Sunday, September 27, 2009

Danielle

wanted to plant kisses
all over her pretty skin, her pretty face
wanted to close her eyes with kisses
were I permitted, were I allowed

pretty lovely woman already taken
wasn't when we met a year or so ago

encounter her now armed with husband
with new last name

End of the Affair enters my mind
where the woman's lover was not her husband

cool with her husband, hot with- hot for another man
what a depth of involvement

heard her laugh last evening
deliciously raucous laughter
interesting the need to be tied to be free

in a stretch of conversation, had her to myself
to shoot dice with, play cards with
whip the skipping rope with

her and me in one jumping rope, skipping rope
up and down, up close or almost

wanted to be carried away, was now and then

chin with dimple, eyes, exotic insects
wings like lungs rise, fall, contemplating take off

wanted to go when she was lifting off
light enough to leave with her

late as usual
in another man's arms, in another man's bed
his balls to handle, intimacy impossible

just the intercourse of conversation left to us, allowed
better by far than nothing at all

sweet and pretty woman, fragrant pineapple

you should see my mother, she kept insisting
I must have seen her somewhere

small sphere we live in, circle I go about in with the cultivated

I without end doing my darndest
to be as fragrant as the sweetest people
to be numbered among those who are loveliest

need a woman on my arm also
before a walking cane is the companion I went about with
like Ingmar Bergman when he was already past 80

when he no longer made films
“Franny and Alexander” he thought would be his last
made to look back to- back through his childhood

will I wed before I'm dead, will she be as pretty as this lady
almost too pretty to look upon

what it must be like with her entirely bare
God only knows, her husband and whoever else

they say I am lucky to be able to write poetry
but where's the woman upon a platter
where's the salad dressing


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:12 a.m. 27.09.09

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Over A Wooden Floor
for Rachquel Phillipa Walkine

in love with you, how about that
what are you gonna do

know you like playing with fire, teasing old me
old dog without teeth

in my prime, baby, in spite of my beard
full of grey, turning white

this wild man is full of tigers' claws
no thought to harm you

roar, make the firmament shake, you shiver

what eyes, what lights in them
look up, look out for stars

these though always in your eyes

what you do to me,
expect me to see nothing, feel nothing
become nothing

able to make snakes commence sloughing
flower petals fall

able to roll back, to hold back tides,
flood waters

roll back the skin of my erect dick
when we’re ready for intercourse


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:46 a.m. 24.09.09
Wet After the Rain
for Rachquel Phillipa Walkine

she looks and I ache
what she is able to do with just eyes
able to do to me with eyes

could look and I'm affected
able to touch me as if with
cold hands, with cold feet

together in bed, naked in bed
too fresh, one-flesh contract

ow! when her palm or foot bottom
press against me, joyous assault

just looking I’m affected
magnetic eyes move what in me
re-assorted, recomposed

eyes resting on me, pass through me
unbearable sweet

ow! I exclaim at the thought of it
I recall it

when her eyes are upon me, I grow weak
I go to heaven, to hell, right on this rock


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:37 p.m. 23.09.09

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Newspaper with my Picture
for Vanessa Linden

usually she does not let me look, does not let me see

as if merciful, sparing me
avoid intoxicating with unbearable beauty

what is it about opening to look out
baring yourself to be looked at, to be seen inadvertently

cleaning, mop in hand, face moist with effort
behold a woman I’m unable to describe

need to capture a moment energizes
point where water becomes steam

face I see so delicious I’m singing
all I have is song, music all there is
to register emotions like mercury
measures heat or its absence

at her prettiest, eyes bright, face moist,
happy in her heart in spite of drudgery,
having to work

work made worship
something or other resulting in ecstasy
I get to see, to witness

did not hide it, thank goodness
body out of the bath, towel about it

naked as Eve before she knew she was
face as naked as this, emotionally bare
I looking on, she letting me, I in awe


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:53 p.m. 21.09.09
Sweet Milk Holes
for Vanessa Linden

think there is a hole problem
think the hole is the problem
the hole is the whole problem

unable to hold the problem, a hole in it
unable to hold water or hold air, hole in the holder

without pin hole in plastic cap, in plastic cover
difficult to get at coffee in my coffee cup
though I suck at the cut in the cover

cup in my clutches which warms my two hands
could have been a breast with pin hole
I, a baby, belly full of milk or full of air


