Trojan Horse
for Tia Clarke

I would be an ass
to go on conversing

trading terms of endearment
for business language

it is like shaking a wooden hand
or having intercourse
with someone
with a wooden crotch

when I haven't got
a wooden cock

what a wooden fuck
should I give a wooden fuck

if I cannot have feelings

flowers for flowers
rainfall for rainfall
your screams for my screams
I wouldn't fuck

would you fuck a wooden horse
a Trojan horse

so that is why condoms are Trojans

condom full of semen
much like that horse, made of wood

in which soldiers were able
to enter that city, able to sack it

I show up, without socks
or gloves or subterfuge

get treated as if I had the plague
or were the plague

all I want you to catch
is the ability to write poetry

to cough and to sneeze it
defecate it, menstruate it
piss it--couldn't we kiss


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:27 p.m. 29.04.09

Wrestling Bears
for N.T-B.

turn my back and she gets fat

turn back and there she is
too large almost to get my arms about

too much weight for me
to lift her naked to bed

I'd been gone a week or was it two
and this transformation

what, I wonder, was she feasting on
feeding on
with greedy eyes or greedy mind

or grapes and plums
and what all else

ackee, codfish
cheese arriving in tins
her aunt would have sent

what else
McDonald's french-fries
Fish Fry conch salad
Bamboo Shack crack conch

need I hire a detective
to discover what she's been imbibing

Heineken Beers or Kalik
or Twin Brother's daiquiris

what I have for her, my sweet,
has so few calories
provides exercise as well

I shall have to help her
sweat off what she's added

how many rounds of wrestling bare
to get her into shape

to have her looking like she did
when we met

before motherhood commenced
and letting go

once sleek as a dolphin
now big as a whale

won't want to have to roll her
off the beach back into the water

to save her suffocating
under her own weight


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:37 p.m. 28.04.09

Mosi-oa-Tunya
for Marion & Ife

able to whisper to me
from ever so deep
in the mystery, in the majesty
that is Africa

outside of where she's staying
in Zambia, able to hear
the booming downpour
of Victoria Falls

able to hear the thunder
mist in Africa is able to make

this sound like rain fall
outside her windows
outside her doors

downpour which never stops
weeping which is unending
eternally mourning for mankind

this waterfall
one of the kindest occurrences
on the continent, on the planet

present so near to it
able to whisper to me about it

in a note, in an e-mail
able to wave to the Caribbean
from Africa

as well I hear
a herd of elephants trumpeting

this orchestra of musicians
trampling along
upon plate-sized hooves


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
10:13 p.m. 24.04.09

Wash Waves

world without end turning

life's a skipping rope
over my heard, under my feet

I must leap or trip
life's a journey, life's a trip

must know when to lie down
when to get up

must catch the rhythm
or catch cold or flu or worse

world without end turning
must adjust the rhythm of breathing
heart beating

these must be regulated
like high tide, like low tide

like waves beating shores
about the globe and withdrawing
and beating, without abating

my blood similarly
high up on the beach
and washing back

with its shells and its sea weed
with its sea crabs


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:43 p.m. 24.04.09

Silver Scoops
for Leslie Saiz

lard-white girl
I've fallen in love with
I've fallen into

unable to get out
or to be together
must remain in two

lard all over my face
my heart and hands

never thought I
could like lard so much

tasty, I thought,
only what was fried in it

oh we used to dig the silver scoop
small or big, into a box of it
to serve it

out of scoop, onto wax paper
then into the scale

customer wanting a pound
half pound
or two pounds a lard

how much does she weigh
and she's not in a box

in marriage, she is, possibly
in a cage or happy and free

after a few beers
her eyes light up, sparkle

otherwise, everything about her
is as quiet as a whisper

it is I who am made
to sing about her,
to sing her praises

not knowing quite what this is
that has gone through me
that goes through me

comes out through
a pen in my fist

like whatever river flows
into the Black Sea


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:07 p.m. 15.04.09

Baby Steps
for Aneka Stewart

i.
what about a line of verse
every word in it
seasoned too salt
or sweetened too sweet

every word, flavored
in some extreme way or another

assembled together
like TNT upon a carriage
crossing the West
vibrating, bouncing

in danger of exploding

if shake up or buck up

everybody on board
would go up
or blow up

ii.
outlawed cannibalism
a moment too soon

should have waited
until after she came along
after she came around

what a meal
I'd have made of her
of her parts,
of her heart and soul

she makes a meal of me
every time I see her
whenever I'm near her
my heart beating, like love

with something to tenderize


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 11:05 p.m.
and 11:23 p.m. at Express Yourself
at the Hub, on Wednesday,
April 22, 2009

