Wild In A Cage
for Deanah Sweeting
all these years to discover who she is
what moments await us, are stored up for us
if we can only watch and wait
if we can hold out, can hold on
until they come, arriving one by one
like Easter, Christmas, birth days
met her tonight, finally
remember when I first set eyes upon her
how I was smitten, hungry, thirsty
to see her emerge from the store
with what she went shopping for
long ago, but I remember the banana
she emerged eating
I remember her pale blue shorts
I remember my heart swiftly beating
I remember being in awe
how many heartbeats has it been
from then till now
tonight,
to stumble upon her, upon her house,
to discover her dad is my friend
dark like him,
a million times more lovely
in what incubator was she made
14 years ago
14 billion years to go
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
11:56 p.m. 23.05.09
Tin Tub
for Rachquel Phillipa Walkine
not easy against life's toil and strife
to remain pretty, friendly, nice
what sustains you, keeps you positive
but more than positive, elated or seemingly so
is it a mask you wear or is it joy really
what you can't fake or put on, I'm certain
are your gleaming eyes
out of where does that arise
what reservoir are you tapped into
full of life and light
always near the surface and ready to fly,
a smile, with others following
as easy as birds aroused, about to take off
one following another, off earth or off a lake
or off some place, off to some place
must enter air to enter heaven
or to take off for some other pond,
some other lake, some other land
some birds journey from pole to pole
or east to west about the globe
from what direction did you come
to this place, to this rock
we happen to be together on
eking out a living, smiling about it
is it because earth is not our home
sojourning here, we smile at it as it spins
as if attempting to wring us out
like a mop or like clothes
in an old fashioned tin tub
grandmother washing, wringing
hanging towels, bed sheets, underclothes
out to dry
are we too blowing in the wind
drying on the line
how hard working and how pretty
you are all the time
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:52 a.m. 20.05.09
From: Obediah Michael Smith
Subject: hand up hand out to get to Havana
Date: Tuesday, May 19, 2009, 4:26 AM
Friends, Family, Fellow Artists & Writers:
How nervous nervous I am about not being able to gather enough to get to Cuba for The 14th Annual Havana International Poetry Festival. I had aimed to collect $3000. I have now been able to reduce the need and cost to about $2000. I have received donations of $500, 200 Canadian dollars of which have come all the way from Canada, from a professor at the University of Toronto and his wife.
Donations are coming in like sweet milk, falling upon cornflakes, from a can just out of the refrigerator. I am scheduled to leave for Havana on Sunday, May 24 and I am still in need of $1500. Please donate whatever you can. It will go a long way and would be highly appreciated.
Hopefully & Prayerfully,
Obediah Michael Smith.
E-Mail back please! ASAP.
bestwordsmith@gmail.com
from Nathalie Wood
To Obediah Michael Smith
Date Tue, May 19, 2009 at 3:27 PM
Subject Re: hand up hand out to get to Havana
I would have helped if I were able to.
If you plan on travelling to Cuba every year, why don't you secure a sponsor unless you don't find running behind people bothersome? Shouldn't the ministry, perhaps tourism, take care of the arrangement and expenses?
from Obediah Michael Smith
To Nathalie Wood
Date Tue, May 19, 2009 at 4:48 PM
Subject Re: hand up hand out to get to Havana
An artist here from Canada suggested that for things like these a national lottery would come in handy.
Interesting the euphemism in your sentence: "... unless you don't find running behind people bothersome".
The bother, I am aware, does go both ways. I do struggle to get though to be able to give.
Last Wednesday, at The Hub, I read a 42 minute poem, Hymns To Him: A Poem of Cuba. It is what I wrote at Havana International Poetry Festival, 2007, the first one I attended. I collected - your donation included, thanks again very much - $3000 in a single week.
This poem is what I have given or what I am giving back. Its worth might not be appreciated at present but I assure you, it will be valued eventually. It is being translated into Spanish to be published in Cuba.
It turns out that that is only half the book. I have to type and polish and add poems from two notebooks from Havana Festival, 2008.
My or our community does not know it needs me or that it needs poetry. It does not at present seem to know the role of poetry and poets. It will eventually. It thinks Junkanoo and sports are enough. A nation though needs more than these two legs to stand on. How can it fight a dragon or dragons when dragons have so many legs?
A nation is also up against millipedes and centipedes. In the face of such adversities, can it afford not to see the worth in what we do and invest in it? I think not, Nathalie, fellow-poet.
The nation ignores us, its poets at it peril. We must be true nonetheless until they discover what we are worth. Let us keep each other pure therefore and driven.
