Chippingham House
for L.M.M.
i.
things she’d touch, she’d let touch her
she’d want to touch and have touch her
along with me, I’d not want to let touch me
what she’d want me to be an assortment of,
assorted with, I’d not be able to permit or admit
never cared to admit into my life her family
with which, with whom she is so intimate
that is it, unable to fit, not wanting to wear
the outfit she’d want to outfit me in
were we to marry
ii.
incongruous cultures, hers and mine
who the members of her family are
who the members of mine
every member of mine independent
space of their own
hers in herds, in packs
reliant upon each other,
would lie upon each other
great big house all to myself
I share with paintings, books
with what I write
thought she wanted a house to get away
want a house to take along
who’s well and who’s ill
who’s bad and who’s good
who could and who can’t
her house has always been a home
old folks home, Randfurley Home
her dad came home to die and did
her mom followed
together over about 12 years
inserted these in our affair
superimposed them upon the family
we were attempting to be, attempting
to build
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 5:55 p.m.
and 6:39 p.m. Friday,
October 30th 2009
Mathematician
for Rev. Charles Saunders
walking man, walking home, making triangles
unmaking one to make another and another
unmindful of these
on his mind a cup of tea, a meal to make
can hardly wait to be in his kitchen
to turn lights on
exquisite triangles he makes and throws away
without a thought
his thoughts upon hot tea, hot bread
to slice, to butter
he wishes he had avocado
he had a week or so ago to slice, to add
unable to afford tomatoes, $2.69 a pound
in the fridge, in a box, what’s left of rice
he had for lunch
some of this, some of that to add up
to make supper
in what mathematical shapes
will he prepare a meal
what equations will he make
of what he fixes, what he eats
adding and subtracting
eating, defecating, breathing in, out
heart beat quickening, walking more quickly
anticipating tea, something to eat
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:29 p.m. 30.10.09
Snakes On The Moon
for D.V.H.
i.
weight of the moon,
moon in darkness, in dark sky
moon in the sea, falls with a splash
bubbles, balloons, float into air, in the air
air in bubbles, in balloons
air outside as well as inside
ii.
“I have seen strokes of words on a page,”
she said
iii.
what are you unsaying when you say
undoing when you do
when conceived, when you come into being
the weight of your being is balanced
against all of the rest of creation
iv.
why are they drawn to the moon
gone or going to the moon
lizards, snakes, salamanders
two worms worming their way
through the night, towards the light
moonshine drunk them, to drunk us all
moon struck artist, moon struck us
softly enough nightly
to put us to sleep, to put us to bed
v.
moon themes, moon beams, moon things
woman of moons, of moans
groans sometimes in pain
at times for pleasure
moon song, moan songs
expert at this, at these
with the moon, she teases us
laughs at us in the moon light
as long as the moon lasts
until it fades away
the sun, the moon though,
always there, always here
as present always as the earth we’re on
vi.
sperm cells race
two in the lead, in the picture
one, probably blind, with eyes wide
swimming right by
the big bright egg, the big bright moon
about to miss out on an opportunity
to, at the end of this race,
enter the human race
or that or whatever organism
fired this shot off
vii.
how dare you, how daring of you
to make such a simplistic remark
such simple marks and leave them there
leave them here for us to live with,
to marvel at
what will the future make
of what we did with the present
we must leave presents
to be unwrapped, unraveled later
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 6:20 p.m.
and 9:10 p.m., Thursday,
October 29th 2009
Verse Lace
for N.W.