Rattle Snakes

i.
piece a perfection
to put in my teeth
to put in my tea

makes me happy enough
to die, to cry out

in such a place
pleasure aches

unable to tell it from pain
where these blend
where these merge

life and death do too
now and then
here and there

where she and I converge
where river enters sea

it’s over now
I’ll sink down
from this mountain peak

sit down in this seat
recall where I am,
my name, address

heaven and I, separated

Zeus took Leda in the air
had her there

when he came he let her go
let her fall again to earth
where she belonged

he had wings to fly away
in the sky away

I too was seeing blue

angel extremely skimpily clad
in no more than red ribbons
a red bow or two

in heaven, I was with her
until I could no longer take
could no longer stand

the taste of too sweet, too pure

I sucked until I could
no longer
no more

ii.
mixing bowl for my big spoon

oh what we couldn’t mix up

batter for cakes, or her big hips
my salad bowl

what we couldn’t mix or invent
if I went and she came

if we decided to keep house
make a go of it together

what things I’d gather
to fill her with, to fix

in what she provided

between her and me
to divide equally
whatever we manufactured
or came up with


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 4:43 p.m.
and 7:09 p.m. on Tuesday,
April 21, 2009

In April
for t.l.c.

I thought cold fronts were behind us


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
11:43 p.m. 08.04.09

Planets Our Stepping Stones
for G.L.M.

shake each other, trembling lovers
in the coldest climate, warmed by fire

shake each other, take each other
very swiftly, very far


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:27 p.m. 22.04.09

Arms To Carry Her Home
for G.M.L.

late in the evening or late afternoon
lady in the prime of life
is not yet past noon

someone wonderful come along
to save the day, to restore faith
in humankind, in Earth

planet I dropped down on
or fell upon, as lost as Columbus

invites me to believe, to live,
to love again

how sweet the smell of falling rain
how calming the sound

as wonderful a phenomenon
another wonder of the world


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:52 a.m. 23.04.09

Find my two new books here:
http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/seventy-poems/4048894
and here:
http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/open-testament/4018993

Sakis Sexy Dancing Girls
for Nsakala Emmanuel

i
who are they giving piece this day
out on a date or in for the evening

one of these and I’d be
so terribly well pleased

I’d have what I need
in my place, in my bed, upon my plate

so well pleased and so well placed
one of these to love, to love me

love to reinvent
oh to be young, to be well

sheets I’d like to soil
with a woman or two

eliminate a few books read
I need not have
to fit in more sex

ii.
music sufficiently sweet
to get through such big bodies

through to their bones
into their bone marrow
to make them dance

how porous are our bodies
are our souls

how penetrating soul music must be
able to make anybody
make every body dance

iii.
you make me come, you know

you made me come today
and from so far away

in what country in Africa
dancing on You Tube

rocking the house I’m in
with your moves
rocking me too

able to get my rocks off
watching you

all of these videos
your company has made

others too, dancing divinely
but you, out of all these beauties
these brilliant dancers

clutched my soul, would not let it go
until I came

I’m your victim still, your captive

you don’t even know I’m caught
I’m yours to keep

I am unable even to enjoy
being thrown away, back into the sea

you who don’t even know I exist

is there a way to connect
I suppose I must ask the divine

this poem possibly
though It’s 20 times too long

a short note then
request an account, an e-mail address

I wanted to scream your name
I attempted to and realized

that I did not--that I do not know it
that I do not know you

though already I’m mad, in love
slave of yours, under your spell

your dancing, your body, partially bare
unbearable the little you wear
the ways you shake

there I was on this Sunday
weeping and praying for mercy

as if you were slaying me

iv.
needle in a haystack

have I found her or has she
found me

dancing upon the beach divinely

poor heart of mine
snatched once before
by a similar apparition
appearing and as quickly fleeting

I turned back over and over
to see her also

she was at Paul Simon’s concert
in 1991, in Central Park

atop the shoulders of someone
strong enough to bear her weight
to bear her up

she swayed to Paul Simon singing
“America”
as she swayed, she closed her eyes

how I wanted to meet and to know
this angel, have her for myself
have her as lover, as friend

all I had was Oran Quintrell’s recording

this concert and his remote control
to return to her, swaying divinely,
about 6 dozen times

made poems as I am doing now
to record and to recall

to connect with
who I was as painfully attached to
as I am to this other heavenly creature

this Dr Sakis video
one of his sexy dancing girls

only she is more sacred than sexy


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 8:30 p.m.,
Saturday April 18 and 1:55 a.m.,
Monday, April 20, 2009