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
21.09.09

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Jessica Ramsey

could sense she was thrilled to hear I had, a year ago, written a poem of her,
to hear that I was sending it to Colombia, to hear of its being translated into Spanish

then again how do I know what of all I said she heard,
what exactly of what I said, of all I said, shy myself about connecting, about confessing, was responsible for how divinely she smiled

she did seem to accept that it was something given or something taken which cost her nothing,
taken without her knowing or without feeling any pain at all,
unlike a pint of blood, unlike a mosquito bite

what is your name was my first question, she gave it readily enough
tapped her shoulder again, I can add your name to it I told her, was it o.k.
sure, she said, over her shoulder, quickly

what is your last name, holding back but gave that as well
uncertain of her family name, how to spell it, wanting to be certain I spelled it correctly
spelled it aloud and she confirmed

a younger sibling in one arm and on one side, energetic as she usually is
as cheerful as the year’s most joyful seasons in her combined

in the nick of time you might say, able to add a dedication to that poem
able to, with this connection, polish it, finish it, put it together, pull it apart

give it official placement on the page, simultaneously place her like a tattoo
in blood within my heart, position her where and how she fits best

I fell in love with her that night I saw her in the dark, in her dark skin, in short jeans skirt
with a group of girls but she stood out and my heart leapt, too vigorously almost

with this woman my own age, whom I've been with, gone with for ages
with hardly anywhere else to go and she pops up, pops out in the night, too thrilling for words

thought I'd given myself away for certain - either she did not notice of pretended not to
that moment truly one of life's most gripping

in fact it was a month short of two years ago, October 21, 2007,
what day of the week, I'm unable to recall, I can and will confirm

it’s Sunday and across the street at the door of that store where we were a while ago
a dog waits to wag its tail and trot along beside two girls it loves, to whom it belongs

I connect to those I love with words I write, write into being a new family
by ink rather than by blood connected, best possible substitute for corpuscles

adrenalin is released in ink as well, from ink wells
how dark and lovely this girl is, when she is 19 though I'd be 59 or 29 I'd be 69

my wish, I wish I could take her out to dinner once before demise
before the surprise of death

knock upon her door to commence an evening out, before death knocks
to say, pack it up, knock it off, you're coming with me, you're being relieved

so much beauty in this world to move me, to be moved by before bye bye


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:54 p.m. 20.09.09
Sea Grape Season
for D.R.

her mouth, my mouth
without connecting, connecting

flavor of kisses
antithetical to the flavor of cuss words

kiss words--kiss worlds--hers and mine
way apart, connect now, will remain so

rain fall, wind blow, whatever weather rages
some stems remain attached

others break off
fruits, leaves, limbs
all over the ground, strewn
thrown by fists of bad weather

won’t want us to be victims, casualties
us to keep like preserves in bottles


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:15 p.m. 16.09.09
Cork
for D.A.

art to make with you
love to make too

help a girl become a woman
with my corkscrew

cock would be kinder
made of flesh

all flesh instead of what's metal
corkscrew like a pig's cock
going through cork

cutting into it
cutting through it until it gripped
and you could pull it out smoothly

remove cork from bottle neck

I could, with permission
enter your opening and leave
as smoothly

manhood attached to me
must go with me when I get up

passage to occupy a while
to hide in out of this world

kinder place to sheath my sword
out of the rain, away from mishap

place to put it, to push it
so it wouldn't rust or warp

need it to do battle with
whenever the need arises
arose


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:20 a.m. 18.09.09
Max Taylor A Moment
for Hubert Ingraham & E.M.J.