incapable of a poem, am I capable of a poem
no other words or language, no other suitable response
unless you were with me, near me
where I could rip your panties off
unless you removed them sufficiently quickly
without you anywhere near, at my fingertips,
like lace and frills, like underwear, verse I write,
what I can imagine into being
need to repay you for daring, for joy
closest thing to intercourse since one Wednesday last year,
words you've written, mean them or just metaphors
a play on words
chords and strings of my heart, of my harp, you've plucked anyway
longed for long, to let into you, to get into you
what's long and without bone
limb I always knew you'd like, that night though not yet arrived
is it around the bend, bend in my manhood to fit how you're made
to fill your womanhood, your cup, your cut
hot dog sandwich, meat too much, more than enough
juices from it escaping, dripping, love feast, love finally
erotic poetry we trade in private, in public
in love, in marriage, in hell, in heaven
in what place ideal to enter you, open you
out pour V-8 or prune Juice, Soy Milk, our mango nectar
always thought you'd have learned, gleaned by osmosis,
membrane alone separating us
what if nothing at all was and we went at it rough
horsey back, piggy back
why we never got as close as we could have, should have
who to blame, is no one to blame
world spinning, a waiter's tray on a waiter's finger
on my dick, I spinning you, you spinning me
would have been utopia, euphoria
engaged in intercourse, squall of rain falling upon my house roof,
water curtains about our lovemaking, blessing a moment,
so close to coming, never did, has not yet
wanted to bet on you, wet in you
sweat of yours, of mine, bathe us while we labor,
we together, slaves of love
naked asses, freedom fucking, freedom fighters,
fuck until you were liberated
we together ululating
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
26.10.09
Inspiring Still
for Z.P.A.
what sweet things you are able to whisper
for only me to hear, able to whisper in my ear
what amazes me is after a gap of 25-plus years
our ability to remember exactly the page we were on
book we were jointly authors of
remember mentioning you by name in Acts,
my fourth book, published in 1983
I must revisit it, taste again the times we use to have
what is left to share, what fun, what games
all this time later, up the road and over the hill
or are we climbing still
I long to see you, see what my eyes say
what will our hearts say
why did we never have sexual intercourse
were we too circumspect,
would it have violated ethics we represent, live to uphold
I know we were often carried away
how is it that I never fell into the well
splash down, half drown in Zina-sweet waters
how insanely in love we were or seamed
can we be as crazy still, as crazy again
rub out what's on the blackboard, I have a lesson to assign
have you a compass, I have a short pencil
draw a circle for us two to fall into, fall through
out of this world
grandchildren looking here, looking there
able to smell still, olive oil Angela, as usual
applied to my forehead, at the end of Mass at 1 p.m.
where and when do you worship, sweet friend
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
11:04 p.m. 29.10.09
Notice Board
for V. S. Naipaul
it is about
belonging
to madness
this I hardly know
what to do with
often, having been born
on Kemp Road,
causes me to wish
I had not ever been born
why did my parents
cause me to belong
to an asylum like this
why was I not born in
why do I not belong
to the suburbs
having come into the world
in the heart of the city
I certainly don’t feel pretty
why it is I’m unable
to extricate myself, leave,
is a mystery, confusing,
deeply annoying
why this difficulty
to turn my back, extract myself
like a tack from a notice board
what do I imagine
I’m keeping up
what do I feel
will fall down,
collapse
if I just withdrew
I’m so fucking blue here,
most of the time
amid so much negativity
belonging is what is
so upsetting, most upsetting
fear of being
out of place elsewhere
like one condemned, damned,
escaped
why is it like serving time,
on this earth, in this place
instead of affirmation
antithetical activity, attitudes
in a place, unfit for, unintended
for human habitation
screeching tires,
earth-shaking, booming music
earth-rattling motorbikes
all day all night, setting off alarms
ambulances, patrol cars
sirens wailing
my nerves on edge always
another city somewhere
another country
for me to place my feet
make my steps,
add to those already made
do I feel I prevent
what’s bad becoming worse
do I make a difference
I fight a losing battle
elsewhere might be
the place for me
I get little assistance
who is in authority
invite me to teach a workshop
for authors in the area, potential poets