Take Without Camera
for E.M.J.

too pretty to look at
too lovely for words

world upon axis
with diamond tips

like brace and bit
tipped with diamond
to be able to penetrate
any wood, anything

whirl upon axis
with diamond tip

less than this, not good enough
to put her in, to put her through
to grace her with

what is the reason
why the caged bird sings

cage for her, were she a bird
would need be made
of white and yellow gold

what I’d want for her
I am unable to afford

what is my soul worth

should I trade it in
in exchange for riches
to reward her with

or her soul for my soul
night after night, for the rest of life

she is as lovely
as she is lively


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:03 p.m. 18.04.09

In A Coop
for T.L.C.

little baby are you keeping
are you sleeping

bewitched me with eyes
words, swaying hips

love sick since to go all out
instead walled out

want to traverse arteries
of your city - of your body

shooting streams and water falls
rapids boiling, foaming white

intrepid chickens, heads screwed off
flapping wings - run about

giggling girls when school lets out
go with me - come with me

how controlled I am, when mad
when in love

search out symbols, attach emotions

embrace you, take you
out of your conservative suit

get out of mine also
out of the nation's too

what I wouldn't do for freedom
bare you and myself

where in this world
unless Eden occurred about us
unless we were in it

fruit to pick, a serpent’s egg
or should we remake this myth
as you like it

silver serpent, my black dick
enough to go around you twice
enter you still

universe pauses, awaits what's next

what can I do about being stuck
about brain wash

are we the living, emotionally dead
without imagination

what could I rip to get to you
break the ten commandments
Moses did

able to/unable to defy what fate fixes
brought us together, brought us to this

that you existed, hadn’t a clue
until you had the mike, in the limelight

add you to me, me to you

is there a spoon to stir us two
mix us with, blend until
butter and flour,
eggs and cream joined

vanilla extract against raw eggs
raunchy you, horny too

where in a little life
to squeeze me out, to squeeze me in

were we able to steal away
to where on earth, again I wonder

closer, we could touch and see
could taste and see

Holy Bible
door we've gone through to liberation
or gone through into prison

not free to imagine
to be reckless, wild

domesticated, chicken in a coop

instead of those in backyards
feeding, scratching, pecking

roads to cross and alleyways
chicks behind them

row with dogs and win
teach then who not to fuck with

want to hear my wood dove coo
my dick deep in you


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
written between 3:23 a.m. and 3:54 a.m.
Saturday, 18.04.09
[Labored until 6:38 a.m. polishing it]

Date with William Butler Yeats
for Eamon Grennan

would I prefer to be a statue or myself

important upon a pedestal or breathing still
heart beating still

or still as bronze or marble or limestone

for tourists to marvel at
for cameras to snap up--to snap at


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:07 a.m. 17.04.09

Marbles
of Zanetta

turn on/turn on you
you’re done for

wide/bright eyes

sun her son/she is daughter

she turns/ looks up
secrets spill
yours/hers

marbles drop/bounce

marveling since our eyes met
like marbles


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:45 p.m. 16.04.09

Zanetta
for Mark H. Baker

i.
slavery is like clothes
we were forced to wear

which never fit

which were uncomfortable
which in addition
itched

until we were able
to rip them off

until we were able to bathe
and to wade
in the water

ii.
what a body to live in
wish it were mine

her body/my body
to get into bed in

to fit together
like two half moons

twin seed guinep
to surprise us
when we bite in
when we bite through

what things we'd do
when the moon is full

when we pull our clothes off
leave them on the floor
or pitch them here and there

