Addressing Mannequins
back for Christmas
black for Christmas
this for Christmas
that for Christmas
duck for Christmas, cat for Christmas
in my lap and to lap up
along with lamb, stuffing, turkey, ham
stuffed stockings
back for Christmas
black for Christmas
where is Christ this Christmas
missing as usual
it’s his birthday party
so many presents
he’s not present
wear black this Christmas
we’re back this Christmas
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
8:41 p.m. 17.12.80
Quarters for the Moon
for B.M.D.S.
quarters in a slut’s slot
how we gamble with our lives
with our wives
at home alone
quarters for a slut machine
to fill it with
like a piggy bank
doggy to insert also
like hot coffee or coco
running into a cup
filling it up
quarters to make the cup
fall into place
when I’m done
I crumple it up
I throw it away
open the lid to the garbage bin
dispose of what has beena husband has a wife to go home to
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1: 12 a.m. 16.12.08
Entrances Exits
for Antoinette Bowe
miss you so much
what we had to share
what we used to share
when what was between us was perfect
when what we shared had peaked
when we were as close as we would ever be
I’d have celebrated had I known
I’d have rejoiced when it was best
when we were nearest
how do we know when what we have
will become undone, will unravel
life and we, as good as we would ever be
as good as it will ever get
in heaven on earth, in this life
without being aware of it
without knowing it until we’re out of it
away from it
how a part of your family and you I was once
you held me together then
otherwise I’d have become undone
one of the oases in this desert
one of the flowers I’ve found in this world
one of the prettiest
one of the sweetest
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
2:54 a.m. 14.12.08
A New Leaf
for C.D.
i.
Crystal’s all over my shirt
it was white when I put it on
women to hug and I’m sullied
I’d invite her up on me
like one might mount a horse
no other way to ride,
to rid myself of sadly alone
how close we get when I see her
when we meet
our greetings like no other
sullied shirt or not or whatever,
I have to have her arms about me,
her legs about me
her and me, squealing like pigs in mud
muddied with each other
in mud together
in a muddle,
unable to unloose or untie
ii.
if only she and I were naked,
her legs could get about me
like her arms were about me
she and I, disturbing the peace
the meeting going on
with our meeting, our greeting
always off her feet when we say hello
my darling, though she abuses drink,
too much wine or beer
or other alcoholic beverages
mixes these possibly with marijuana
and in addition, goes with girls
but we’ve connected, bonded
something so strong between us
somehow, could attach with her there,
like that, my pin in her
could make twins of us
like what attaches two vehicles
one to pull the other
attached though, face to face
to in this way get to heaven
get together
everything suggests we would,
we could
fit emotionally and physically
like vulgar fractions
iii.
our hugging alone
able to disturb the peace,
to bring the neighbors knocking
shhh! requiring us to hush,
shush, to quiet down
sounds we make when we meet,
sounds happy makes
but fully clothed, on our feet
what if we were to disrobe,
lie down or fall down
what a disturbance we’d make then
condoms on tables,
strips of three packs
all these rings, these hoops
to leap through into intercourse
implied, suggested
I’d leap through fire to get into you
whip crack, whip snap not required
audience at a circus around us
or in private, cheering us on
or neighbors knocking
walls too thin or houses too near
how wild we drive each other so easily
what if we really tried
see how far we were able to go
to push or pull or fly
flapping like bats or birds or angels
how wide the wings of eagles are
I suppose I write poetry
because I like things discrete
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
Written between 9:30 p.m.
10.12.08 and 3:35 a.m. 11.12.08
Dick To Keep Hard
for C.D.
I hope your pussy’s hairy
I want to enjoy it
when I handle it
when I rub it
I want to put my hand there
as naturally as I cover my mouth
with my hand
in disbelief
ii.
hard on
like a rock to sit on
hard on to rock on
iii.
though pussy salivates
it does not melt away
like Popsicle on a stick
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
Written 12.12.08 between
4:25 a.m. and 8:02 a.m.