expect me to do it for free
invited to Andros recently
to address a school
Language Week
told by phone, I’d have to pay
my own way
why do I feel stuck in
feel I belong to
what benefits me so little
why must I go on loving who,
loving what, does not love me
instead of what annoys me
being addressed, it seems,
it is I who am a nuisance
horse flesh twitches,
it shudders as if afraid,
lashes itself with its tail
it seems I am that sort
of nuisance
instead of being
the horse myself
I am but an insect
isn’t it time I fly off
to greener pastures
so many pastures
so many places
God show me where
take me there
with the new year
are tears the rivers
to get there on
are prayers sufficient
I need out of this place
out of this race
out of this battle
I’m fighting alone
unable to earn a salary
earn an income
politicians, many, much less
genuinely committed
look what they are allowed
out of the treasury
out of the public purse
I thirst like Christ did
not even vinegar am I offered
upon these cross roads
my life’s stuck too
do I await Joseph of Arimathea
or do I get off, get down,
continue life elsewhere
snowy hills somewhere
like Eliot, Stravinsky
or Vaslav Nijinsky
to recover from madness
to escape a sad affair
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:04 p.m. 28.12.07
Expiring
breathe out and what is like fingerprint
is left upon the wind
over and over
ag’in and ag’in
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:11 p.m. 23.09.09
Suit and Tie
I'd expected to have an office in this life, in this world
instead I am as officeless as ants, as birds
all I have in this world are words
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:14 p.m. 23.09.09
Nini Winters
see her as if for the very first time
protruding hips, sweet as two loaves
together in a pan, just out of the oven
I'd been focused upon expression on her face
laced with sadness
wanted little/nothing
to do with it, with that, with this
that though not all that she's about
not the sum of the matter, of what matters
sweetness stored in anatomy elsewhere
see it swelling, bursting
like what is baking or like what is ripening
flying insects, sweet mouth, each with a sweet tooth
will gather, hover, make a halo
compete for what's sweet tasting, sweet smelling
that is if I fail to get there first, that is if I fail to pick her
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:08 p.m. 27.10.09
Meditated Up
for M.M.
sex is to be entangled in a knot, to make a knot of two bodies
so you'd rather not make, not be part of such a knot
I know too how tight it can get, how it can restrict and constrict
a noose is another knot
I'd rather knot, you'd rather not
what a knot we are already, what a not
breeze blows, rain falls, sun up and sun down
and sorace grows and love vine grows
how will we, where will we grow or go
when will we know or should we not mind or worry
I know I am no longer pretty, a life twisted a while back
an arm wrung like a sheet to free it of water
before it is hung up, hung out, outstretched to dry, to drip
any way to un-wring a life that has been wrung, twisted the wrong way
twisted up all by myself, all by yourself or are you not
do I find me attractive, do you find you attractive, clothes off, truth be told
or jaded now, fading now, disenchanted now
Eros not at all what you thought it was or thought it would deliver
happiness not necessarily a gift it shows up with
what fear I have of one terminal illness of another, sick and having to live with it
I rejoice for internal sunny days, pain free and without fear
thrilled with life and filled with life
to have these to myself, sufficient
and those accidental moments of encounter
lasting briefly, lasting eternally
when I enter euphoria with someone, invoked by a gesture
someone, some moment opening up to receive me, opening mutually
miracles such as these I live for now, these were all we ever had or ever will
I know that now
I wish I had oranges to peel or to knife into four parts, suck the juice out
is pussy as full of sunshine, as good to eat
woman moaning, Mona moaning while you, doubting, ate her
wondering if it's healthy, kosher, if it's FDA approved
intimacy and what thoughts afterwards fill the mind
want to make a quilt of you and me, of all the pieces we make of each other
when we face each other, when we turn our backs
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:07 p.m. 25.10.09
Hole or Whole
for M.M.
what of the hole in you that I can fall down in, fall down through
what if I got too near, what if I lost my footing
what if I slipped, went sliding
round and round and down the drain, the tube
out into the bay, out to sea
end up in a woman to be lost or to be born again
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:42 p.m. 25.10.09
Another Sunday of Existence
for L.M.M.
