Ten Inchworms
for M.B.
just so difficult to accept
that you are not my girl any more
not even a little bite left
what ache because of it, because of shift
from the middle of the page to the margins
from the middle of the bed
life raft upon the waves
to being shoved onto the floor
or overboard, into rough waters
we gathered together once, she and I
beneath a table
restaurant where we were waiting
to order something boiled or stewed
with grits or jonny cake, out of the blue
being robbed
gunman, masked, demanding money,
left with cash register
fired a shot into the ceiling upon leaving
shot, after which, we
and all the other patrons, surfaced
how together we were then
we still are like peas in a pod
without the worm crawling about
looking to make mischief
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
12:56 a.m. 25.05.08
Crystal Darling
equation responsible for their being here
they wish dismantled
do they wish the species to end when they do
are their love affairs affirmation of
love of human life
is their wish that we became extinct
with their affairs they express contempt
for the equation which
brought them into being
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
9:34 p.m. 30.04.08
A Kiosk Less
for Shawn Smith
look like the crystals went belly up
but can crystal float
like fish upon troubled waters
or would they instead
float to the bottom
however deep the waters
which once buoyed them up
do we forget to, neglect to give thanks
when we’re walking on water
our feet among the waves
feat to marvel at
what of when we’re treading water,
still time to celebrate
do we wait until we’ve gone under
before we pray
have the crystals gone belly up
fortunately our businesses
have lives of their own
our businesses are not us
belly up or not, they are not us
must they go under,
we need not go with them
experiences are ephemeral
these float up
with these we rise
not without our prizes
at the end of the day
at the end of the weak
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
7:33 p.m. 10.03.08
Thought Flowers
I certainly miss how nice you are
how pretty you are up close
saw you from a distance today
upstairs in my house, you across the street
just before you got into your car
and I was thrilled, stirred by your beauty
by the quiet of your body language, its music
notes, chords of peace, of tranquility
always wondered about your quietude
about what seems like deep meditation
like a brook, like a big books, called Sparkles
I’d love to read, I long to read
though another man, his children and yours,
reading you already
reading from afar off, must for me suffice
bread-brown woman, I yearn for a slice
or to turn a few pages
I must instead check a book out of the library
to read all of, to read straight through
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:51 p.m. 20.05.08
How is it that Ricardo Lightbourne, sports caster out of Grand Bahama, on T.V. 13, is allowed to get away with such detestable, unprofessional behavior, night after night upon signing off, cutting up with Pakesia Parker?
He is so, so, so irksome. Are any standards attached to things which are publicly owned in our Bahamas? Does he imagine he is broadcasting in or from an outhouse somewhere? Is he aware that the entire nation - that the entire world is out here?
In our Bahamas, everywhere you turn, apart from corporations, agencies which have foreign or international owners, whomever does or is allowed to do, whatever he or she wishes. Are we a country - are we a people or are we in a jungle, wild, where whatever goes?
How in heavens name is Ricardo Lightbourne allowed to get away with what is nothing short of gross insult, night after night, upon the conclusion of the news from Grand Bahama?
Is the news a circus - some clown show? Is this county of ours a circus come to town? When, I desire to know, is it due to leave? When is normalcy expected to return to Bahamian life, where madness on our streets is joined by this man’s raucous laughter and squawking on what is one of the nation’s sacred, highly respected spaces?
Watching the news cannot be allowed to become an optional exercise because of this unprofessional reporter, insisting upon having his personality intrude in a way that might cause this viewer and others, to switch him off as we'd miss out on the news as well.
Is this reporter too limited to realize that, not only is he on T.V. or at ZNS, where he works? In addition to wherever else, he is in people's homes. Admitted into people's living rooms and bedrooms, he is carrying on as foolishly as he does. His manners are nothing short of contempt for what should be a humbling privilege.
This man and so much besides, in this country of ours, are so distressing, so embarrassing to anyone who is right thinking - to any citizen with sense.
Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:13 p.m. 20.05.08
Head Off A Chicken
for F.A.H.
don’t know if I’ve the right
to appear tailor-made
though poems I write and polish, are
I pretend to be rough, to be raw
to be ready to growl
how right out of a magazine
how Felicity is
how she looked today
as well organized as I heard
the Milan Gardens are
so petal pretty
so petal soft
to brush up against rough me
cross between, farmer, fisherman
and construction worker
how different our stations
our histories are
her father, I recall now,
is a psychiatrist, a medical doctor
his wealth, wisdom, discipline
to draw on all her days
all day long
until she could launch
her own ship
so many of us, of ours
born in chaos,
live in chaos,
die in chaos
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:50 p.m. 19.05.08
Able to Shift My Gears
of Kim Thompson
is she as beautiful
as I am imagining
or am I mistaken
saw her from a distance
and was smitten
you know, heartbeat quickening
intake, outlet of air, altered
note or chord struck
enzyme or chime
in the mirror in us
some echo
toning fork
piano tuner, come to set right
an out-of-whack instrument
pianist coming, recital upcoming
why is she like violoncello
to embrace, to play
she is an instrument
I wish to cherish
I wish we would
cherish
sponging her face dry
with such commitment
bits of its rubber, rubbing off
remaining beneath chin,
upon cheeks
of a student,
a teacher to be, of Religion
who struggles with English
who should be a model
in Milan, London, Paris
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
2:48 p.m. 19.05.08
Across The Street
as I watch her grow up
she watches, as I grow old
we see-saw
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:55 p.m. 03.05.08
Naught from Naught
for V.N.P.S.