With all my love to you, Obi.
Coin Death Life
for Shenique Hart
with this unworthy energy
unworthy mind
like bringing or like offering up
inappropriate hands
to do a job or to make something with
wish to make poem like cake from scratch
like pottery upon a spinning wheel
something though to reflect you
I love you, you know that
how you sparked it off, light in darkness
girl you ever had to light a pilot light
knowing how dangerous such a thing was
holding a lit match, trembling, waiting
to hear the soft poof when it did light
rather than boom of too much gas
escaped into the air, into the atmosphere
boom loud enough and with enough force
to lift the house roof, blow it off
love can be efficacious or it can destroy
can self destruct, can go up, can blow up
or we can have dinner or we can dance
and flowers can be bought, can be brought
or can be delivered
I like fruit in bowls also
apples, oranges, pears, grapes
I like onions, avocados, yams
mangoes, cantaloupes, watermelons
showing their near red insides
inside a poem I open for you, filled with nice things
against the nastiness of this world
against what annoys, against who annoys
what do you miss most about your island
what do you love most about our capital city
what you triggered off in me
I wish I were able to explain
if I did you might lay no claim to it
might know not of it
silly me, reading what you were not at all sending
or saying
hearing what you were not telling
am I feeling you now, are you feeling me
hearing me
are you helping me invent a poem
one like none which ever was
this is just between us, o.k.
how poems come to be made
my head in your head and yours in mine
it calls for being intimate, into one another
do you mind such intimacy
to hold spiritually and couple and copulate
though as apart as a pen top off a pen
lost, looked for all over the place
until brought together again
can cover the pen when the poem's written
I have a case for it, a place for it
put it away until I have something to say
to you again
write so you can locate me in the dark even
feel about until you find me
I'll be here or I'll be back
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:34 a.m. 19.05.09
Water for The River
for Adriana Perez-Allen
hardly anything you can say
that can hold water
hardly anything you can say
that is not porous
whatever we are able to make with language
we fill with water and it drips, it leaks
if not immediately, eventually
including what I've written here
including what I'm writing now
sentences, lines of poems, are not cups for tea
language unable to hold water
unable to hold tea, unable to hold pee
language runs like rivers run
always reaching out, stretching out to sea
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:18 a.m. 17.05.09
Here's What I Hear
for Arianne Etuk
quiet as ghosts and as soft
as difficult to fill hands with
to get a handful of
as illusive as this, as illusive as mist
wanting a taste of it, to be filled with it
unable to drink or eat it though
snow cone of snow, sweet milk to cover it
what can I cup you in, contain you in
when you go, you come
so quietly, on quiet feet
pulling at my harp strings
who knows why it's playing
who knows who is plucking out a tune
vibrating strings but no fingers move
none anyone can see
just me singing seemingly
without reason, without cause
you are gone but still with me
still I see, I hear, I feel
the pull of you too strong, too strange
my heart strings, unable to still them
until the song, its highs, its lows
are all out, like tide, like ocean waves
until these are spent
across white sand, a stretch of beach
I want no one walking where
only you can walk and leave no print
weightless one, weightless once
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:21 a.m. 15.05.09
A Green Bench
for E.M.L.
not just about her,
they are as much about me,
my poems of us
makes me feel elegant,
possibility of our having an affair,
beauty and the beast
though the beast has a pen
is a poet, is a wordsmith
is ours a fair trade,
what she gives, what I give back
are we playing tennis
or are we playing squash
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:40 p.m. 14.05.09
Add Up To What
for E.M.L.
i.
from what part to town
from the heart of town
from which family island
Abaco or Spanish Well
or Green Castle, Eleuthera
is she related to artist, Alton Lowe
never thought of tying in intimacy
tying intimately
with this part of the population
my part of town, to her part of town
what though is her part of town
who is her family
what would they think of me, say of me
would they accept me, would she
were I to offer myself
along with poems, with pen, with poetry
what if she were offered the entire package
to unwrap, not just poems to read
poems are about relationships after all
not just 154 sonnets to entertain us
not written as academic assignments
written within relationships
like words exchanged in conversation
as liquid, as alive as that, as vital as water, as air
river flowing through a city, flows out to sea
Stratford upon Avon
ii.
layers of friendship, one at a time to remove
until I am, until we are
at the heart of the artichoke, of the onion
sounds of these not as sweet as she is
she does not like her given name
iii.
is she considering, examining
to see if she and I fit, if I fit the mystery
if she and I fit mysteriously
might we, by divine decree, to an extreme degree
what of the possibility of her and me, combined
being like a drink which never was
as refreshing as could be
for the thirst of the world
would we, could we be drink for all the world
or should we, selfishly, drunk ourselves
night after night, until we die
she knows what’s on my bank accounts
nothing much
I’m unable to impress financially
unable to lie about what’s in the bank
she is my banker, she sees me bare
what have I to offer, in addition to song
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 10:48 a.m.
