Mallory Knox
for Z.P.A.
i.
what if you chose every day
just to live until you died
how many days, how many deaths
would you die before you died
ii.
mayhem has taken root, has taken hold
has taken over
iii.
blow up your ass
or blow your ass up
which of these did you offer, will you do
on a hot summer’s day
on a cold winter’s night
which of these will you do
to demonstrate your love
and devotion
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 7 p.m. and 8:15 p.m.
on Sunday, November 29, 2009,
while watching “Natural Born Killers”
at The Hub, on Bay Street, in Nassau.
Nancy Sakis
for Nsakala Emmanuel
YouTube, your tube, you in a tube to squeeze out
ache for more, for access, to be nearer
engaged and not engaged, connected and apart
heart-ache, heart aches because of it, because of this
unbearable to have you and not have you
to reach you and not reach you
to see you and not see you
I want you so much, I want you so bad
could bite, could claw to remove what's between us
what's between us is what brings/
is what has brought you to me
my computer, my computer screen
want to reach through it, want to reach you through it
claw away, claw at, claw away at what seems like barrier
I'd break glass, I'd cut myself
I'd end up seeing only what's in the guts of my monitor
I'd end up with it in bits and pieces, no you at all
further away from you than I am now
what is actually between us is an ocean to cross
my desire, to get back to or across to West Africa
have your first name not your full name
without address for you,
how would I find you in all of the Congo
a love affair like none I've ever entered
or been in
how to enter it deeply,
how to end up in the heart or at the heart of it
enter or exit it, which
I have you on YouTube
I have this slim, black pen in hand, it's plastic
my hand made of flesh, your hand in my hand
this I wish, for this I long
dish to dip into, dish for two to eat from
to empty
dish your hips make, to eat from
dish to make music, music to fill it with
pound into it to make a steel pan
pestle and mortar to prepare spices
to sweeten a pot
bruised, ground, what smells released
will perfume our kitchen if God allowed
I wish this, beg him to make you real
to make two one
within this spinning world
upon this spinning earth
to spice up the universe
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:50 p.m. 29.11.09
In Love Still
for Gina Lowe
am I desperate for a glimpse of her
though she is with child, another man's not mine
locked up, locked away in her
as securely as money in the volt of a bank
doors of the bank as well, closed
I'm in the ATM booth in this cold air
anyone who goes by inside turns my head
how surprisingly thirsty I am for a glimpse of her
for just one look of who is now, who was always
beyond my reach
pen I grasp is not Marie, is not she
whom I long to see, to behold, to squeeze
once I embraced her, too sweet treat
not because of this that she is large with child
I would have to have gotten closer
only the Holy Spirit
capable of impregnating a woman on earth
while still in heaven
what of my pen with which I write across a page
what can words convey
without disrobing, without getting into bed
how I envy who is close enough to her for sex
intimate enough to ejaculate
through her, into the future
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:23 p.m. 13.10.09
In Heaven On Earth
for T.L.C.
