Hills To Go Between
i.
Inderia
about your cleavage
or about your breasts
I want your bra off
I could write, my heart content
not content until I spilled
what bra contains
with its hooks and snaps
its elastic, its stitching
with rubber, rub out clothes
leave you bare
in awe, invited to, I'd touch,
I'd hold
embrace, enfold yourself
and myself, yourself in myself
treat to eat
pastry for sweet tooth
cleavage, two hills to go between
to heaven
I want to know that you'd let me pass
country to get to, covered with grass
satisfaction sufficient to last
until life ran out like bath water
ii.
DeAnna
remember her reading
and not being impressed
remember whispering to Kahlil beside me
and snickering
about her poetry being simplistic
I'd have been impressed, I said
if she were 11
what impact upon me, last evening
poem she is
what words for such beauty
a night near to me
thrilled, it seemed
over some aspect of old me
made me want to live again
love again, be young again
made young again by newness
pretty as ripe fruit, as flower petals
picked me to befriend, to be friends with
picked her or wanted to
from among many species
fragrant, lovely
able to heal me
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:25 a.m. 29.01.09
Skin Deep
for Vanessa Linden
i.
imagined I'd have gone without goodbye
I'd have left without farewell
as if manners, without a word,
without warning, evaporated
I'd have had to have been
hit across the head
I'd have had to have lost my mind
to abandon a ship with you on board
without a hug and a kiss
without tears in my eyes
over the sweet sorrow which parting is
the rip, the tear when we come apart
shirt or dress in a fist
as in a fight, at times
clothes are ripped
or are ripped off
to expose underwear
or underwear alone remaining
you thought I'd have pulled away
like a no manners boy or girl
of today might
though I should not indict
the age we're in, age we're of
just over 20 and you're a gem
you love your neighbour as yourself
how dull the 10 commandments are
the Our Father Prayer
so many years have passed over them
years they've passed through
like knives through sea air
an entire set, rusted now
how glad I am that you are sharp,
efficacious, lovely, loving still
though the world is old, we're new still
as pristine as was Eden
before Eve and Adam fell through
into do-do
beneath boards of an outhouse
over-the-hill, in Bain Town
ii.
here, come into the men's room
the lady's is locked already
no need to touch down, she advised
I've sprayed the seats
to clean them already
you do not have to sit
but use it
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:44 p.m. 23.01.09
Oranges
for A.A.
i.
able to render me weak, helpless
look what I could get
look where I could be
off with her business suit
business woman, my baby
my arms to cradle her gently
to rock her to sleep
what keeps us apart
some shaky partition
shakes like a leaf
when I speak words of admiration
address her beauty
let her see, let her know how I feel
evasive though she is
it affects her, thrills her
makes her awkward
what partitions to push aside
room that's her life
room that's mine, one room
what miracle
falling in love is
our affair would be
what or whom
does she await
if not for me
ii.
why does she let waste
what I outpour, my adoration
is it cheap and superficial
better off ignored
rather than inspired divinely
am I flimsy
emotionally, spiritually
am I trivial, mentally
iii.
withholding herself, saving herself
for who, for what
and am I as available
as I imagine I am
what if she said yes to my proposal
would I then have to suggest
it were offered in jest
with whom oh, God
could I connect, fit like an outfit
or am I suitable
only for the hand
for the fist of death
is there anything good about me left
age of romance
has it come and gone
an item of her and me
is this a possibility
is a future for us a posssibility
I must and she must
wait and see
or does she know already
it could never be
iv
what to connect us
to connect two
to connect who enjoy jousting
with eyes, with remarks
with everything short
of with lances
I want to slip a ring on her finger
as much as I wish
to slip my penis in her
to consumate marriage
v.
so much effort for so long
to nullify me
why are we not allowed
like salt in warm water
to be/to make a solution
to wash a mouth
that's sore inside
a world with swollen gums
needing us together
to join, to ease some pain
which has in creation arisen
oh, though,
what if I were made happy
what if I had happiness ultimately
embracing it, clothed in it
and anybody looking, seeing us
could see
what if they envied us
outfitted in each other
wonderful wonderful
seamless garment
what if their wish was to rip it
disrobe us
one way or another
for one reason or another
apart from courage required
to be obviously in love
conspicuously happy
what other resources required
to safeguard it
is my fear the fear
of being obviously vulnerable
as opposed to living as I do
or appear to
with nothing to lose
vi.
a drop or several
like eye drops
of the sweat of her brow
she lets drip, lets fall
into my life
and how the solution
that's me clears
she, in this way, in these ways
mixes her blood with mine
what she earns
by the sweat of her brow
off her brow
like a fat lady baking, sweating
who wipes her wet face
when not upon her apron
with one index finger
and with a snap, releases it
sprinkles bread she's baking
pasteries, cakes
with sweat off her brow
element of herself like seasoning
for her patrons to partake of
this lady though
because she labors
in an air conditioned office
does not sweat
she is warm and brown
like bread
vii.
why does she do for me
Lord, she'd do for me
let her do for me
and what of me oh God
would I, could I do for her
oranges for her hand
and for our fruit bowl
tree of oranges
to pick from for her
my father used to pick oranges
in Florida
upon a ladder
a worker on the project
what project for me
to contribute to livelihood
to family
would poetry suffice
or would I have to make
other sacrifices for us to be happy
to be safe
would she cease being evasive
and embrace me
as Obama is this moment
being embraced
by the U.S.A.