she would leave me, has left me
in the middle of dinner, in the middle of a hot meal
no word of explanation, no note to explain
has done this before, has done this again
no more to go on, to guide me
than left to deduce that some notion, interpretation
some element of her fundamentalism
her religion is to blame, is responsible
for turn about, about turn, about face
for her fleeing, going off
dinner hot on the plate, hot on the table
rain on the roof, time to be cozy
and she up and gone
what’s wrong, what happened
who did what to whom, said what to whom
nothing rational or logical, just up and gone
she used to bring dinner on Sundays
we used to sit and laugh, we use to sit and talk
when this volcano was active
we used to end up in bed
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:14 p.m. 25.10.09
Twins
for A.A.A.
just want to hug you, to smell you
wanted to so badly recently
I thought to come by your bank
invite you to come down
to encounter you
for a sacred little while
how alive, with you in conversation
how delicious it always is
what if such contact went on and on
what if your company was the state I was in
a normal state of affairs
not just breathtaking,
not just a time to hold your breath
but the breadth of time,
breadth of nights, of days
eating and sleeping,
defecating and being flatulent
coughing and sneezing
being ill, getting well again
in one space or in shared spaces
what of one love, of being in love,
what of living in love
what an edifice,
what stained glass windows
what joy would sweeten it
or would we not enjoy it
time together from New Year to New Year
from Christmas to Christmas
from Good Friday to Good Friday
from Easter to Easter
in other words, dear girl,
would you join me, journey with me
be joined to me in marriage
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:10 p.m. 24.10.09
Bubble
only now contains air
no other time does
unable to draw breath, breathe air
outside of now
necessary to be here to take a breath
impossible to, unless you're here,
if you're not here now
air fills now like air fills a balloon
unable to get outside
to stick a pin in it
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:39 p.m. 21.10.09
Air Now Here Now
for Tyrone Ferguson
I am held together by prayers I pray
in spite of being threadbare
in spite of my shoes, embarrassing me,
bursting, coming apart in places
I coming apart, going to pieces
but I pray and I keep and I hold
though I fall apart or seem to do or seem to be
I am held together by prayers, by poetry
even when I am or seem to be coming apart mentally
by God and by prayers, I am held up
and I hold together
in spite of the fact that the world I'm in,
our little country, geographically fragmented,
because of crime, mismanagement
is fragmenting and because it is in need of prayer
is not holding up, is not held together
I hold together even when I hang by no more than a thread
by a prayer in my mouth, by prayers in my heart
by the pen I grip like a drowning man grips a straw
through a straw I suck at life, I suck up life
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:50 a.m. 24.10.09
Amos Ferguson Gone
for Erica James & Antonius Roberts
i.
no more have we
Amos on Amos Ferguson Street
painting on card board,
painting with house paint
as if the veins, the arteries
we’re contained in normally
ruptured, the paint tubes burst
and his art and his name seeped into the wide world
into what's world wide
artist famous around the world has died
passed away at 89, a day ago
dead and gone, and we have Dawn
watch her from up here, watch her from behind
envy somewhat how naked she is, how bare
how courageous she is to engage the tourists as she does
smack in the way, in the path of tourists passing
from and back to their ships, see her art and purchase
there is demand, she paints constantly
cigarette in one hand, her brush in the other
Amos has been brushed off the earth, bumped off
a grave is opening, I know, even now, to swallow him
hymns will be sung to send him home
we paint, make art, write poetry
because we are restless here, uncomfortable here
in the rat race or on a treadmill
where is there in this world, comfort zone for an artist
on a street with his name
ii.
Amos has left us to carry on
he certainly brought us a long way,
came a long way, went a long way,
he's passed away a day or two ago,
heard it on the news today
knew it was inevitable,
visited a few times when he was low
used to visit with my two daughters
when his wife Bee was alive still
they were in their teens then,
they're both 28 at present, approaching 30 fast
time passes until there's no more left
no more bread and no more wine
no more air and no more time
feet rhyme with feet
along with steps they make, they take
Amos will join Bee in heaven
to hell with Paradise
iii.