all by myself, on my own in love
no wall to bounce off of
no hollow to echo what I hollered into it
you have a way of being elsewhere
maybe you are elsewhere
placed where you are by age, needs
personal, social, professional, academic
and I am elsewhere
wishing we were able to share passion
to be on one page
on one bed sheet or strip it bare or get on the floor
unable to or are we able to
climb down from our differences and embrace bare
my beard and hair, I had trimmed today
you maintain difference, distance
I have to go elsewhere to seek hard on
unable to rely upon you to take my dick into your hand
make a fist about it
that is if your fingers can meet about it
after you've made it hard, made it long
avoid what we can embrace
poem about eating your pussy
to ease your recurring headaches
you read and say something seems missing and say no more
suggest you having deep emotions to express
I assume they had to do with us but not at all
about a job you yearn to find
while I yearn for you like no one on earth
frustrating, my desire for closeness
up against your casual response
you without passion or with passion for elsewhere
other things
our needs not matched, do not meet
one journey, one you're on, one I'm on, another
in 10 years I'd see where yours has lead
we'd see where mine has lead
if not into a grave covered with a mound of dirt
and a heap of flowers
young enough to be my flower girl
I want you to be my bride
want to take your wedding dress off
and fuck you till the bed collapsed
after it did, fuck you still
what a fit you and I make or can make
that would be an outfit to leave Eden wearing
dick thrust up in you
digger in a sheath, hidden completely
within you, you'd holler for sure
with your head thrown back, with your mouth wide
I able to see the tunnel where your throat began
dark areas within you, I'd love to visit and to revisit
is what I've expressed what you need
or thought to sharpen all your fingers to express
how you take your talent for granted
how passionately I feel for you, you take for granted also
an irksome response
I have headaches too in response to how you treat me
how I am treated
lukewarm, cold shoulder, cold chicken, cold turkey
cold cock to fuck you with
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:45 a.m. 27.11.09
Rainy July Saturday
for Sonia Farmer
you were an amoeba once
when the time that you have lived
commenced, the other end
of the spool of thread
going on still, not yet at an end
but it has its beginning
place when and where it started
fascinating how you've grown
what you've grown into
complex, mindboggling
how many million times
what an amoeba weighs
how much more complex and at once
as simple, as well fashioned,
as well functioning
animal with a nucleus, a food vacuole
we have a diet, an alimentary canal
body up against mine once, one rainy day
in the Mercedes, in the back seat
you and me and someone
you up against me
afterthought to slip in back with us
most convenient thing to do in the down pour
in deep water on Bay Street
boyfriend at the wheel, impatient it seemed
at how close we were, how close we seemed
close enough to argue, to be cross with you
you cross with me
then entirely unexpected
thrust up against each other
white as dough almost
yet not dough at all
but done and warm
like some treat, ready to eat, ready to bight into
or break off piece
I wanted piece of you that rainy day
wanted all of you
you returned after the rain that evening
I was reading, would not have missed it
for the world
there to listen, as determined as I was
not to miss it for the world
was that the evening I read
with Lynn and Helen
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:44 p.m. 22.11.09
Stairs Trays Drinks
for Chelsa
i.
what a sweet girl
makes the world a nicer place
desire less to leave
think of this earth as home
with her eyes to look into
when we are wrapped up in embrace
and in another
warm, wonderful moments
you wish would not end
but go on and on
imagine being in bed with her
horizontal us, naked us
it would be Christmas
every day, every night
I’d sign to have her, to keep her
enough for me
to make me and to keep me happy
awake would be like a dream
life would be a fruit tree
full of ripe fruit to pick and pick
and eat and eat
ii.
what if it sucks
verse attempt
worthy or unworthy of her
what I am, who I am, what I write
what if my art and I were all wrong
nothing to her
what though does she celebrate
is she happy about when she sees
little old me
reacts as if I were somebody
treated by so many like no body
humiliated to the dust underneath
the soles of feet
she elevates me, what does she see
think, feel
or what might she have been told
of who I am or of what I’ve done
no one special,
how I am mostly made to feel
I see how she sees me
and I imagine reassessing my worth
what love is it
without end requiring Eros
to feel validated
love that’s charity, that’s sympathy
is but pity to me
want to be desirable, irresistible
want hugs when we meet to mean
we can, with clothes off,
hug in bed as well, roll about
embrace me with and within all four limbs
inside her I could discharge
to thy kingdom come
want this sort of love
to exist between us
want her to be my woman,
me to be her man
paint and putty to purchase
Christmas coming
varnish I’d need too
house to repair, to spruce up
without her at home, living alone
I’d not need to lift a finger
against a spider or to clear away webs
or to tear them down
wish I had her to inspire me
and to motivate the man in me
eager to do for a woman
how extra special she is
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 8:45 p.m. Friday,
November, 20 and 1:05a.m.,
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Screw the Cover Off
for Z.P.A.