we all just want to make
a million dollars out of the mess
we make of the lives of other people
however poisonous the mess,
the mix we make of the lives of others
once we’re able to extract a million or two
to go on a cruise
what is left behind,
however poisonous, however toxic
let who is left in it, whoever is unlucky
live in it, live with it,
in whatever numbers
stewing or kicking and screaming
unfortunate when no one on earth
is able to get out of the mess
made by those among us, exploiting for ages,
everything and everyone for wealth
this process, when it all falls down
and all the world is one same mess,
going no where
no where to sail away from or off to
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:35 p.m. 17.05.08
Affair With Tongues
for Keisha Ellis
would I get, would I be
nearer me, nearer home
were I to get next to Spanish
let Spanish get next to me
another European tongue
in my African mouth
after having been made
to spit my African tongue out
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
5:56 p.m. 17.05.08
Our Bahamas
another Black country down the drain
is Solomon Kerzner beginning
to rethink his investment
Paradise Island - so near by it, all around it,
slum
oasis of wealth, of the best life has to offer,
in the midst of squalor
towers going up, people and standards
going down, going way down
going out fast - cork pulled out,
baby and the bath water,
down the drain
how do these - why do these countries fail
inundated by garbage from the First World
technological gadgets, guns,
coupled with programming,
films, shows, songs
and we think, attached to these things
we’re modern, with it, when, instead
with modernity in hand, we are being wiped out
buttons in hand to click ourselves into extinction
another Black country down the drain
destabilized, its legs knocked out from under it
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:38 a.m. 16.05.08
White Chalk Blackboard
for Sonia Farmer
I’ve not written my poem of your return
I’ve not rejoiced in verse
over having you back
back home and in my arms again
your voice and verse combined, to savor
used to run to my bedroom, still do
to watch you on T.V.
that tourist ad with you, tall and white
without tan to tell
you live here, you’re from here
tote bag strap over your shoulder
an arm through it
browsing, brushing by stalls of straw vendors
how very convincing you are
when you’re away it’s all I have
the extent of contact
with you back, even if briefly
how much less lonely this island is
these islands are
so many Bahamian citizens and I
not of one country
you and I of one same country
of one same race
comme Auguste Rodin et Camille Claudel
how like the fragrance of flowers when we spoke
going deaf and because of noise
having to get so near
to collect your words in my ear
at times I imagine our being closer still
pushing, shoving, fitting
engine parts - one half and another half together
we could run a country, could run the world
we run words together like beads on strings
like flowers in Hawaii to hang about necks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:09 p.m. 16.05.08
Air Ear Strings
for JoAnne & Marion & Sandra & Valann
i.
rub the air, the atmosphere the wrong way
I must, for the sake of ire
must raise blood pressure, produce fierce heart beat
tires must screech
where air and earth are as if sedated
must make waves, make oceans splash
make symbols clash, crash, clang
I must rage against the dying of the light
against the end of life
against knives drawn to shove in us
ii.
had to knock myself out
had to beat myself up to get here
how ragged I am, I feel
having to rip myself away
from other sensations, attachments
with ticket for $75 though, how could I not gallop
how could I not get here
however sweet were the demons, the ghosts
the toast, the tea
everything honey-laced,
which home spilled, spewed
had to drag myself away, this sweet too
too sweet to miss or to dismiss
I’m torn, I’m ripped,
not just by today’s contradictions
but life’s contradictions, I live between
day in, day out
heaven and hell, drawing me, clawing away
doing battle for my soul
my body in the midst, in the flames,
as well as on ice
iii.