Writer Unable to Earn a Living
for Nathaniel Beneby
talk about kicking you when you’re down
something unethical, immoral
about banks being able to, being allowed to
heap on top of what you owe
what you’re challenged to repay
interest on top of interest
late fees on top of late fees
hole you’re in, because unemployed
or for some other reason without income
being dug deeper and deeper
down and they're trampling upon you
mercilessly kicking you, stomping upon you
how could this be just
am I supposed to be inspired
to pitch up, kick up
or enter a bank with a gun, with bags to fill up
banks allowed to rob us
without having to draw a gun
right to rob us,
embedded in the fine print of contracts
we’re required to sign and do sign
without reading, to save time, to avoid tedium
when crunch time comes, what penalties to pay
through the nose to pay, to bleed
hold your head back even,
unable to stem the flow of life blood
every notebook I fill up, fill out
is a pint of blood, is a cup of tears
is a long distance runner sweating,
deep breathing
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
7:10 p.m. ? November, 2008
Intoxicating Air
for Leslie & Stephen Saiz
what I’d done and was guilty of
I’d fallen in love
just tripped and fell
looking where I was going
or going where
I should not have been going
eyes which had been expressionless,
alive and responsive
without words, communicating
or with facial expressions saying
so much more or so much in addition
to words exchanged
lily-colored almost, surprisingly warm
other color, other race
someone from elsewhere
so familiar and so very near
something in an instant tripped my heart up
tongue-tied, I attempt to loose it now,
to be lucid now, to give mystery words
to myself understand what befell me, why
what an instant ushered into, in through
their hotel bedroom to the bathroom
she, as white as could be,
her long, black hair, undone, relaxing,
sitting upon their bed, too much to bear
I as if drunk, stumbled, almost fell
grabbed for the door like a straw
splinter from its edge, through my hand
husband, trusting, so very kind,
I, with his wife, fallen in love,
now falling down actually, stumbling, guilty
like going and coming along one same track
crashed into myself head on,
almost collapsed, almost cracked
how painful it was, splinter injury, injure me
as if the need to step up were a trick, a trap
set to undo me
embarrassing, humiliating moment
how love is able to work against us
empathetic, she offered me band-aid
I chose to keep instead of use
as much a souvenir as what I’ve written here
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
2:58 a.m. 17.11.08
At The Film Festival
for Leslie Vanderpool
i. Lesli
too pretty to look at
like too-bright light
two bright lights when we meet
the sun and the moon,
the moon on the sea,
a song on a page
darkened theatre, in the end, lit
you see who you share it with,
shared what you saw with
the faces familiar, the friendliness,
who to smile and to wave at
like Junkanoo morning
when the sun comes up
across the street, here and there
and round about
faces and people you know and love
like you do Junkano
no idea they were there,
all Boxing Day morning
until sun up
lights up in the theatre
people familiar to me to greet
one sweetens life with a smile
like honey out poured
in my coffee, in my tea,
over waffles, in my Ovaltine
what sweet music, the buzzing of bees,
what hairy bellies
ii. Stolen Youth
pour all the liquor down the drain
who needs it
in the blood
in the blood stream
iii. Diane
so pretty
it’s almost painful to me,
almost painful to see
she wears sunshades
bright bright December day
in front of the theatre
awaiting shuttle to P.I.
a mystery why her breasts
are as big as they are,
as full as they are
asked her to remove her shades
to see who she is, to see really
wanted to observe as much as I could
wanted to see, to investigate
to see and feel, to taste and see
I’ll have to rely upon poetry to see more
back through the years she’s lived
see-through shower curtains
see-through things
we wear to bed
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
Written on 11.12.08 between
12:25 p.m. and 3:44 p.m.
Paradise Island Bridge
for Anthenique Russell
i.
you get excited and you don’t know why
or become sad and not know why
when emotions are affected, are altered
by fragrances, colors, shades of colors
by light, dark or bright
by temperatures, warn or hot or cold
by fire and ice
you get excited or sad
by the slightest shift or that or this
we thirst or hunger
or desire to pee or shit
ii.
he does not seem drugged out
he seems drug free
instead of marijuana cigarettes
he smokes dicks,
gets high on these
dicks in his mouth, in his fists,
sufficient to please
iii.
used to be waiting places
for God to send me a lift
used to assume I was stranded
when already he’d supplied,
outfitted me with transportation
legs, feet,
carriage all the same, nonetheless
all I have to cross is a rock
7 miles wide, 21 miles long
not as if I had the whole continent
of Africa to traverse, to cross
to get home or to town
iv.
I keep wanting to pee
I’ve got something or something’s got me
I want something or something wants me
no end to wanting to pee pee pee
v.
amazing the distances feet can cover
one step at a time, one foot after another
arriving where I’m going, thinking
I got here far too quickly
on foot, I am never stuck in traffic
wasting time and wasting gas
vi.