in Amos’ footsteps must carry on
truth to trumpet for all to hear, to all the world
over on Exuma Street, far from down town
far from Cable Beach, Atlantis or Lyford Cay
need it elevated, need for it to be elevated
to have status
what will become of the street where he lived
what of the house off East Street
where Sidney Poitier lived
or where Lynden Pindling lived
why is it that these places are not made more off
a lot of things though, a lot of persons too
are not made enough of in our culture
in our nation's life
how history is told, how it is remembered
things which occurred, lives lived
what of Clement Bethel's house
what of monuments to these persons
who served well, contributed much
we must make art of monument making
have artists make busts, make statues
in marble, in bronze
saw a painting recently
of calypso singer, Ronnie Butler
I make poems to commemorate
who pass away, who've impacted me
I'll die too, I know, before too long
iv.
Amos Ferguson gone
is Sidney Poitier going next
greatest Bahamians yet, before we've met
Derek Walcott, next month,
November 11, coming to town
there are some giants, over the ages,
attached to these rocks
Christopher Columbus, Ponce De Leon
Woodes Rogers, Black Beard
Lady Simpson, Duke of Windsor
Sir Etienne Dupuch, my mom and dad
James Weldon Johnson
Sir Milo Butler, W.E.B. DuBois
Bishop Eldon, Clement Bethel
Marcella Taylor, Tony McKay
Joseph Spence, Max Taylor
I labor to be added to this list
along with Nicollette
with such tiny feet
she makes such giant steps
honey bees make honey
silk worms make silk
clams make pearls
what poetry Walcott makes
friend of Seamus Heaney,
Robert Lowell, Joseph Brodsky
Mervyn Morris, Lorna Goodison
Fred D'Aguiar are my good friends
v.
I gur tell Amos bye
I gur tell im hello
I gur ask him, how do
is he near or is he far
hovering about here
or is home elsewhere
do these descendants of Africa
our elder relatives, elder statesmen
upon passing, abandon these islands
ancestors of ours, brought here as slaves
do they, upon wings, which death provides
fly back to Africa, to its west coast
our dad dismantled our pigeon coop, once, long ago
our neighbour said our pigeons in our coop where hers
so our dad, fed up with her complaints
smashed up our coop
wood we had hammered together, he knocked apart
whatever it took to get her to shut up
she seemed satisfied
but how unhappy our pigeons were
horrendously disoriented
hovering about what had been their home
among the pieces of wood, nests they had begun
in some of them, eggs
where is Amos Ferguson's home
now that he is free,
where are his eggs
where is his nest
is home for him, Amos Ferguson Street
where in Exuma, he was born and grew up
or where in Africa his grandpapa was seized
and in chains, brought to these shores
unable to, in life, go back or look back
look black until you looked blue
little or nothing was he able to do
helpless but not hopeless
he painted his way out of darkness
into the limelight
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between Tuesday, 4:08 p.m.
20.10.09 and Thursday, 12:25 a.m.
23.10.09
Birthday Words
for Simone Bridgewater
in the name of love, happy birthday
though I wish you all the joy in this world
how happy I'd have been to be able to see you
to hug and converse
who are you with and where in this world
by e-mail attached, better than nothing
but I miss you, it's been years
is Barak the group you sang with
was it at that event for Kayla Lockhart-Edwards
at the Shirley Street Theatre
where I'd have seen you last
had I known that would have been
the last time in a long time
I'd have made more of that evening
more of our time together
but those about us might have thought me mad
how necessary to seem cool and detached
even when we should be jumping up and down
Camille and her friend, Lisette, come to mind
in the film, “Camille Claudel,”
in each others arms, upon a spot,
they jump up and down, happy for good news
what will I do when I see you again
oh, to be uninhibited, euphoria mutually shared
to give us feathers, to give us wings
our poems about cups running over
ice cream upon a cone melting
all over a fist, all over the shirt or dress
of who is licking it but not fast enough
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:25 p.m. 18.10.09
Wipe My Wet Brush
for Simone Bridgewater
it is your birthday again my darling
or almost or within minutes
from you were conceived
we have existed the exact number of minutes
of seconds apart, this a constant
you without end keeping pace
however fast ahead I run you'd not be left behind
what I recall and will always is how close we were once
one embrace in public as sweet as intercourse
in public but how private we were
I felt you melt into me like butter on/
all through hot biscuit
we melted simultaneously it seemed
what love I felt, how loved I felt
what place in my life you've had ever since