your heart’s beating and you’re breathing
when you’re writing or composing
one has to be living to write or to compose
heart beating, intake, outlet of air
in what you put down
later, dead and buried
and who lives must breathe life
back into a piece of music, a poem
conductor before an orchestra
to make the music live again, anew
bring it back to life, as it lived initially
when the author lived
all the plays of Shakespeare
by actors brought to life
children in the womb
will carry tradition on
after tradition bearers have come and gone
stories to tell, over and over, around the world
throughout time
the rhythm of the waves
to tie life together, to free you, to free me
Beethoven Rasumovsky Quartets
we can appreciate, we can be deeply moved
because of musicians’ ability to read, relive,
relate
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
9:28 p.m. 03.05.08
Sky High
for Tia on her birthday
like coconut
wanting the jelly, no use for the bark
I have to live with all of me
feces as well as sighs
as she must accept her stool, pee, spit,
sweat - her prettiness
as well as her ugliest parts
what quality of love and acceptance
has she for herself and what quality,
what quantity of love for me
would she wish me sifted like wet sand
through fine wire
stones, shells, sea weed to cast off after
how integrated are we, have we become
how integrated can we be
the barriers, the cell membranes
the wall to get through
how one we are and how apart
her fart and her perfume
her sweaty underarm
to bury my nose in and breathe fresh air
off limits, outer limits, outer reaches
what’s decent and what isn’t
all the perimeters to go beyond
in a poem I can explore her
she and I among so many sheets
I rip off the bed, I rip out of books
until we are fiercely combined
thrusting, thrusting, deep within her
holler all she liked, all she wished
who able to help her, take for her
what is hers to bear, to handle
a woman and a man in Eden
Adam and Eve, with no one else
in all the universe to call out to
all alone with heaven watching, approving
we, father, mother of all mankind
hand in hand in Eden, in innocence
nudes one evening, night falling, walking
animals to name
list for Noah to admit, two by two
unable to imaging otherwise, elsewhere
always this genesis
as if there was no other
are we brainwashed
order we live in to rebel against
I want to take another track
back to the beginning of time
I want you on that train with me
how circumscribed this world we’re in
how circled apart
my heart, so very fiercely beating
I so very deeply breathing
desirous of you, too far and too near
membrane of words between us
saliva-coated tongues, shoving,
pushing, sucking, helpless
we are lovers, we, our world
about us, our country, its laws
world full of wars
heighten food prices, gas prices
price of love, sky high
is grammar as well, keeping us apart
about what all, must we be circumspect
do we not connect
because of who we love
in addition to poetry
field of flowers to roll you in
to roll around in, with you naked
or upon a deserted beach together
sand in your pussy
to remove with my tongue
time and privacy sufficient
to accomplish this
dick to talk to you with
your pussy to pull me in
secrets, stories to tell, of how time began
long before Eden, long before Genesis
I want to go back to the beginning
via the book that you are
open it in the middle, write in it
yours is the Bible
I long to be acquainted with
book I long to read
is it available, is it in the library
I must renew my membership
Eastern, Western, or Nassau Public
I must check it out, bring it home
read it while I use the toilet
let them bang on the door
let them piss up or shit up themselves
I’m reading
what book was it I lost, while a boy still
while still a teenager
why I discontinued membership
in the library
membership should be mandatory
for every youngster in the land
mandatory that they read our story
the erotic bits, the forbidden parts
will have their hearts racing
as quickly as ours
while I wrote and you read this poem
with it, have we not changed the nation
its flag down, soaked with rain
and soiled with mud
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
begun 2:49 p.m. 14.05.08
completed 3:50 a.m. 15.05.08
Where On Earth
To Scratch
for Helen Klonaris
country, another skin
to break out of
to break through
to transcend
skin, though it is
the body's largest organ
and when scratched
we realize how vital it is
it is too often regarded
as a bag we're in
too often seen
because it is this color
or that
as a set up or a set back
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
7:44 p.m. 07.05.08
Birthday Cake Candles
for Philip, Sonia & Clement
i. Patricia
she positions herself
like a lighthouse upon a rock
to direct, to guide
whoever travels
what are at times, often times
treacherous waters
the troubled seas which writing
which just living can be
ii. Sylvia
in the house for ten years
she ran twice, she won twice
outside of running
walking or in flight
she is one for wings
for fine thought
for fine things
for her family and her God
iii. Jason
like containers to get into
boxes, tins
containers to hide in
like children would
like children did
three siblings who follow me
locked in an abandoned fridge
in our back yard
screamed and screamed
and were not heard
could not be heard
how they were found
that they were found
were rescued, a miracle
what is history now
was before them then
life they have lived
they were that close
to being wiped out
to being no more
out of that fridge
they could have been
transported to the morgue
shapes to get in,
to hide in, in this exhibition
of whirls on the wall
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
9:15 p.m. 09.05.08
Pop Tarts
for Leslie Vanderpool
succulent meetings
embracing, kissing
bodies meet
remain tied up
tied together
until time ends
until earth spins
you loose
memories I do not wish
to loose or lose
friend of Sean Connery
friend of mine
friend in mind, in body
in my arms, up against me
thrilling for a trillion years
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
11:38 p.m. 09/05/08
Tea Cup Drink Up
for N.T-B.