I am interested in your identity
I am interested in locating you
like someone needing to/wanting to
pull off an assassination
necessary to locate you
before I pull the trigger
though it’s just a poem
I have to/want to write of you
though, instead of rifle with telescope
it is a pen in my fist
my eyes alone, unaided, to see you with
to see you through
nevertheless it’s necessary
to locate you to write a poem
locate you before I shoot off my mouth,
my verse, my worst shoot
vii.
what am I looking up or looking at
stars to look up at, words to look up
friends to look up
whom I’ve not seen in a long time
in prison or insane
viii.
stuff for the catwalk,
for the cat to pull off, to carry off
a cat brings a rat into the house
in its mouth
Versache fashion
for who will bite, for who will buy
ix.
white people thinking
you want to venture into their whirl
but you’re in the whirl already
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
Written between 7:30 p.m.
06.12.08 and 1:05 a.m. 07.12.08
Tobacco Leaves
advice is that
you shouldn’t smoke when you’re pregnant
I remember a girl pregnant
smoking my cigar
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
3:15 p.m. 05.12.08
In A Metaphor
make a metaphor so marvelous
to marvel at
too marvelous to be left out of
left out us, in snow and rain
must knock to get back in
or kick the door in
or kick the door down
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
4:00 a.m. 04.12.08
In Love In Three Movements
for M.B.
i.
I steal honey as if I hadn’t any
honey from me overflowing
we, two bees when we meet
since we met
hum, buzz, hover, alight
how she’s changed my life
changes my life when we connect
however casually
though love like ours
permits no casual outfit
when we meet, we have to strip
not a stitch allowed
in the room we occupy
in public, with her
I’d wonder about exposure
about eyes upon us,
upon our bareness
emotionally as without clothes
as insects/flowers, petals/wings
we connect and I am confused
what’s her, what’s me
as flowers and insects in a field
what are her petals, what are my wings
used to climb up and down
within her once
tickling and being tickled
to an unbearable degree
ii.
able to slip out of me and into her
how we have slipped forth and back
we have and could, we could and can’t
how upon the brakes she’d press
to prevent slipping, sliding
slippery us/from/into/out of
swing-like, like trombone
not dry though, not just by wind assisted
wet slip, slide, wet ride
produce what we need to glide in
glide on, ride on
we can but can’t
she has to press brakes, slam down
as if upon a wet road, a wet street
rain-wet, rain-slick
we’ve gone in and out of each other
as if greased
wide eyed, wild, inspired
we besides ourselves in seconds
we sing about our situation
born into the world, into the word
in March, in May
we met one August evening
unable to separate since
unable to alter or to prevent
the slipping, sliding forth and back
even with her foot upon the brakes
of the pendulum we make swing
forth and back and forth
iii.
when we come, we arrive then
as if in spite of intimacy
we were journeying still
to be together, to get together,
to arrive where the other is
as if when we come
we experience being together
in space, in time, one finally
when, though we were
as close as could be
or so we thought
with our clothes off
we were two until we came
only meeting then,
only touching then
she and I have touched each other
and life nor I, since, has been the same
she, it seems,
has not been the same either
I recall one night we had intercourse
carried away, unable to help it
went into a friend’s bedroom
with nothing to wipe with
I without my shirt when we exited
our hostess and a friend of ours
in the living room, awaiting us
deliciously embarrassing
my shirt all sticky, in a ball in my hands
nothing else to wipe my dick,
her pussy with
after slipperiness, slippery sex
how one we were
slip and slide until we collided
sap like smash up
like ripe fruit falling,
colliding with the ground
and bursting open
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:21 a.m. 14.11.08
Guilty Tongue
for Maria Paz Moreno
if only I can out pour
thanks, appreciation into gracias
I could afterwards learn
to fill an endless number of Spanish words
with thoughts and emotions
necessary to be genuine
necessary as well
for thought and emotions
to fill words without words overturning
without their contents spilling
neat fit’s required, like an outfit
I’ll learn to wear Spanish
like I wear English,
better than I wear French
I have so many Spanish books
so many Spanish friends
I must make Spanish a friend also
in spite of history
in spite of its role
in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
4:20 a.m. 05.12.08
Molasses
for N.T-B.