though friends before, I loved you then, loved you since
will love you ever more
you must be able to penetrate to the core of me
to where beauty is, to where I am unblemished
to hold me like you did, to love me at all
I love you a lot, I always will
do well whatever you're doing
wherever you are
have a happy birthday, darling
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:56 p.m. 18.10.09
No Mercy Street
as if life were just junk
as if we were just living upon a junk heap
here on this street
without end disturbed by every imaginable sort of noise
merciless how they rupture peace
how they botch up quiet, butcher it
leave it bruised and bleeding
along with litter pitched here and there
in the street, beside the road
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:40 p.m. 18.10.09
Marks We Leave
for Claudina & Justice Cheryl Albury
you’d have to be inspired to do a thing like that
to dare to draw upon a couple’s bedroom wall
kind enough to permit him their bedroom for the night
a couple, newly married, and he rewards them
with what could have been disaster, seen as, taken as insult
it was Picasso sleeping in their bed, a traveler, a stranger
they chose to provide shelter
up when he should have been sleeping, when they thought he was
working away, drawing away, attempting to reward this couple
for their kindness, express his appreciation for sacrifice
for who must have heard and accepted the admonition
be kind to strangers, you might be entertaining angels unawares
or the greatest artist living
when is our mark insult or to sully
when is our mark worth something, other than upon a check
what Picasso drew upon that couple’s wall, they marveled at
appreciated
discovered only after he had left,
only after he was gone, inquired to discover who he was
when what he drew was assessed, it was found to be worth
several times the worth of the house
how rewarded they were, how overjoyed
was what I wrote upon Justice Albury’s office door today
upon the sign upon it, graffiti or enhancement, improvement
appreciated or will the police come for me, common criminal
my reward, a pair of silver bracelets
what about the hair-thin line between the mark that’s art
and that which does injury, which devalues
Jean-Michel Basquiat, graffiti artist, and Andy Warhol
became best friends and similarly influential
do we mark up or do we mark down what we mark on
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:48 p.m. 13.10.09
Belt I Rest My Groceries On
for Deanka Saunders
without e-mail account
how can she see what I'm feeling
read what I'm saying
several already which she has not read
another to add to what she'd not know of
know nothing of
told her several times
of my having written poems of her
have you an e-mail account yet
and each time she's answered, "No"
she'd not know of this poem either
it has been germinating in me all day
missing seeing her, missing her like crazy
missing her so much it aches
in spite of differences with that super market
a different manager almost every visit
treatment different,
respect for this customer inconsistent
it used to be otherwise, it used to be nice
go there and find time for closing changed
what was familiar become strange
I like a stranger on the outside
confronted with cold refusal to admit me
she and I, I feel or I'd feel, connected
eye contact, subtlest gestures
"Are you O.K.?" I'd ask her. "Yes," she'd say
appreciative and naturally
permitting me the right to inquire, to connect
she'd have the sniffles, a sinus problem probably
my care not just for what I buy, for what I save
for what I spend, for her as well
realized long ago she's deep, spiritually
naturally quiet, contemplative
no superficial chatter ever, no sign of fickleness
committed to life's seriousness, its depth, as I am
in life, deep fishing, as I am, as I do
how I'd love to make her giggle
get to the other sides of her, I know she has them
fold and unfold her in every possible way
in every direction
what rich interplay is possible between us
she'd return to work and as usual
she’d be without a smile or nearly
on the job that limited range of emotions
but I'd know, we'd know
all the notes and all the keys
I'd insist upon exploring, upon playing them
insist upon all the music, all the noises
she was, we together were capable of
I have a sense of her full range
just twice she raised her head,
looked me in the eyes
what was implied was Bob Dylan's
"You've got a lot of nerve
to say you are my friend"
to want to be my friend
I do, I'd welcome that and more
think I can care for her as deeply
as I care for myself
deep and beautiful soul she is
I wish to from within explore
vast as she is, I'd need a visa
I'd want to spend six months to a year
to start with
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:10 a.m. 18.10.09
Arms
for Nancy & Lithera
