leaks rusty water, I must fix it
I tell you I have places to go
so little time left to go places
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
7:51 a.m. 13.03.08
No Exit
for Francis Smith
There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity,
a dimmed light, a meek namelessness, a hidden wholeness.
Thomas Merton, Hagia Sophia
somewhere in the middle
of all we exchange
laughing and chatting
on Sunday afternoon
having dropped by
offering Sunday dinner
she’d go from worried looks
fatigue upon her face
to too pretty for words
as she relates one tale or another
or talks about the house
she aspires to own
one trial or challenge or another
overcome with limited resources
upon her face, the triumphs
miracles of dollars stretched
along with intellect
how she was able to charm her way
into the heart of the city
of the system
I’d see why
she was irresistible initially
irresistible when
she chooses to be
within her as well
and so very evident
that inexhaustible sweetness
fountain of action, of joy
of which Merton wrote
like flowers at dawn,
millions upon millions of them
their petals opening
dew covering
first morning of creation
this the cup I entered once
long ago
and ever since it’s been
so very difficult to exit
in spite of the elements of her
times with her when I could spit
could shit
as filled with disgust as this
© Obediah Michael smith, 2008
8:27 p.m. 10.03.08
Weather Winter
for J.S.
how we slipped into
what we slipped into
purely by chance
into the deep
water she’s unable to
or is unprepared to swim in
or flap around in
left the water, climbed the beach
whipping beach-towel about her
pissed off
about being unable to stand
not wanting me to have to
with my arms about her
save her, permit her air
keep her head above water
nor did she wish us
to go under together
we’ve come apart
rather than two warm bodies
among waves
in cold water
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:07 a. m. 11.03.08
Rhythm & Blues
for I.G.S.
outside the screen door
house in which he grew up
chickens scratching
puppies frolicking
older dogs yapping
a cat napping
from boyhood, not a beat missing
of the rhythm of his islands
Art Blakey with sticks, with drums
with penknife, carves poems on trees
as they fall, leaves poems upon leaves
of silk cotton trees
Poinciana petals,
upon New providence
making earth orange
in May, in June, as he aged
he recalls, he records
the syllables of sea gulls
calling above the bay
fishing in the harbor
nets of fishermen in the air
his eyes, his ears, he never closes
in his heart humming hymns
earth going round
on his tricycle, bicycle
or riding his unicycle
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:36 p.m. 10.03.08
In Verse Ladders
for S.R-S.
don’t want to climb down
another hole
as difficult as death almost
to climb out of
her morality or ethics
or whatever to protect
she suggests, she declares
she’s not ready yet
what of when she is though
when she considers it’s convenient
should it be, automatically,
convenient for me
waiting all my days to marry
saving myself but not entirely
not quite well enough for my wife-to-be
should I get in bed
with who is not appropriate for me
in and out of bed
anyway we might happen to roll
or happen to turn
should I too not wait until I’m certain
wait and see -- until I’m married
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
9:54 a.m. 10.03.09
She Eats Locus & Honey
for T.L.C.
I am your enemy, I tell you,
doers of evil
I exist to, was born to defeat you
to uproot you
to see that you’re cast, like grass,
into the flames
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
8:29 p.m. 09.03.08
Of Feet & Fecesfor S.R-S.
i.
smelly feet
like something, like someone
you don’t want
or don’t want too much
don’t desire irresistibly
some switch or other
within us all to turn off,
to switch off whoever desires us
switches to turn us on
switches to turn us off
ii.
out of shoes, her feet pollute the air
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
12:29 a.m. 08.03.08
Who To Handle
for S.R-S.
i.
what am I doing
with an erection in my hand
an erection for you to handle
however you choose
hot something for you to hold
for you to cool
ii.
what am I doing
with an erection in my hand
you in my life,
should you not be in my arms
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
4:49 p.m. 07.03.08
Holy Communion Warfare
for S.R-S.
how wooden you are, how awkward
as clumsy as one sleepwalking in clogs
or in clogs, attempting to rob
how unpleasant mixes
with what melts in the mouth
melts upon the tongue
what is this mutual inclination
to wrangle, to wrestle over nothing
our egos battle, our egos bruised
abusing each other too much
to excuse easily, to excuse readily
bitters left to swallow, to have to spit out
what of having to, of choosing to
eat what I know I’d have to shit out
or worse, what I’d have to throw up
or throw out
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:13 a.m. 04.03.08
Slice of It
for D’A.L.