Monday, May 11 and 2:32 a.m.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Molasses Morning
for Gina Lowe
what’s ephemeral perches, stays
purchased, pinned down
things otherwise, lift into the air
gone like an hour of the day
like dawn or noon or twilight
when it’s gone it’s gone
when it’s done it’s done
things we want around
those we want with us
how I wonder, does she feel
some one to be faithful to
learn to be or try to be
she’d have art to love
lots to feast on
emotionally bare, actually bare
we’d bathe in laughter,
sweet as molasses
listening to Annie Fischer play Liszt,
Piano Concerto No. 1
missing having breakfast
in Memphis, with Oran,
in The Pancake House
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:41 a.m. 10.05.09
Three Pieces
for Julia Ames
i.
Cleophas
he’s beginning to wear his mouth
like an old man
in public, playing piano
without giving a shit
about it
ii
Tia & Fred
would eat me like a wolf
were I to turn up at his door
for something I wanted
or for something grandmother
sent me for
after Joseph Spence’s music
and he has some, has all
I’m timid though to go by
afraid of his teeth ending
deep in me
hungry for meat, for me
he seems to think
I’m sweet
iii.
Nicolette
wanting to be able
to cut and to bleed
able to hear it when she writes
and when she speaks
wanting to break out
though she’s on the inside
wanting to cast a spell
though she can spell very well
wanting to be as ungrammatical
as can be, can hear and can see
dog on a chain, dog on a leash
is instead lion, tiger
unable to be tamed or chained
able to roar still
able to make thunder roll
the welkin ring
chains of rhyme
she can pop when she pleases
if she pleases
in spite of Cambridge, Q.C.
C.O.B.
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 8:41 p.m., Saturday,
May 9 and 12:20 a.m.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Bon Appétit
for Shenique Davis
she used to go through me
I used to let her, she used to let me
we used to love crazily, passionately
what used to rise up in her, rise up in me
emotionally, occasionally
overwhelming mutually
we used to draw near
we used to pull away
fearing beauty, what was crazy
fearing being carried away
too far, too swiftly
that was love and beauty
as strong as I have ever known
to the edge of it, to the brink of it
as far as she and I ever went
bucket, river, well
we'd go to drink, trembling
last time I held her, she held me
what joy, what memories
what blood rushing through us
up river, around bends
how shaken we were
to see each other
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:27 a.m. 09.05.09
Poem After Proposing
for Gina Mercedes Lowe
what could we between us make
could I make you into
you make me into
together you or I I feel
can change the world
the composition of the universe
do we dare, should we try
I think transformation
has already commenced occurring
the universe already
is beginning to recompose
to reconfigure itself about us
what is it about us
now I know you will run and hide
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:29 p.m. 07.05.09
Clothes Doors
for V.N.P.S.
i.
let the camera frame you
clothe you, nothing besides
nothing outside of it
to put on or to wear
back to Eden
to these Edenic shores
Adam is a cameraman
must photograph
what he names, what ages
as the world turns
as the leaves turn
ii.
with his camera
as if by magic
he flashes off
flashes away
what a model might be wearing
does not stop flashing
until she is topless
and still does not stop
until she is entirely bare
made bare by his camera
flashing away
without ever otherwise
lifting a finger
iii.
photographer
like a cold blooded killer
but no less so
are some of his models
he shoots
but they are shooting back
shooting too
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 4:08 a.m. and 6:14 a.m.
on Thursday, May 7, 2009
Away Like Cedric
wherever you go you’d still be on earth
with air to breathe
and being an artist, very near broke
and writing about it, inspired by it
always a bit worried, unless it’s a place
where artists are paid,
where art is bought
where poetry books are purchased
and you can feel a bit better than you do
always giving something for nothing
with your own needs not met
and you have to beg with a cup
or with your hand or hands cupped
to get out of a slump or out of a hole
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:59 p.m. 06.05.09
On A Tiny Page
for Gabriela Prado
icy eyes
sea eyes
under sea eyes
fish seeking fish
seeking food
some having to leap
to leave the water
for their own safety
and splash back
under sea eyes
sea eyes
icy eyes
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:52 p.m. 01.05.09
As Soft As Hush
for P.A.
