Guitar
for Pat Rahming
why all his years upon this rock
have not added up to ennui is a mystery
still he seems fascinated by blue seas, blue skies
boil fish, family near by
when others want to get away, go far away
from what's become too familiar
even if or even though there is much about what is home
that they have no access to, no knowledge of
Bahamas the world is drawn to and enjoys
what the rich is able to get into among these islands
for many born here, living here is another world
what they wish to flee is the same old sardine and grits
space over-the-hill allotted to them, to which they've been assigned
like German Jews to a ghetto
I know I'd oftentimes wish to flee a culture too narrow,
too monotonous to abide
the same beat beating you like drum in a drum set
the one played with a foot, a spot pounded upon
until it rips, tears
I'd wish to flee such tragedy occurring against me
I want variety not what's called culture but is straitjacket
restriction I'd want out of, a prison of limitations
marijuana, Guinness and a few cuss words
he’s a native with access to the good life
without intention to or need to flee a backward life
like Sidney Poitier did long ago
he has located the good life right here at home
went to school in Canada and loves the alternative of cold climate
but home is for him the best place on the planet
he has 700 islands to play among, to play with
some have a pair of dice, a lamp pole, a light
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:12 a.m. 04.10.09
for Pat Rahming
why all his years upon this rock
have not added up to ennui is a mystery
still he seems fascinated by blue seas, blue skies
boil fish, family near by
when others want to get away, go far away
from what's become too familiar
even if or even though there is much about what is home
that they have no access to, no knowledge of
Bahamas the world is drawn to and enjoys
what the rich is able to get into among these islands
for many born here, living here is another world
what they wish to flee is the same old sardine and grits
space over-the-hill allotted to them, to which they've been assigned
like German Jews to a ghetto
I know I'd oftentimes wish to flee a culture too narrow,
too monotonous to abide
the same beat beating you like drum in a drum set
the one played with a foot, a spot pounded upon
until it rips, tears
I'd wish to flee such tragedy occurring against me
I want variety not what's called culture but is straitjacket
restriction I'd want out of, a prison of limitations
marijuana, Guinness and a few cuss words
he’s a native with access to the good life
without intention to or need to flee a backward life
like Sidney Poitier did long ago
he has located the good life right here at home
went to school in Canada and loves the alternative of cold climate
but home is for him the best place on the planet
he has 700 islands to play among, to play with
some have a pair of dice, a lamp pole, a light
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:12 a.m. 04.10.09
posted by Obie Quiet at 2:37 AM
2 Comments:
Sometimes when people leave their country it says something is wrong. Sometimes it's just a matter of choice. Sometimes we think the place we flee to is better than where we were. It's by our measurements, no one else's.
We get there to find that we love it no more than our own land. Sometimes conditions are worse, but our pride don't let us see or admit it.
If we say we want to leave the rat race behind and we've been bred in it all our lives, can we really share this thought with someone? What makes us different?
What we run from we will most likely run into. People are the same everywhere. We are as thin or as thick as air. Only the elements we breathe in varies, and rocks and borders separates us.
Maybe that's all the change we need, while everything remains the same.
People are kind of like ants, we build colonies, yet we really don't work together, even when we have so much in common.
How generous you are, Nathalie, love. Thank you for this response. I am grateful for your reading and your own perspective and insight. Love you always and many many blessings.
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