I wan write one poem
‘bout your pussy
daring me
I is man, you is woman
words to match
word match
with a man I'd have a sword
with my woman, another contest
in Dangerous Liaisons
two fighters duel to the death
older fighter, older of two men
who loved one woman,
injured, bleeding, dying in snow
sword thrust into him
love is like that, like this
draws blood
drawn swords or diggers
or stiff dick to fuck you with
jook you, stick you,
prick to prick you with
what is clear comes from us
is produced
saliva, mucus, semen shooting,
oozing
shouts for joy
which can produce birth
fuck shot, cock shot, gun shot
and death can occur
one can fall and bleed
leave blood here and there
love, and sheets left wet, left wrinkled
hot shot inside you
Gin and Scotch and Brandy
horses I'd ride into you on
ride right through you on
galloping in your blood
galloping towards an egg
hit it with a polo mallet
across a green field
men after it to own it
I in hot pursuit to have it
boiled or scrambled
sunny-side-up or with it
make an omelet
sauces, juices
from your pussy to dress it
to season it
what do you wish
along with my dick
to do with my dick
you promise you'd suck it
and to sit on it, shake on it
until you howled like coyote
on a full moon night
to the full moon light
I am after all
able to reach the moon
scoop of ice cream atop a cone
for us to lick together
until it was wasted
though not a drop of it was
dick head for you to lick
clitoris for me to lick
until you fainted and I fainted
both in need of smelling salts
who will bring the bottle
who will screw the cover off
what if we never came to
you'd have died for me
I'd have died for you
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:10 a.m. 20.11.09
Desk Top
for D.A.
these icons on my computer screen
should have been all you were wearing
even then I might have complained
that the lace of these were obscuring too much
grey T-shirt and white shorts between you and me
icons like another curtain, another veil
these icons and your elaborate bedhead
against which you lean, two layers you stand between
wall behind the elaborate, wooden bedhead,
another backdrop
little that you wear, your bedhead, your wall
lavender coat of paint upon it,
are all thin pages with you in between
but you’re not thin, not flat
woman, healthy, fleshy, enticing to look at
imagine touching, holding, lifting, being held
imagine your legs, like arms, about me
about my waist in an embrace
flat screen, layers of flatness, you among them
butterflies flattened among pages of a book
arms like wings, wide, rest upon the bedhead,
comfortably, upon the curve of it, wide arc of it
wide arc of it, opening for metal ornamentation
parallel arc, 6 inches wide
at your back, just above and just below your belly button
exquisite place, left years ago
upon being disconnected from mama
time draws near to connect with me or some man
for life to go on, to link the past to the rest of time
past and future, pull of these, you in between them
you on the screen, icons on the screen
and what you wear between us
skin off a mango, use my teeth to peel it
to get at the meat of it, the meal of it
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:27 a.m. 03.11.09
Steps To skip Up
for Z.P.A.