i.
when the gaze turns upon me
when I’m addressed

I’ve a response to make
I’ve a date with destination

ii.
prolific coconut tree

bunches yellow, gold, green
at it again

bucket falling into the water in the well
with a splash

iii.
in red dress,
electrical connection
connected to heaven

she is radiant, bulb-like, bright
will I see her again

I’ve seen her twice
see her, I ignite

iv.
I have offered myself up to mother
offered myself over to motherhood

handcuffed to it
struggle in it, struggle with it

not against it, not yet

v.
the erotic is missing from Max’s oeuvre
so much apart of what I pen down, pin down

like woman after woman
upon the mattress of my note book

vi.
stomach she has, what is that about

in her red dress, will have to remove it
massage therapist visiting
will have to undress almost completely

wish it were I with such skills in my fingers
I’d chase away fatigue, I’d ease what aches

stomach she has though, what is that about

what has she in her history
body full of history

her own, with centuries more added
layers of rock a geologist has to read

vii.
her dancing eyes to trip me up
to trigger me off, to look into

in ones, in twos, in shoes, in socks

to take off quickly enough
though we haven’t

enjoyable being friends
with all our clothes on

with all out clothes off
would we laugh, would we talk
get in the tub, get out, dry off

viii.
wearing a beard
in this outfit for the evening
for this important event

Max exhibition at NAGB
Prime Minister attending

Max’s shoes hurt his feet

strollers from which
he has not deviated in years

in formal, in form, in my beard
my age recorded in it

this I wear instead of black tie
instead of suit and tie

unable to acquire beard like this
in Fine Threads

threadbare or almost
thread of my verse though
does not break easily


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 7:45 p.m.
and 10: 44 p.m. Friday,
September 18, 2009

Friday, September 18, 2009

Awake Alive
for D.A.

free to enjoy her still
don’t know if she realizes
that it is against death that I write

wonder if she realizes what light she lights
what hours she adds

she’d have extended my history
added pages to my history book

see her body, how my heart beats
how it quickens

in bed, on her feet, in her short white shorts
what her hips and thighs weigh
what a woman she is

recipe I’d want or that item on the menu
her vegetables with tomatoes, beets


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:56 p.m. 16.09.09

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Top of the Hill
for Qural Taylor

what makes beautiful, wish I knew
brings it, leaves it, never to be seen

what is available is handiwork
pretty ladies

out of what material was she made
black, pretty girl

skin as fine as cream
cake batter outpoured
that texture of mixture

were I to mix with her, were I able to

we’d have a cake with nuts
we’d have a smooth criminal

Lord, I enjoy looking at her
wonder if she’s on Facebook
wonder if there are photographs

cashier in the food store
I could run back to buy
her store on the hill, long way from home

certainly worth the weight
certainly worth the walk

things we stumble upon,
stumble in, stumble on, hurt ourselves

other times stumble upon treasure


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:16 p.m. 15.09.09

Saturday, September 12, 2009

St. Francis of Assisi
for Thea Rutherford


six dollars-plus spent last evening
for food for my rats

they had been seeking to eat my food
to chew into treats purchased for me

feet they run about outside on
up on my cabinet, all over things in bags,
in bottles, in tins

over dishes I eat from, forks, knives, spoons
I eat with

want them to have meals
especially purchased for them
like cat food, dog food, bird food
rat food though is a rat's last meal

my intention’s not to go on feeding them
week after week

their food indefinitely part of my grocery bill
last meal and no more

rats are no pets, are no friends of mine
provide them a meal to put them out of their misery

tormented by rats I want to be rid of
I want to put an end to


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:30 a.m. 12.09.09

Friday, September 11, 2009

Rainy Day Romance
for Antoinette Bowe

some close calls, brushes with intimacy
quickly, our two hearts beating

but horses hooves you'd hear coming
would go by and leave silence

just breathing, heaving, sighing
situations like these

no doubt we've loved each other
mutually reaching out like now, like today

money for books I've written
always support, always interested

weak for her, have been for a long time

soft spot where she’s concerned

loved her at times fiercely, a blaze
somehow, somewhere, someone
would provide cold water

lessen intensity, almost put it out
dad, grandmother, herself occasionally

both of us guilty of aborting
what could have come to pass

we've lasted anyway,
after some love fashion or another

something elegant about us echoed
note a toning fork knows as well as a piano

a violin knows as well as a cello


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:48 p.m. 10.09.09

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sex In A Friend's House
for M.B.

ended up bare back in the living room

wiped with shirt I stripped off
soiled with semen, our juices

threw it to her to carry, she threw it back
shirt in a ball in a ball a game

not carrying, not owning
what was ours, was both of us
mine or was it hers to carry

where to break exactly
what we picked, what we sliced off

how and what and where
were we to share, an issue usually

things to negotiate
adjustments to make


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
10:47 p.m. 10.09.09

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Tick Tick Erotic
for T.L.C.