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 5:15 p.m.
Monday, January 19 and 12:06 p.m.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Wooden Slave
for Antonius Roberts
i.
recovery from slavery
incomplete
angry, twisted still
full of regret and loss
memories not diluted
contorted still
killings in the sugar cane fields
not entirely hidden
in the leaves
on the wind
in the breeze
ii.
escape refinement
another imprisonment
free to be ugly
original, fierce
fire in the belly
burning still
rough sandpaper
work to do
unable to find a crew of such persons
to build the nation
too many refined persons
not enough left
to work the fields
to fish the seas
stones to build with
but who, with him
will lift them
his children have all gone off to school
school of fish to net in, to net up
to net us a profit
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:10 p.m. 26.01.09
Angry Poetry
for Pat Paul
i.
very well made
like I like my Kool-Aid
could stir her up
could stir her round
I’m all stirred up
since seeing her
since our encounter
this way, that way
with big spoon in punch
in big soup pot
in cake batter
she is made of so many things
of so many meals
eaten over ages of days
three a day and in between
treats and sweets
for sweet tooth
a sweet mouth
these in her accumulated
saturated, honey-like
honey bees, nectar-like
her flower petals open
I’d like to sniff where these join
where they gather
I’d like to enter there
enter where
petals leave an opening
for rain and snow
and sunshine
ii.
where can I run from this heap
from this pit
I need to pull my fridge plug,
take flight
Czechoslovakia, Cuba
here on earth, oh, God
away from this no place,
this no man’s land
was this ever home for me
home to me
this roughness, rough necks
to rub up against since I was born
is this their comfort zone
or are they wretched too
my heart bleeds poems
like some container
leaking something precious
I suppose poetry
is the only country
I’ve ever been at home ina citizen of
iii.
don’t get upset about nothing
about no body
about zombies
foolish to seek footsteps
to expect flesh and blood
someone who disappeared
from this planet, from this realm
centuries before being born
who thinks he’s a star
is not even lit, not a bit bright
iv.
whiff of a woman
with her period on
going by
smell of it, of this, antithetical
to the smell of perfume
this I suppose
is what inspired
the manufacture of fragrances
concentrated, bottled and sold
bought and sold
supplied/demanded
this intense dynamic
v.
there has to be somewhere
upon this green, round earth
where I can take what I do
and wed it to income,
to earning a living
be able to translate it, trade it
for food to eat, clothes to wear
I write poetry as naturally
as readily as I breathe air
vi.
left out in the cold
to make it warm
to make it spring
make flowers bloom
birds sing
left out in the cold
to catch a cold
to catch a check
I sigh and ice melts
and soon
it’s summertime
vii.
want to plant the seed that I am
in the land, in the country
I’m from
and spring from there
so I’d belong to it
I want to connect
the land with the sea
the fish with the fisherman
the farmer with the field
as I am to my pen connected
one in my fist
which I can’t put down
viii..
evasive bullshitter,
sidestepper
I’m angry still
though I’ve calmed down
thought I’d spent it all,
all my ire
seething still
I want my 4 shillings back
with interest
lent it to him ages ago
before the money change’
when he was
a construction worker
came down off scaffolding
around what’s now
The Beaumont House
to bum 4 shillings for lunch
in Paradise now, in suits now
never gave me back
what he borrowed
what he owes
I want it, with interest
$40, I suppose, would cover it
on top of which
I’d permit him my 3 books free
that is if he can read
ix.
get off the bus
because the music’s playing
because I do not like it loud
do not like it playing
get off the bus
because the music’s playing
so the music’s paying
I thought the buses were running
for passengers/because of us
we who were paying
so the music’s playing
so the music’s paying
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
Written between 10:36 a.m.