i.
when we were boys on our dad’s farm
when we had to go, we went in the bushes
we’d clean with leaves or with stones
an older cousin used to advise
my brother, Kevin and me
have I outgrown Ceddy’s wisdom
what would he have said
about a woman whose eyebrows meet
what is said about such women
about such persons
attached with latch, latch on a screen door
easy to close, as easy to open
our dog never barks, never bites
our door never bangs
ii.
no one touches me as gently
and at once as aggressively as she does
her ability to combine
such opposite dynamics
is an amazing gift, is a miracle almost
as if I were being touched physically
when all she uses is voice
connected intricately, emotionally
the moment I come into the store
such active interaction until I’m served
and reluctantly leave
able to interact and to connect like this
though she is married
as close as pups in a litter must feel
as close as squealing piglets
muddied, feeding
how they rub and bump and fall
against each other, frolic together
she and I have hardly ever actually touched
but how we connect, how we’re connected
while I’m shopping in the convenience store
as well as afterwards, as well as always
since we reunited,
away from Marlborough Antiques
where she worked and I shopped
for art and books
in the store where she works now
I go to buy bread and cheese
bananas, lemons and water
in 5 gallon bottles
with which I’d have to
across the street
struggle home
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Begun 29.04.09 concluded 02.05.09
Hands Cards
cut God right in half
with what’s secular
and what’s sacred
when he made all the world
when every second’s his
what is his is what is first
as well as what is second
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:44 p.m. 22.04.09
When Dawn Breaks
for Noelle Nicolls &
Roan Kirk Anthony Steele
seed of death in us
when it germinates
like seeds,
it's time to be buried
eventually we will all
have been picked
waves upon a beach arriving
staggered, sliding back,
down again
how and when we come in
when and how we go out
our lights or when our house
goes up in smoke--up in flames
when our time comes
when our number's called
answer or not, hide or hide and seek
we will be carried off
our part in the play, our lines said
after which, afterwards
vacate the stage
character in a drama
set down, plucked up
cast in fire, cast in flames
our flower petals fall like tears
fruit and seeds come round again
another cycle of life
another day, when dawn breaks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:12 a.m. 03.05.09
Poem for Gina
for G.M.L.
no gun required, already inspired
by almost white hands
by pretty plastic ring
not a wedding band, she assured me
though it's on that finger
I always need to examine her closely
examine her swiftly
go over her with my eyes
I am not intimidated, she assured me
feeling the need to apologize
for too intense attention
I had to tell her
that I tremble
to look at her
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:55 p.m. 22.04.09
Map of the World
for G.M.L.
i.
silly love song
silly in love
or have I lost faith
in where, in love leads
down that road
a time or two
love knocking at my door
I knocking
on the door of love to be let in
want to try again, maybe this time
it would turn out right
rather than how a sore turns out
what if this time, as with Voltaire,
as in Candide
old man covered in sores,
desiring a hug, gets a hug,
transforms into an angel
transports you to heaven
to happiness unimagined
want to trust love once more
go through its door
if she allows, if she lets me
even if it is the end of a life
beginning of another
ready for transformation
like no one I’ve ever encountered
on this planet or on any other
into toilets I come to write of her
where inspiration comes
she turns toilets into temples
in them I worship, thank God
need to become a new creature
deserving of her, one she deserved
need to be, as well as to have
what is most precious to give her
God knows she deserves
the stars in heaven
in a crown on her head
she is queen of the world
is this world good enough
will it whirl us into a couple
what will it whirl out of us
before we’re dust, before we’re ashes
I need to dispatch a dozen roses
why have we, I wonder,
ten fingers, ten toes
together we’d have twenty of each
and how many more
when we’re joined by children
happy and pretty as she is
ii.
idea of our having been
whirled together
in this world which spins together
which spins apart
what has the potter in mind
to make
already made elements
to make another mixture
world without end
never stops spinning
what does he intend
to make of us, to make us into
already made, always his desire
to make us anew
us in his blender
what punch for the world
what potent sip
what place to sit, to lie, to slip
egg in my milk shake
seeing her always
leaves me inebriated
like brandy in drinks
mom used to make daddy
when his back was weak
how many weeks have I known her
how weak I am for how lovely she is
how beautiful she is
iii.