want to eat your pussy, fat or lean
lick the platter clean

lick fingers, waste nothing

I hope you’re hairy
wouldn’t want some little girl

pussy able to roar, able to growl
gruff, rough

able to capsize my boat
as easily as a pan of milk
all over the kitchen floor


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:12 a.m. 09.09.09

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Champagne Glasses
for Crystal Morley

star-studded, star-lit
twinkle like stars twinkle

do not go off ever


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:50 p.m. 07.09.09
Sweet Agony Again
for Tia Clarke

you little two feet tall girl
affect me as if you were ten feet tall

why don't you fall on me, finish me off
or love me

want your limbs about me
your leaves to tickle me, make me laugh

I have a thing or two to tickle you with
to tickle your wits

wished I tickled your fancy as you do mine
Miss Two Feet Tall


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:47 a.m. 08.09.09

Monday, September 07, 2009

What was At The Bottom of The Pot
for Tia Clarke

want to write you a short love poem
I've written you a long one, in my notebook still
must type and polish it

heart and soul and all, I wish to push in a short one

want to push love into you, hadn't in a long time
you must be as starved as I am

reading through your poems, I hadn't in a long time
like returning home

intense what I feel for you, what you feel for me
if I'm allowed to guess

the need to be tender, to be sensitive,
a mutual demand as well, as well as a desire shared

want to share an ice cream cone together
lick it until it was all gone, let not one drip waste

want to share a bowl of hot soup, spoon for spoon
until it was empty

want to get to the bottom of why your chest hurts
chest ache you say you have suffered from for years

I am jealous of your chest pains
how near your heart they are, closer to you than I am
able to take a life I long to save

how madly in love I am, have been for ages now
evening I saw you first, exposed yourself to public gaze
to public stare

who able to see more deeply, more purely than another poet,
this other poet, hungry for companionship

empathy enough, admiration enough for a few life times

fear I am unable to love you enough
with arms tied to my sides, through the glass in prison
which separates

not enough to fit our palms together, with the glass dividing us
to break through, to break out, grip you up
rip off what I must for us to be together after forced to be apart

want to feel your heart beating against my own
our two bodies bare, you up in the air

are you ready to tear, ready for tears, Tia
I am ready to burst into tears of joy
happy to be alive as I never was or dreamed I'd be

want to love you, have you before you die, before I do


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:40 a.m. 07.09.09

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Fit
for N.N.

always willing always was
able to fit into the crevices in me
like water up against craggy rock
lapping, laughing or in earnest in conversation
the rock and the water, where these would meet


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:12 p.m. 01.09.09
Hi Hyena Bye Hyena

they’re thinking of killing you they know how to

swift paw slaps the back leg
of frightened animal, fleeing for its life

this gesture as if just playing
death knocks, death twists, trips

what it's about to prey upon
not even a prayer can save

expert at killing what it chases

out to eliminate, pull the plug, out the lights
of what its eyeteeth enter


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:30 p.m. 23.09.09
Remembered Whirls

fell in love with a lot of women
and could not have them
how my heart tore when they turned away

some of them in pictures and I had to turn the page
torn just the same

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:33 a.m. 01.09.09
Not All about Me
for R-B. B.

what had happened
once before once again occurring

woman in the men's room
too strong a magnet to resist, drawing her in

what in our culture, its coyness,
its religious conditioning to overcome
to wrestle with, to go against, to undo this

challenge of what is male and what is female
this wall or partition assailed

not so different after all, not as dissimilar
as society suggests with these separate toilets

her appearance suggesting, fuck that/fuck this

he whom I wish to affirm/who affirms me,
why can I not be wherever he is

turned and saw her, was turned on by this
thinking I'd inspired it, I embraced her
as firmly as we do normally but longer

thought that to connect was why she was there

released her to find her not fulfilled
something unaccomplished still on her mind

not because of me had she been bold
she wanted to pee and the ladies was locked

strong spout of her pee made a noise
did she wipe herself before she left

I confusing her desire to pee
with desire for me


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:19 a.m. 26.08.09