have you eaten her pussy
like melon
like a slice of honeydew
what did you do with the skin
how deep did you bite down
before you disposed of it
how long before you were back for more
are you able to get
enough of her stuff
is she the sort of honeydew
who hollers when you bite in
when you swallow
what if I had
a slice or a handful of her berries
birds pick berries
unable to chew them, swallow them
whole
we used to think it was forbidden
to chew upon the body of Christ
we used to have to suck upon
communion wafer until it dissolved
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
7:02 a.m. 06.03.08
Sex Has A History
did you taste those women she went with
when you went with her, when you kissed her
we do not wear condoms when we kiss
no condom to stick the tongue in
we stick our tongue into an open mouth
wet mouth, open for a kiss, for our kisses
why is no food sweeter than sex and kisses
though all we swallow are the sauces or the thrills
shuddering with tenderness, ejaculating into a condom
a woman going with a woman
needs no condom to come in
what is there to condemn or to contaminate
or to climb, swimming into the human race
into a human being
out swimming all the other swimmers
in the Olympics
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:22 a.m. 06.03.08
Greedy Eyes
for Erin Greene
things we fill our eyes with
what fill our eyes, until they overflow
joyful tears flowing from them
things we fill our eyes with, who knows
unable to witness what we witness
we own our perspective, our spot
place where we stand to look out
to look about, with hungry big eyes
with big hungry eyes
seeking what we wish
to put in our mouths
to fill our bellies with
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:01 p.m. 26.02.08
Rocky Hillsides
for Clifford Johnson
my desire is not for claws
for scuttling across the floors
of silent seas
I desire claws for scaling heights
or climbing out of down under
when I happen to slip
when I happen to fall back or fall in
or when the bottom falls in
and I fall through
I need claws to get to the surface
as well as to continue
to seek higher ground
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:19 a.m. 05.03.08
Wee Fit
for T.L.C.
i.
impregnate her with verbs
and she’s shy
resists with such vehemence
against words
I demand she push out, put forth
I only want her writing
only want her words
written on the page
right upon the page
how she protests, kicks,
pitches a fit
fearing I want to fuck her
actually
to have intercourse with her
with her legs in the air
in my heart of hearts though
what am I after
what all do I long for
poetry alone
or with her pussy thrown in
like in soup or in stew
what is my hunger for, my thirst
what am I aching for, longing for
what wrong to put right
what emptiness to fill
with air or water
with her words or with her bare
in my arms, in my bed
with her among my sheets, asleep
where I’m able to adore her
able to draw her
no end to portraits
as if I were Van Gogh
and she the women
who came and went
through the windows of his life
ii.
some exact ache
to interact with
to fit into, to reverse
free radical,
molecule of oxygen
missing an atom
antioxidant supplies
otherwise something
or someone dies
iii.
is this what she is to me
how she fits into me
like sprockets
together turning
and returning
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:23 p.m. 02.03.08
Filthy Streets
like litter themselves
dropped upon earth
how can they help
but litter mindlessly
how can they help
but be litter bugs
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:25 p.m. 01.03.08
Alphabet Whirl
for T.L.C.
small pussy girl
to push up the hill
to get along with
to push off the train
off a train of thought
poetry she aborts
artistic wastage
she’s engaged in
ink washing away, off pages
not written on
river of words not yet formed
alphabet she has to offer like soup
and she’s not in the kitchen cooking
dishing up, dishing out, bowls full,
morsels with hot homemade bread
throw her pussy in too, to season it
to make it delicious
so little to delight in
from her hands and from her mind
she fit her behind cut, she fit a cut hip
for her output, her attitude
her involvement in art
fighter in the ring
without a punch to show
or to throw
I don’t pull punches
I let poetry flow
even as she must
from month to month
red river, red sea
why does her art not have
as reliable a rhythm
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:35 a.m. 01.03.08
Workshops or Worship
for S.R-S.
dumb-ass workshops without end
to attend
I have a workshop to put you in
the buck
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:10 a.m. 01.03.08