with what eyes
she beholds me
makes me weak
what is that in them
drunk upon a sip of it
upon a bit of it
bitter-sweet beverage
is it moonshine
where was it brewed
in the bushes, in the hills
is it available by the gallon
dress of hers ripped
dress with a tear
her dress torn by sticks
in the bushes
she confesses
to having gone camping
to camping out
to being chased by wild beast
through the wilderness
wild where I want to be
want to go with her
without roof, when it rains
your fire in the forest
is rained on, is put our
who can put out the fire she lights
volcanic eruption
and residents in Montserrat
must evacuate
I know I should leave the city
when she looks directly at me
but I’m not going to leave
not going anywhere
whatever storm threatens
let it come
catastrophe, disaster
packaged as she is
I’m prepared to withstand
if it washes me away
so be it
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
3:45 a.m. 07.05.08
Windows Poems Doors
for E.M.J.
i.
what about her
am I unable to get at
or pick up or touch
her dresses, her outfits
though made of cloth
are walls between us
she is a city behind city walls
walls against what is oppositional
against some who
are on her side
ii.
on her side in bed bare
after love making
chin upon her palm, chatting
what gestures she makes
what language her body speaks
when she turns about
when she rolls over
when she opens her mouth
with whom is she intimate
who sees her naked
unashamed to bare herself
her giggling, her intellect
all she has to reminisce about
all she needs to wear
who sees her bare
besides her mirror
as tall as she is
on her bed room wall
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:16 p.m. 05.05.08
Do Undo
Haitians here illegally
doing up the place
more and more arriving
doing it up more and more
though this unpredictable,
uncontrollable activity
does do up, is doing up the place
what are Bahamians themselves
doing with the place
we say we love, we suggest we love
how some Bahamians treat their home
what is their own
these islands, rocks, cays
I wonder about patriotism
is the place somebody else’s
to clean up, to keep clean
to cherish, to preserve
what we own
we treat like dump, like garbage
is it any wonder Haitians, others
imagining, concluding
we couldn’t care less about this land
land among these islands
day in, day out, week in, week out
to appreciate for us
what we seem not to appreciate
too very much
some of us appreciate
this land we’ve inherited
not even a little bit
so many of us born
to be litter bugs
to disturb the peace
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
8:01 p.m. 04.05.08
Solutions or Problem
what if irresponsible parenting,
instead of sustaining us, is hastening
the extinction
of our species
when I see trash everywhere
beside Bahamian streets,
when I see graffiti soiling and sullying
when I hear the noises,
those randomly added
and ambiguously raised, make
hear of misbehavior, murder, rape
it seems as if, more and more
are being born, not to sustain, extend –
not to enhance us - our species
but instead to wipe us out
what is a human being
without human values, but animal,
but beast, but part of what human is,
of what human means
Philip Larkin, in “Dockery and Son,”
suggest that instances of reproduction,
instead of being addition,
might very well be dilution
an even more tragic possibility
is that instead of reproduction
being addition or multiplication,
it might be self-destruction
when I see many littering,
see all the litter many leave
everywhere about them,
it seems many are being added
to our numbers only to sully and to soil,
to subtract, to kill our species, our planet –
to be a blight upon creation
should who is born instead
not be a credit to creation rather than a drain,
a strain upon it
are people hardly more than stray dogs
in larger and larger bunches
overturning garbage bins
too often we proclaim
that we are very similar animals,
not much higher at all,
than our best friend
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10.04.08
Making Alphabet Soup
for Sabrina Skinner
this language is not my own
though it’s not my own
I am its mechanic
not at all unlike an auto mechanic
and people bring their cars
to him to fix
or like a doctor
who knows more about our bodies
than we who live in them
and we take ourselves, our bodies
to physicians
when we are sick
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
4:58 p.m. 03.05.08
Screwdriver
for S.R-S.
maybe that is why
we don’t have to screw
up or in or out
or each other
because our intellects
connect us so well
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:12 p.m. 03.05.08
Verse Dress
for E.M.J.
i.
disconnected from me
able to see me
to observe me
in ways I’m unable to see me
am I lovely, am I ugly
what does she,
from her distance, see
detached from me as she is
too close to me
too blind to see, to observe
though I access me deeply
through what I think,
imagine, feel
from behind me
she’s able to see my ball plate
old man that I am
too early going to seed
ii.
what is so embarrassing
about being black
why the desire to disassociate
from whatever this tradition is
from Black history
has it really been so bad, being Black
are Blacks losers
have we been, have we done
little to be proud of
outside of having survived
roaming the planet
beside all the others
who have survived
who have arrived
too few presents to offer
in exchange for gifts we desire
gifts we receive
must we steal
iii.
“I am shelling out hugs!”
she said, laughing ecstatically
to take any romantic meaning
out of contact, out of touch
just an ambiguous gesture for the wind
arms flung open
arms closing about a neck
beyond the greeting of it, indifferent
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
8:49 p.m. 01.05.08