when we hug do we give or do we take
reflect upon an encounter recently
with a friend of mine, with a friend of hers
another friend of mine
though I touched my friend who is ill
with affection, laid hands on her, squeezed her arm
and stroked her arm lovingly
I kept apart, kept her at arm's length
hypochondriasis what I am afflicted with
friend with her got and gave big embrace
thinking back now, I wonder,
who needed a hug more
could have made her a few degrees better
did I instead make her a few degrees worse
was I only pretending to care
touching with an arm extended
keeping her at arms length
embracing friend with her
with so much heart and so happy to
certainly I slighted her, avoiding her
and she must have noticed, must have felt it
think how much more she must have needed a hug
could have used a huge hug
unable, like Christ, to mingle, to make friends with
the sick, the dying, the dead
able to embrace them and to restore them
how spiritually puny I am in comparison
having to think about my own skin
selfishly aware and mindful that
there's no flesh, no skin sweeter
than that which decks my very own bones
she is skin and bones
is life sweet still or bitter tasting
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:35 p.m. 16.10.09
Psalm
were I to get my hands on the plug
running from/running to your Christmas tree
for what you did me, what you've done me
or attempted to or think you have
I'd yank it out, I'd spoil your party, your revelry
you have made me your enemy
expect me to strike or to pull
expect me to push or to shove
you into a bag or back into the dark or into a pit
expect to be plunged in darkness
or into the sea like a crate of kittens
don't expect to survive
you've wronged the wrong one
I am not a baby you've taken candy from
you'll pay several million times over
for what you've relieved me of
how soft I am to warn you
should wait, should make you wait
until hell comes tumbling down
until the bottom falls out and the roof caves in
and the walls fall down
you've wronged the wrong one
expect the worst, expect vengeance
Christmas for you, Good Friday for me no more
expect this to be reversed
the first shall be last, the last shall be first
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:57 p.m. 17.10.09
Devonia
want to show you this, show you my dick
offer it for you to do whatever with
sit on, have a fit
whatever’s wrong with you, dick could fix
screw driver, can opener, pliers, wrench
so many tools rolled into one
handy man, handy land, handy hand
dick for your dish, your hand, your fist
this for you to fix, dish for you to fix
whip and serve, dessert you deserve
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:49 p.m. 13.10.09
Over seven Seas
for D.A.
pussy for poetry, a fair exchange
to look at, to smell it, to smell up the place
take it into my teeth to taste
want to carry it into a corner to eat later
when I'm good and ready, good and hungry
in other words, I miss you
what are you up to
school books open, your face buried in them
are they full of oxygen, full of air
or do you need to take a break, take a walk
will it be the beach or the park
will you take the dogs, do you wish me along
I feel like being intimate, I itch for a bit
itch to be near you, to bare you
to buy you mango ice cream
or mangoes and ice cream
what does your sweet mouth crave
what does your sweet tooth ache to have
me with wine
are you of age
candle flames and dinner
or a bonfire in the back yard
over which we could roast a goat
or a huge hog
invite the entire neighbourhood
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
10:19 p.m. 16.10.09
In My End Is My Beginning
for Sir Clement T. Maynard
I too could expire soon
exhausted enough to drop,
to stop rather than keep on pushing
casket with Sir Clement
in long black hearse, in long procession
along the streets down town
was he deaf or could he hear
things said of him at his funeral
could he hear the organ music, hear the sermon
was he somewhere in the elevated ceiling
of Christ Church Cathedral, looking down
or on his back in his box in his best clothes
his suit and tie, his shoes and socks
how unlike when he lived, how tall he walked
how tall he stood, how straight
unaware the will power required just to stand
until we can no longer, when we have to lie down
effort it takes to breathe air
until it gets so difficult, we have to give in,
give up, shut off
our heart and all else shutting down as well
shutting up shop when evening comes
but when work is done, when labor is finished
when it’s time for reward
eulogies, flowers, farewell
dressed to take a trip to heaven
without life to be able to travel light
he’s all light now, he’s all right now
who he touched while alive
have so many things to recall
so many stories to tell
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:06 p.m. 14.10.09
Odd Man Out
for N.T-B.