my desire is to get somewhere,
to get where I’m going
your music’s getting me no where
on your bus, desire, aim to get to town
I’d get off your bus, I’d walk, I’d wait
but I’m late, friend from long ago to meet
your music, instead of getting me somewhere
is keeping me back, pulling me back
in the way of the flapping of my mind’s wings
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:10 p.m. 13.11.09
Service Station Robbed
after the damage has been done
the sirens wailing
suggesting they are swift
suggesting they came or are coming quick
when they are wailing, are way late
it is God who is always near, always there
some atheists say, why did he not/does he not
do something
how we drop through time
as if gravity or the ground
were the floor of the second following always
and nothing were able to prevent
what is to befall us, what is inevitable
like some heavy weight metal crate
crashing down, falling to the ground
that is how it seems our world without end
overturns
those in authority forever only able
to pick up the pieces
after a crack up, after a smash up
after a crash, after gun fire
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:39 a.m. 14.11.09
Safe Within The City Walls
for Prime Minister Hubert Ingraham
& Deputy Prime Minister Brent Symonette
how near to God are thee, are we
does fear, any kind, any time any where
indicate a lack of nearness
that you are, that we are, that I am
not within, not under the tent of heaven,
of Grace
not beneath the canopy where it is safe
from all harm, from all danger, from all fear
outside of the embrace of God’s love
off somewhere instead, doing our own thing
out in the rain of rocks and bottles and evil
are we as near to God as a child
clinging to its mother’s skirt,
keeping out of mischief, out of harm’s way
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:18 a.m. 14.11.09
When Is Happy’s Birthday
for Jewel Camille Smith
oh, my God,
it is my older daughter's birthday
no longer are both 28
the oldest is 29 today
29 years ago
at the other end of this event
what a day that was in Freeport,
on Grand Bahama Island
a different world, a life time ago
break in creativity, in looking back
interrupted by boys passing, breaking glass
breaking the shade of the lamp on the pole
in front of my house
brought back to the present from way back when
shaken, fearful,
wishing you happy birthday
stones directed at that light,
I open my door, cry out to them to desist
and stones are aimed at me, thrown viciously
pack of boys, a pack of animals
I fear for my life, I tremble in fear
I feel vulnerable here
can I take my house and run
it is no tent, it is not a house
I can drive off in or with
this is my address
they know it and can return
"You should be in bed!" they say,
they said, but I work the night shift
they seem to be the kind of pack
able to take a life and just go on
what oh, God, must I do in response
happy birthday Jewel Camille Smith
what a world your mother and I
caused you to be born in
caused you to come into
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:41 a.m. 14.11.09
Funeral Hymns & Love Songs
for Z. P.A.
you're on this island and not in my arms
what nonsense is that
this meeting that meeting, this thing that thing to do
before we get to do or not to do
kissing on Bay Street as if we were from elsewhere
well you are, I'm not
though we both belonged to the Rocks once
what is this, romance
what is the size of your underpants
should we hang it up or drop it on the floor
my bed's on the floor
on our backs on the floor
you to roll around God' heaven in
around God's heaven on
better than the bus by far for sure
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:23 p.m. 13.11.09
Thy Kingdom Come
for D.A.
something swift I won’t have to edit
to the bottom, to the heart of it
what it, what is it
affected by seeing her, deeply, deeply
impact upon emotions, wordless
or I could name it
should I if I'm able or reticence
know how these people are, this culture is
in which we live, which we call ours
though our desire is to break it apart
step out of it
plaster of Paris men and women
when we have feeling to feel, thoughts to think
get myself in trouble confess, express
say the rest, do I know what I feel,
what I think of us
is sex the end of the road, the end of the day
or is it love, that great big possibility
emotional upheaval, emotionally out of control
possessive and jealous, seen in public
public able to read what is happening
two people in love, attached against all odds
forbidden affair
us from the public, we must keep,
to keep what we have
our little secret, not even we have named
what to call this embryo, our acquaintance
what is the basis of it, or are we making art
nothing more
gathering ingredients to add to it
Vanilla Extract, Nutmeg, Cinnamon
what would sweeten life, lift the spirit
just a psalm or two to sing
what borders, what walls, like cell walls
can we not cross, cannot pass through
a love affair is a lot of work
what to put, to keep a secret in
jewelry box or in a coffin or in a poem
or in her, like a digger or like a sword in a sheath
to draw out when war breaks out
I've got a sword in my hand, I'm gonna use it well
is she empty for me when war is being waged
when I am unable to insert in it her
off to war, she wondering when I'd be coming home
are you coming to bed, she impatiently asks
tired of waiting, of deprivation
poetry as usual has my attention
her wish is that I focused upon making her come
instead I keep coming poems
making poems come
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:18 a.m. 13.11.09
Our Four feet
for D.A.