no time to wait
time ticking away

what a body to live in
wish it were mine

panties to pull on
to pull off

pants to zip up
to zip down

like choosing to
or choosing not
to wear a smile

what a woman
what high boots
to walk tall in

like a top
I spin around
again and again

unbelieving
to look at her

what a body
to live in

iii.
so at home with innocence
with kittens

fur covered
to play with

upon my lap
across the floor

from room to room
from door to door

up the walls we'd roam

raining and we're warm inside
bare inside

flowers smelling
wine smelling
she smiling

what more needed
wanted
to warm my soul

able to do it
from pictures on a screen

personality in my place
any way

what if she were here with me
what if she were present

as my hand, my pen
this ink, this page

iv.
how far could we go
I wish I knew

how far gone is she, am I
and how far remaining
to venture

on her part, on my part
before falling off our planet
or is it round

if so
how many more times
have we to go round

before down the drain
out to sea

wish we were able
to hold hands
before it all ends
before it’s all over

in love with her
though I know not
who she is
or where she is

I know she is
of planet earth

whatever continent
she's on

wish she were in my arms

v.
grip her up
strip her

stick candy
to fill my mouth

go about with it
for about an hour
or devour all at once

involve my teeth
break sweet into bits

get at the gum
at the heart of it

dispose of the stick

though I am hungry for her
greedy for her

I want her to last long
I want her to grow up
I want her to grow old

even if when she's old
I'm dead and buried

how many dozen times
before then though

would we have gone for dinner
for ice cream

ice skating among
some mountains too
possibly

before I expire
before desire dies

vi.
able to get your attention

she's had mine
since I set eyes on her

eyes as if upon me
my eyes unable
to leave her face

too pretty
she's captivated me

bewitched me
with innocence
with clean spirit
with clean hands

her fingerprints though
all over me

smile and her wide eyes
have ripped me open

sack of rice/sack of grits

hundred pound bags
just off the mail boat

wasting, out pouring

what a mess I am, emotionally
since I've seen her

no body prettier

vii.
tall enough for me
however short she is

able still to reach the sky

she's reached my heart
upon its high shelf

she's opened the jar it was in

able to reach
the cake on the shelf in the tin

able to get ice cubes
from the fridge to fill a glass

able to accomplish
anything she wishes

able to cook fish dishes

I'd fish for fish
out upon a rock
with bait and line

until I had enough for us
or go together to the dock

patronize the fishermen
their boats with their catch
bobbing in the harbor

I'd have the florist bring flowers
vase upon our dining table
to place them in

whatever it takes
to keep her happy
to fill our lives


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written on Wednesday,
between 3 p.m. and 10:22 p.m.
April 15, 2009.

Finger in the Water

i.
you can have my bone now
to go up and down on
to sit down on

wiggle on it

out of this world
out of your mind

my bone up in you

like a toy
like nothing to play with

ii.
to play catch up in hot sauce
is like fucking
with your period on

or like fucking
and making it come on

or like fucking a virgin
and making the bed red

or catching up with a hot woman
and fucking her until
you both catch afire

half-a-dozen saints
with buckets of water

to throw upon you two naked
to put out the conflagration


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
6:07 p.m. 15.04.09

Put To Death
for Ayla & Chet

it is she who is pulling out
like a nail from a hand upon the cross

she who has decided
it’s time to bury the affair

is it so that Easter might occur

must trust even death as Christ did

fate alone knows
what comes after
what is to spring from it

who was it with beans
and flung them away

look how they grew
what they grew into


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:20 a.m. 15.04.09

Nygard Cay Sunset
of Philincia for V.N.P.S.

made in the jungle
swinging on vines

red wine to drunk me
as she has already

what twilight has left of her
enough for me

too sweet to sip
must swallow all quick

thirsty for such as this
for too long


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:03 a.m. 13.04.09

Jaclynn
for Mark H. Baker

all the way black
all the way back

to where I used to be
to the way I used to be

back then/back when
growl of elephants
used to wake me

or the chatter of chimpanzees

I want to take off my panties
go back there/back where I was

before shit hit the fan
before slavery began


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:03 a.m. 12.04.09

What Reward for Craft
for Brent Symonette

it is the lack of culture
which is more and more
becoming the dominant culture
in this town, in this land

those who have not bothered
to cultivate or educate themselves
who are more and more
having the upper hand


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
9:59 p.m. 11.04.09

Onions & Pearls

we need a tourist industry
which accumulates
like flesh upon a seed

about the soul
the culture and identity
of the people of our country

otherwise what are we to it
what is it to us

how can we, generally
be asked and be expected
to support an industry

which excludes us
is ashamed of us
kicks us in the butt


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
05.04.09

On Good Friday
for Nico Bethel

not all of my poems are gems
some of them are germs, for warfare

to wipe out, to wipe your mouth

for whom the bell tolls


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
10:24 p.m. 10.04.09

What She Means to Me
for T.L.C.