and 10:56 p.m. on Friday,
December 19, 2008
Surplus or Deficit
how subtle the shifts
of feeling I’m ahead or I’m behind
needing to catch up with life
or that I’d gone or gotten ahead
in the red or in the black as it were
a shift as subtle as breeze or no breeze
though at times, far behind and desperate,
frantic to catch up
not often so very far ahead
aroused when I feel I am ahead
usually able to have an erection then
aroused then, I masturbate
to my heart’s content
oftentimes for hours
if or when I come, I feel I’ve slipped into
or fallen into a hole I need to climb out of
or if this exercise, overextended,
results in lower abdominal pains
quite delicious though
when I am in step with life, abreast of life
plus or minus a few inches
or a few minutes
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:40 a.m. 04.01.09
Starbucks Café
for Vanessa Linden
she’d call my name as sweetly
when she sees me
with as much gaiety
as she announces
the poetic sounding, vast variety
of hot and cold coffees and teas
in covered cups
placed upon the pick up counter
for customers to collect
in this same spirit
with this same joie de vivre
she’d squeal my name
with as much delight
as if I too were delicious
as if she knew it
my poetry, all she’s had access to
I, as it were, tasted tears she shed
when a cousin passed
victim of homicide
she though, on the other hand
is life itself
connection we’ve slipped into
is such a fortunate affair
she values words
and words are what I have
able to fill myself with these
like the night sky fills with stars
the sun goes down
the shift changes
one source of light giving way
to several million stars twinkling
I wonder how her Christmas was
full of shepherds, sheep, wise men
or just turkey and ham
and songs of chestnuts
without chestnuts roasting
upon an open fire
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:35 p.m. 09.01.09
On Bus No. 19 on Friday
so close to beautiful
and so apart from it
foolishness in the way of its presence
in our community
how polluted is our place
are our places
with whatever modernity dumps upon
empties out in the empty barrels
which the so called Third World is
empty oil barrels
we make steel pans with
our one act of innovation
so many more inventions needed
home grown, homemade
instead of gadgets without end
to fill time with
pollute the culture and corrupt it
in so many ways
used to celebrate
what is adverse
by what we are being undermined
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:38 p.m. 09.01.09
Brent Malone RIP
how can we have gone from such respect
from who was and is
on the head of the coin
to such disrespect from who is
on the tail of the coin
paintings Brent Malone permitted me
on which I was paying when he passed
belong in my estate rather than in his
already he’d relinquished them to me
for a sum I was providing still
when he, unfortunately, passed away
his business partner, June Knight
certainly knew of this transaction
the week he passed
she called to point out
that I had two paintings
and a balance of eleven hundred dollars
I have one painting, I pointed out
and a balance of eleven hundred dollars
and I’m due the second
of these two paintings
oh, we’d have to wait
until after the estate has been probated
I was told
after it was, I spoke with Marysa,
Brent’s daughter, over the phone
she suggested that
my conversation with June Knight
never took place
that I’d made it up
outside of Brent and me, no one knew
of our transaction, she suggested
which was false
Brent had informed me
that he’d provided Marlborough Antique
a file of this transaction
they had to have it, how else
could June Knight have contacted me
and I’d made 1 of 3 payments
to the store as Brent instructed
if ever I was unable to reach him
not knowing the titles of these 2 paintings
has always been disadvantageous
well I have one, a nude, the other, similar in size
about 24 X 30 inches
is a painting of ribbons
and very much like M.C. Escher’s “Rind”
I chose it because Brent insisted, invited me to
I chose it because
he made my having it a possibility
I had just read 30 poems for Brent
and friends gathered at his house
these 30 poems I had written
on two occasions, around midnight
of a single painting in the window
at Marlborough Antique
he was determined to put a painting
or several, within my reach
I saw the one I loved and wanted
I selected it out of many
stacked about his living room
I saw it once; I have not seen it since
I love it and want it still
it is as if what Brent Malone permitted me
has been taken back
I have 3 cancelled checks of what was paid
each indicating the balance due
a former Attorney General has advised
that this is sufficient proof of our transaction
that second painting belongs to me
belongs in my estate and not in Brent’s
“We do not wish to sell,” his daughter said
but how could we not wish to sell
what is/what was already sold
what was on layaway as it were
and being paid on
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
2:20 p.m. 21.12.08
Duke Smith
unappreciative of poetry,
of anything that does not make money
what though did Christ get
for miracles, for parables
for his sermon on the mount
are these too, because not paid for
not valuable events
are they not still priceless beyond measure
some poems of mine, of other men
of other women poets, similarly
are miracles
poems of T.S. Eliot, William Carlos Williams
Langston Hughes, Ted Hughes
Denise Levertov, Carolyn M. Rodgers
W.S. Merwin, Mervyn Morris
Derek Walcott, Kamau Braithwaite
Martin Carter, John Keats, Wilfred Owen
have transformed my life
what lights like moon light, like stars
poems bring into the world
who needs money for what is already
more than money can buy
better than silver and gold
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:43 a.m. 07.01.09
Ned Siegel
he turned away
as abruptly as he’d turned to me
why he turned to me
or why he turned away
in both instances, I knew not
his turning to me, including me,
bringing as much joy
as his turning away, as his abandonment
brought pain
God behind it, behind him ultimately
who giveth as well as taketh away
teaching me, teaching us
as Zen teaches us
to live unattached
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
3:40 a.m. 30.12.08