time with her for the first time
in duner how long
a long damn time, too damn long
time enough though for her to have added
an inch or two atop her high shoes
woman she is becoming, confronted with
and I as if falling apart, falling apart actually
by beauty weakened
trouble remaining erect
enough with this angle
another view of beauty
dropped the conversation I was having
mouth dropped open, my eyes wide
when she came into view, when I recognized her
what a gift she was, what love I have for her
what love I felt, what have I affected, effected
with words
what buttons pushed
she pushed all of mine at once,
appearing as she did, when she did
I a piano, she played all my keys
white keys, black keys, without lifting a finger
with eyes upon me, with a smile
said so many things, asked so many questions
are you pleased to see me
see me now
what have we--what are we
how much better we know each other
since poetry
with pen like beaks of hens, penetrated eggs
and all hatched
something, someone, coming into being
though out of view,
how well we’ve come to know each other
how close we've grown
as fortunate as Picasso after all
muse like this to make my heart race
to give imagination wings
I was a happy man last evening
seeing her, with her to chat with
did I confess love wordlessly, was I bare,
transparent
she was somewhat naked also
her book open--did I read correctly
she lets my eyes go over her poetry
poem she is
allows me to translate that
into Shakespeare's English
or push him aside, shove him aside
like I should anything which stand between us
like that wall Frost erects and takes down
in one same breath
are her clothes a wall between us or mine
or her age or mine
what to do to get through to her
words all I have to enter her with
looked at her leaving in white pants
which fit her so well, reveal her so well
missed Walcott’s reading and interview
missed them entirely
came back, she said, to see me
saw her, thought I was dreaming
I was so happy
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:20 a.m. 13.11.09
Walcott Nassau Evening
for Sonia Farmer and Marion Bethel
in Ezra Pound's "Moeurs Contemporaines"
"the friend of the second daughter was undergoing a novel"
this night to undergo, I've undergone it now
evening with Derek Walcott on New Providence
at The College of the Bahamas
anticipated, waited, prepared psychologically
more than otherwise
did not have my hair done, my nails done
did not buy a new dress or new shoes
I wanted to be ready, I wanted to have appetite
for every part he came with, for all his bits and pieces
for all it was to mean, wanted to get from it
all there was to get, to take, wanted to be in step mentally
in steps in terms of the steps I actually make
to be able to walk with him
while he walked us through Walcott
or drove us or dragged us, horse and carriage-like
or upon his back
is this Hemingway though, in WW I,
carrying a wounded soldier, shot in battle, out of harms way
is Walcott's heroism attained otherwise
no less warrior-like, his poetry takes no hostages
mercilessly direct, tells truth, leaves you to gape at it in awe
wanted to be ready to gather in what he dished up
the wheat of his words, whatever he slashed down
it is time with its scythe though, gathering us in
Governor General, A.D. Hanna, his wife's funeral tomorrow
giants among us, fall down, get up until they can no longer
what Walcott has gotten up with, what he drags along
like W.B. Yeats in "A Woman's Beauty," in which he wonders
"What wounds, what bloody press/ Dragged into being
This loveliness?"