when is your birthday
she asked, for some reason
how sore my butt is, how it hurts
to sit upon certain spots
must find new positions
not warn, not bruised
at my computer sitting
day after day
all through the night
night after night
I get a lot done
in addition, this sitting
doing what I do
writing what I write
is undoing me
my backside sore, my neck stiff
for some odd reason
this need to share what’s delicate
tell her my hip hurts
intimacy to enter, to invite her into
allow our two lives kisses
what if she and I fitted
like a hat fits, like shoes fit,
like gloves fit
what if I were able to afford
to love
able to afford this pretty,
infinitely priceless lady
who thinks I’m somebody
iv.
quality person or not at all
I mussie too picky
I’ve been so selective
for so many years
all my life actually
why I’m not married
need who would be ideal
to complete me
to add to the mixture that I am
avoiding all these years
the wrong ingredients
in my omelet, in my soup
cinnamon, nutmeg
in my corn meal, oat meal
no desire to intake, to eat
who or what would hurt my stomach
once I swallowed
how very sensitive my belly is
my nose is
don’t want to have to throw up
or sneeze
bringing things up too long
having to avoid things
and people of this world
who would do would have
to have come from heaven
would have to have arrived on wings
will we eventually
have rings to exchange
vows to exchange
v.
in the toilet with you again
us two in the toilet where I reign
I should have had kingdoms
to share with you
for you to be queen of
but already you are queen
of all you smile on, smile over
of wherever you walk
holy ground beneath your feet
wish I had cloaks enough
to cover wherever you walked
Elizabeth and Walter Raleigh
have both long passed away
there’s nothing more precious
than air we breathe
how did we come to be alive
in the same hour, same city,
same century
centuries pass, are spent
when I see you, when you see me
when you and eye meet
vi.
what she stirs in me
like nothing I’ve known before
like no one I’ve known before
seen before
like someone from dreams
day dreams, wet dreams
someone I knew in other lives
here in the flesh
unable to believe my eyes
must pinch myself
to be good, to be true
where from here
apart or together
or into each other
change ourselves
along with the universe
what have I found
is this the ground or heaven
am I awake or dreaming
I make her as nervous
as she makes me
though she has declared
that I frighten her
not even a little bit
vii.
seeing her, what joy
what ability she has
to make my day
is it she who will end up
owning my Dali lithograph
copyright to all I’ve written
poems of her, love poems
of other women
my bones in a grave
to her attached as well eventually
what of the man/of the men
in her life, after I’m gone
after I’ve passed away
hope one of them is a son,
our own
I’ll have to make a will
what to leave to whom
if only I could live
and be happy, oh God
until I’m 88 at least
could how deeply I’m thrilled
by her in my life,
inspire me to live a long time
rather than give up the ghost
when death raps
first knock and I collapse
with a heart attack
or because of her in my life
tell death to go away, to call back
when happiness evaporates
with her about, it never will
I want to die
with a smile on my face
with joy in me heart
with her in the room
to kiss me good night
to close my eyes
I’d order her not to cry
she will anyway
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 5:55 p.m.
and 10:05 p.m. on Friday,
May I, 2009
What Hands Are For
for Vanessa Linden
what a thrill to be useful
to have had to struggle a little
to assist you, to please you
how worried I was for a while
and how desperate, amid difficulty
fearing I’d not have succeeded
feared I hadn’t
the required strength in my fingers
fearing I’d not have been able
to get the right grip
grip required to turn a stubborn screw
after I’d gotten it loose,
you came along, undid it the rest of the way
releasing a trickle of milk
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:38 p.m. 01.05.09
As Near As My Computer
for Karisma Registry
like a great strawberry to bite into
in her tight, red panties
so very near the camera, the viewer
with her legs apart
wicked chicken
knowing I’m hooked, knowing I’m hers
smiles slyly with me, with so many
and swings an arm, and winds her waist
her gesture of farewell
am I in heaven or am I in hell
hungry, thirsty for a girl
I am unable to reach, to get to
through glass
am I, are we animals in a zoo
is she the zoo keeper
or is it she in a cage as it were
and we have come to view
a wild girl
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:34 a.m. 01.05.09
Can Party and Cry
for Karisma Registry
day breaks
where thighs meet in tight shorts
squeaks through, squeezes through
as light does, through stained glass
must confess, want to worship
seeing you dance in shorts, tight as skin
what a grip--shorts hug you
hold you, expose what they hide
grow hungry for it, for hairy pussy lips
or do you/or have you shaved
my heart races, along with several
hundred thousand others, while you dance
beast in you calls to beasts in us
how hard you screw and screw us
are you wicked enough for all of us
craving a moment in hell
with you to light our fires
to roast our nuts like chestnuts
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:49 a.m. 30.04.09