On her birthday
i.
about to be midnight, Nadine’s birthday,
its 24 hours about to expire
ii.
verse in a few minutes
mix minutes with words
make a drink to drunk her
to go to bed and sleep
or to sleep with her other half
something in the key of happiness
for her for love’s sake,
for the sake of happiness
birthday about to end
first day of a brand new year
won’t want to have to tear out
the very first page of this note book
make a ball of it
for the waste paper basket
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:04 a.m. 15.10.09
Shakespeare In Paradise
for Dana J. Ferguson
i.
Peggy
do you want to be looked at
when you make your steps
when you make your way
do you want admiring eyes, interested eyes
to follow you, to want you
or do you want to inspire disinterestedness
when you make your steps, make your moves
when your body moves
do you wish it to speak nothing
to marvel at, to listen to
ii.
Vanessa
like when she is giving off sparks
like when sparks are flying off her
when she is happy, enjoying herself
enjoying her day
like when she is enjoying life
and I can enjoy it with her
inspired with her, inspired by her
season when she is in song
when birds are singing
because of what time of year it is
that time of year can anytime dawn
when we are together in song, in joy
in love
iii.
Lisa
he is black and I am white
I am young and he is old
I want him nonetheless to hold me
he and I, I think can hold together
can cohere as what is one does
as what is one can do
he is black and I am white
he is old and I am young
I want us to be one
I want two to be one
one night of this, of bliss to start with
to see if we exist, if we could last
someplace to start our beating hearts
our hearts beating
two drums, one music
duet of him and me
soprano and tenor in song
iv.
the note, the not,
the knock, the knot
of Junkanoo
junka no
yes to junkanoo,
no to Junkanoo
yes to you, to me,
no to you, to me
to beat, to be,
to meet, to me
v.
Dana
my minute with her
in heaven while it lasted
I myself had been wondering
was she of this realm or made of air
after The Tempest, after the play
discover she is flesh and blood
and I can hardly believe it
know it
with an arm about her
lifted her off her feet
weighed her
felt her weight, the sweet of it
this will remain in memory
will sustain me, uplift me
what an apparition
come to life, made to be
come into being
I know no moment
no thing in art
more beautiful
than Ariel she played this evening
on stage at The Dundas
it will be playing, she will be playing
in me always
like my blood going round
like my beating heart
like me breathing air until I stop
until I drop
and when I do, again
she'll give me wings
she's in my veins
vi.
air and water and light to delight in
perfect mix, perfect mixture of these
measure them correctly
to make a meal, a drink
to heal us when ill
or to keep from becoming ill
keep illness away, at bay
with air, water and light
white and silver and gold
or nearly
how the weight of these vary
when weary,
a different combination
of light, water and air
to go to bed, to get to sleep
add music to light, water, air
add color
the colors of the sea added
though these are not there
color of sky, color of air
color of flowers, color of feathers
color of hair
I like the things
light enough to pass through
to pass into
a wall you or I or we
could only walk into
angry wind though able to uproot
overturn, undo
what we put up, put down
put Mozart's music upon a staff
for the staff, for the orchestra
to perform
an audience has assembled
and will be entertained
will be carried away
no apology or excuse will do
craft, art to carry us all
to kingdom come
vii.
Angela's birthday to celebrate
abroad with her boys
angels' birthday to celebrate
with song, with singing
in heaven
songs in heaven, songs on earth
mingle like grapes, make wine
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
written between 6:15 p.m.
Saturday October 10, 2009
and 7:39 a.m. Sunday,
October 11, 2009