“Writin yur lil poem, ah?” I am from time to time asked
I think of bur Bucky and Bra Whale, the pulling match they had
Walcott wanting to pull us forth and what wants or who wants
to pull us back
he is determined not to let them
pulls for the Caribbean first, we are down under,
beneath the underdog
he pulls though for humanity, pulls for the human race
wonderful that this gift, his gifts belong first to us
our brother, our uncle, our literary dad
not come to us from far away or from long ago
here, now, indicating what is possible
for Caribbean children, Caribbean people
this to link to Usain Bolt, like lightning out of Jamaica
fastest man since the Games begun
at Olympia, in Greece, in 776 BC
Walcott, tall as Homer, tall as Dante, with his Shakespeare powers
with language, with the best who have ever used it,
wrenches life around
we turn our heads to listen, to look, to be amazed
see him standing, I see Rodin's Balzac
approach him, I touch him, I tell him
we met in Guyana, I am a poet too
I don't know if he believes me
given him two books of mine to attempt to convince him
writing what I've written here
to attempt to convince myself and a few friends
writing this because Sonia, in New York, has ask me
to act as window to enable her to look on, to look in
writing this because I love Walcott and poetry
and poets at home and poets abroad
all around the round world
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
11:03 p.m. 12.11.09
Fragments of Epic Memory
for Sonia Farmer & Derek Walcott
are nerves in my body or in my brain broken
what pop, what drop, lights out, fridge off
unable to microwave beef hot dogs
to have on wheat bread
mustard to squeeze on,
squeeze out a lot of it
Walcott here and I'm not in touch with him
was this my opportunity to get acquainted
not much opportunity in Guyana,
at Carifesta recently
Sonia, what a motivation
what leadership she demonstrates
inspires me, will carry on where we leave off
she and I and others, with Walcott to advance
Naipaul to advance
that is if we are able
to get to the top of where they leave off, leave us
want to be ready, want to keep pace
nine books of Walcott, 7 left to be autographed
will he recall meeting me,
out front of Buddies International
in George Town, Guyana
or autographing his Fragments of Epic Memory
wonder if he read
On The Hinges of This Town
I gave him a copy of
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:20 a.m. 12.11.09
Fragments of Epic Memory
for Sonia Farmer & Derek Walcott
about being depressed I must write
to connect and to rise
right here and cut off
focused upon remaining well
connected to me
to be able to connect with Walcott
not easy to put your best foot forth
faced with challenges and insufficient support
along with struggle to be well, to stay well
a lack of clean clothes
two pillow cases full, to walk to the wash house with
too heavy to carry easily, no one to assist me
though I know God is near
know he is able to send someone
it will work out, I know
but I feel cut off, depressed because of it
unfit to outfit myself quick, join the party
dinner and conversation with Walcott
a little too late, with insufficient nerves
to jump into the skipping rope, turning quick
stinging, biting, invited to bite in, jump in, join in
and I fear, I hold back, envy those who are a part
pretty enough when I need time
to prepare a face to meet the faces that we meet
every day people, every day like me
I step out without a second thought
but to encounter Walcott, need to spruce up,
doll up a little
out of step, when in step, in sync is require
to outpour poems
won't want to put down what won't last
won't want to waste time
are nerves in my body or in my brain broken
what pop, what drop, lights out, fridge off
unable to microwave beef hot dogs
to have on wheat bread
mustard to squeeze on,
squeeze out a lot of it
Walcott here and I'm not in touch with him
was this my opportunity to get acquainted
not much opportunity in Guyana,
at Carifesta recently
Sonia, what a motivation
what leadership she demonstrates
inspires me, will carry on where we leave off
she and I and others, with Walcott to advance
Naipaul to advance
that is if we are able
to get to the top of where they leave off, leave us
want to be ready, want to keep pace
nine books of Walcott, 7 left to be autographed
will he recall meeting me,
out front of Buddies International
in George Town, Guyana
or autographing his Fragments of Epic Memory
wonder if he read
On The Hinges of This Town
I gave him a copy of
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:20 a.m. 12.11.09
Egg White
for Nsakala Emmanuel
i.
milk-white girl has bewitched me with her magic
how she is able to dance so amazingly
is a mystery--utterly delicious
beauty of it, of this video, unbearable
one I favor most of the many I love
of dr. Sakis and his sexy sexy dancing girls
ii.
what electric wind, in her little red skirt,
to intoxicate me, like red wine in a bottle
she out pours freely, so freely, so much,
the glass overflows
she spills some of her but I lap her up
lick her up, lick her down
lick her down gently
iii.
able to electrocute me when she winds
I wish she would, I'd die happy
milk-white girl in her red skirt,
could shake every penny
out of my piggy bank
iv.
milk-white girl to make milkshake with
egg yolk, egg white to mix in, to make music
to make love last, to make love strong
milk-white girl I can drink always
I can drink all of
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:11 p.m. 09.11.09
Jack Up the Bean Stalk
for M.N.W.