so much sugar
how much sugar
you put in my tea
sweet girl, sweet tea
next to unbearable pleasure
she permits me
her touch, how warm
her caresses, arrest of the sweetest sort
honey for me and for my soul
hominy, harmony,
sweet milk in porridge
corn meal or Quaker Oats
no woman no cry
you make me so happy
in boots with your pants ripped
daughter of mine
used to drink grape fruit juice
last night I watched her empty
a glass of red wine
you with your bottle of beer
and your sweet breath
woman haunting me, hot in me
aught to be worthy
of her cheek to mine
of her arm around me, about me
death has to retreat
when life greets me
when she and I meet
© Obediah Michael smith, 2008
4:42 a.m. 04.12.08
Unlocked Doors
for Sonia Lunn
i.
you’re not an outsider
if you can open a book
you’re not excluded if you can read it
what if you can’t enter Lyford Cay
if you can open a book
and breathe fresh air
ii.
opening books without end, like thighs,
to have intercourse
with their authors
Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
3:37 a.m. 04.12.08
Mopping Angel
for V.L.
thought they’d taken us apart
taken you away or sent you away
showing up to see you,
I thought futile, I had, several times
visits which did not bear fruit
thought we’d become friends
just for friendship to end
new faces, strangers,
cold formality, friendly pretences
empty compared with knowing you
how robbed I felt
was I overjoyed to see you
even mopping the floor
making the wood like new
laboring, liking it
or seeming to and so lovely
how restored I felt
what I thought ended,
over and done with, available still
the loss I felt, how valuable you are
some things need to stay in place
in this ever changing, whirling world
wild with joy when I saw you
boy near by, attached to you
must I move over, make room
verse lines connect us,
with what are you and he connected
with what in addition
to youth and beauty
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:58 a.m. 05.12.08
About to Cross the Street
for C.B.
i.
deeply affected, deepest affection
something in an instant for her to write on
scribble down address
friends to let into her car
in the parking lot, across Bay St.
blue button on her key chain to press
to admit them
while she and I connect
a minute or two together
to enter into history
locked in time ticking, inextricably
fleshy like peach, enough to fill two arms
not just the palm of a hand
squeeze a new-found friendship
see if it's ripe, ready for picking
hunger for it
she too has a healthy appetite
for poets and songs
ii.
someone to save my life tonight
or I'd sink out of sight
quick silver, quick sand
armed with each other
against loneliness, lonely nights
after encounter, left with her to think on
to dream up, to dream on
bouquet of marijuana everywhere about us
encountering her, enabling me
to walk on water, walk on air
wine or weed, unavailable to me
falling in love my only option
unable to return to addictions
those wives and I, long ago divorced
get high, get lost in innocence, in beauty
body to embrace, squeeze to mine, to me
I believe in what sustains me
rigor instead of rigor mortis
so many dead men walking
imagine they're alive
mixing grass with air
grass to fill pipes with
want her in my waterbed
hovering over me bare
iii.
something to grip and to grip me
or someone to
someone who'd be warm to hold
wonderful to behold, to be with
withheld from me for some reason
until now, until I learned patience
built character, until I myself was formed
fetuses in the womb, embracing
though under water, in order not to drown
someone to breathe with, to breed with
take a deep breath, come up for air
what a field of flowers
Orwell gives us to swallow, to fill our senses
about to cross the road and I accost her
in the nick of time, connected
found a new lifeline
when we could have drifted
two ships upon the waves
these lines I write and let out
I can pull in
until she's up against me bare
body in the bath, on the toilet, in a scale
exactly what I ordered
in dreams, in the market place
in a single state
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
2:15 a.m. 04.12.08
Shaking Ink
for T.P.
want to eat you still until I’m full
hungry for you for too long
how surprisingly sweet
my penis, while I’m peeing, smells
no one near to share it with
you’d have known what to do with it
artist, connoisseur
we had a long talk of lovemaking once
all that’s intricate/secret we spoke of
and not just above a whisper
nor did we pause or lower our voices
when the waitress came near
what an evening that was
it was intercourse just short of the act
though it was just talk
it was much much more
conversation as daring or more daring
than any I’ve ever had
as good as those Peggy and I shared
in Shoney’s, in Memphis
where we were university students
another Platonic relationship
which was magic, edifying, transforming
intimacy comes in various sizes, packages
unpackage it to make use of it
to clothe yourself in it
naked woman on my wall
woman naked on my wall
and in my pen I shake you from
and shake ink from
shaking in you, you shaking too
until you and I shudder
where/when upon the spinning earth
unless time turned back for us two
like something it forgot/it dropped
and returned to pick up
regret the ride in you I never took
like the road never taken, Frost wrote of
I could have made your woods
fill up with snow
with miles to go
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
5:40 a.m. 30.11.08