ever-ready battery, ever-ready love
ever ready for what she has to allow, to give, to live with
she paid the check, is she liberated
we could go far, could grow like a bean stalk
for Jack to go up, giant to come down
but Jack has his gold, has an axe
what if he were a son of mine, son of hers
we’d have to spank him, scold him
if I hold her too closely I know Jack with his axe
with all his mischief, would come creeping forth
and the giant, poor man, would come tumbling down
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2000
2:01 a.m. 01.14.00
What’s Shared What’s Not
for Adam Zagajewski
with bottle, with the water in it, a relationship
however sick, able to kiss it, suck at it
not denied privacy, intimacy
a bottle, a poet unwell, reading in public
a podium, a microphone, his bottle of water
makes his presentation possible
Zagajewski, grateful for this relationship
with bottle,
with water contained in it
so inexpensive when compared with
what it makes possible
Adam, able to read, we able to hear poetry
be transformed by it
how intimate, poet, the bottle, the water he sips
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:11 a.m. 08.11.09
In the Wind A Door
for Z.P.A.
will or have already
yanked open the door to poetry before her
a wall she’d have been passing along
a door she had not recognized
to a world of which she was utterly unaware
or had no interest in
now she will be fascinated,
surprised to find it has to do with her
it is so much about her own life
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:30 a.m. 08.11.09
Sitting On My Hair
for Adam Zagajewski,
Lucie Brock-Broido & Derek Walcott
you set off, set on the blender
when all you want in it has been added
after milk or juice has been added
and let it wurr churn swirl
until it is all one consistent thickness
Walcott’s poetry is like this, is made like this
for some, hold your glasses
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:43 a.m. 08.11.09
Always As Happy As Hell To See Her
of Deanka Saunders
still unable to get her e-mail address
she has one now
now nearer to something,
nearer her, nearer home, nearer together or are we
I have her last name also now
but not her e-mail address
she was abrupt about it, about the fact
that her computer’s down
it will be down indefinitely, she told me
pointless providing me her address
she’d be unable to get at it, at anything I might provide
showed her my two new books with pretty covers
with their nice jackets
told her my poems of her will eventually be in books like these
she laughed then
more emotional than I’d ever seen her
used to her being sedate, so concentrated
upon cashing, collecting, giving change
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:10 a.m. 08.11.09
In Love In Conflict
for M.N.W.
we could fuck
or we could kill each other with knives
we can come or we can bleed to death
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
11:50 p.m. 07.11.09
Wings of A Song
for Z.P.A.
to sweeten your pot
love plots to have you
hand to hold you with
to rest upon you naked
how limited my resources are
how limited my life is
though love knows no bounds
enter when I knock
I'll enter when you knock
if I love you, if you love me,
we can cross this divide
can do what's impossible
if we love truly, like we say we do
don't want to love you later
want to love you now, I ache to, I must
we must not be separated
attached by a straw, share air, life, light
share swear words, cuss words
two copulating, fuck fuck fuck
unable to take it
I must draw you to me, through straw
must draw your picture in water, in snow
in fire, on earth and in the air
tell the world I love you,
let the world know you're mine
we're of a kind
unplug you like a tangerine
I'd have to peel you first
easy does it
easy to get your panties off
I struggle with bras, help me
too eager to wait
weight of you to lift to bed
but to fuck not to sleep
want you any way I can have you,
without delay, later is too late
waited too many nights already
worlds have come between us
time I came like lightning inside you
it's time thunder rolled
what are you afraid of
black cats, big dicks
used to wish mine was a foot long
and as thick as my neck
heads come out of a woman
why am I unable to shove my head in
look about, breathe air
how dark is it in there
I think of a cave of bats,
upside down, sleeping
enter with searchlight
and they stream out
thousands in a frenzy
upon wings, wild, flapping
what are you afraid of
loving, losing, living, dying
the death of those you love
are your parents alive still
both of mine have passed away
I never knew my grand parents
grandmother of seven,
do you have grand parents
I want to sweeten your tea
want you to sweeten my porridge
cornmeal is another meal I miss
I miss nothing though as I miss you
will twist some juices out of you
when I see you
I have a wrestling match planned
two naked lovers
the prize is cherry pie
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:01 p.m. 06.11.09
Rooster In A Hen House
for T.L.C.
it is purple, orange, sea-blue, ocean-blue, sky-blue
it is hairy, it smells like lunch
is this what you would disallow, my access, nose up in you
face in your panties, breathing you in, sniffing, smelling
self conscious about something, something to be embarrassed about
wanting to eat you, to have you, to know you, to fuck you
fuck you, I’ll have you the way I have mango, water melon,
musk melon or honey dew
go to the super market, go first to the fruit section
shapes and colors of all sizes in heaps
cantaloupes, tomatoes, cucumbers, sweet peppers
fucking like this, in crisis, in dish after dish
exercise, access, against what’s ambiguous in this world
you are specific, meal to have raw, like I have apples, plums
knife to peel with, dick I stiffen, open you with
do you stiffen it, make it stiff, you want it, have to have it
why do you deny what you desire, what's most desirable,
what's deepest
afraid of what is atavistic, afraid of being out of control
what ever happened to head aches you used to have
you had been having
that is where we left off, have you seen a physician,
could I be of assistance
tongue in your pussy possibly,
till you tell you told me your name
be what you'd dream up, what you'd dream of
wet you, what you want, I'd give you
what I want I'll have, I'll take also
put aside your remote control
© Obediah Michael smith, 2009
9:20 a.m. 6.11.09
Half of An Avocado Seed
for Beryl [R.I.P.]
& A.D. Hanna & their family
a great lady died today
our Governor General’s other half
how like a corned beef can
how like a can of corned beef
we are opened and eventually consumed
she was formidable and she was smart
she was courageous and she had heart
what a giant Sir Etienne was
I remember them clashing
like waves and rocks
remember the sparks, the fire works
the water splashing, the salt sea spray
issue was apartheid,
racist policies in South Africa
with what Sir Etienne wrote, she disagreed
she picketed the Tribune
she with others, wore placards
she’d not give in, she’d not back down
English woman, woman of justice
for struggle, for the disenfranchised
the disadvantaged around the globe
in every corner of the world
stood by her husband
in family life, in public life
building family, building nation
from the blue print
stood by A.D. Hanna
like Lady Pindling stood
by Oscar Pindling
she expired today
death, its dinner done
wipes its mouth, its hands
upon the flag she saw raised
she saw go up
this flag will fly at half-mast
will wave and she will wave
and we will wave
there are those of us
who will wave farewell to her
with eyes full of tears
from some, tears will be streaming
down
a few will scream
last chance to reach out to her
reach out for her
across time and where no time is
ii.
Lord help me to look to thee
for what no one in this world
can withhold from me
what no one in this world can allow
or can give me
for what only you can give
like life you gave
which only you can give
only you can take away
or sustain
iii.
to hear pang-a-lang
they throw stones through glass
children in uniforms
passing from and to school
stones through glass
are like musical instruments
bows across stringed instruments
we break silence with
there are voices, sounds,
a pitch so high, able to shatter glass
houses abandoned, these pink twins
their wooden porch pillars
their wooden doors, dark-green
their front windows, shattered glass
up until not long ago
clothes on lines, on these two front porches
in the teeth of pins
the wind would dry
no longer are these two houses
sight for sore eyes
black eyes after battle
these two houses, opposite the church
perched upon a hill, in the bend in the road
dark inside
no one residing or can reside
within a building with windows
with shattered glass
children with stones,
out to make drama, to make mischief
out to make music
on their way home
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 12 noon
and 2:25 p.m. on Thursday,
November 5, 2009