who can cuss me like she can
who would dare

things she gets away with
I let her, because I love her

she is as free as rainfall,
sunshine

she is as free as air
as vital to me


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:10 a.m. 09.04.09

Off-loading Sand

I like when I have a lot to shit
like having a lot to say

you’ve said a mouthful
is this compliment or complaint


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:52 p.m. 08.04.09

Reality Sandwich
for John Hope Franklin
[2 January 1915 – 25 March 2009]

i.
they were building a church
and knew it not

hammering a cross together
hammering hands and feet

three crosses like scaffolding

bodies taken off them,
when these were taken down
the church began to rise

out of the earth and off the earth

rising ever since
cathedrals and temples of worship
around the globe

no end ever to Mass being said

ii.
successful or unsuccessful
with money or without
with or without fame and fortune

in about the same number of years
you are as old
as moldy bread
as bread that’s a month old

but a few choices other than
to be disposed of, remaining

rich or not, with fame or without

famous persons, in the limelight
we watch fad away

we watch wrinkle like leaves
we watch drop

when fall rolls around


© Obediah Michael smith, 2009
Written on Wednesday,
between 7:30 p.m. and 10:55 p.m.,
April 8, 2009.

8 Days A Week
for T.L.C.

i.
crab cakes, crab pies make
with your crabby meat

enough of it to eat
when Christmas comes
or from now until Christmas
or until Christ comes

instead of turkey,
instead of ham

ii.
forced to share
though I live alone

must share my pizza
my two last slices
with a million tiny ants

too selfish to share
they’ll eat me eventually

they’ll not be denied
their tiny belly full

iii.
what do I mean to her
am I mean to her

what does she mean to me
too mean to me too

are we mean or kind
do we love each other
as we should

are we bad, are we good

to love creativity, poetry
as she does, as I do

to the edge of the flames
to the brink of aspirations

where we go
where I’d push her, pull her

where we’d go
to look for poetry

while others are combing
the beach for shells

iv.
need to vacation
somewhere
away from here

somewhere
like Key West

like coming home
to clear my head

declare I’m crazy
or in a crazy world

a break from it,
must break from it

on the beach somewhere
Mint Julep to sip
through straws

until the noise in the glass
is all that remains

v.
forced up, fucked up
some poetry we put down

cows to put down
fish to pull up

hogs to slaughter

food for Good Friday
for Easter dinner

sinner man in this world
in this week

sullying these
seek holiness still

a hand to hold
whose will it be

vi.
edge of a knife, of this life
hammer in hand

unable to find nails
to build with
to construct a cross

hammer and nails
for the hands
and feet of Christ

beneath these hands
beneath these feet

the feat of building a church
Church which followed

these cross pieces
its first two planks

vii.
we are nation now
do we need still

the gestures, the posture
of slaves, of slavery

its push and pull,
its high tides, low tides

look what tides washed up
what tides washed in

I need to wash my face
it’s a new day is it not

viii.
don’t be selfish
lem me smell yur shell fish

up on a shelf: take it down

lem me reach it, touch it
take it away in a dish

for supper, what’s left

with goat pepper and thyme
with sweet pepper and lime


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 2 p.m.
And 6:22 p.m., Wednesday,
April 8, 2009.

I’m In Love Too
for Tia Clarke

I must take care
must take careful steps

as easy to shake her up
start her up, set her off

as it is to spook a horse
coming upon a rattle snake

up in the air, rider out of saddle
on his ass on the ground

she dumps me similarly
as suddenly
similarly without warning

I must take careful steps
measure everyone, every word
every breath

wish I were able to measure
the breadth between
her breasts and mine

what I wonder, would it take
to eliminate this distance

swiftly, completely
with a light switch
room in darkness

she and I in it,
in birthday suits,

reach for each other
clutching, touching

tender is the night
we surrender


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:22 a.m. 08.04.09

Open Like This
for Kent Knowles

things just fall
right out of heaven
right out of the sky

not just stars or rain or snow
a meal, money, needs

when least expected
when you'd been eying
your front door

or waiting for the phone
to ring

something you're yearning for
oftentimes just drops
right into your arms
right into your lap: plap,
clap

and you have to catch it
recover from surprise

something from where
you did not expect it

had someone told me
I'd be eating a medium pizza
I'd pay not a penny for
all by myself this evening
I'd have told them they lie

what gifts come down
when we're looking elsewhere

to remind us that it is from heaven
that all life came/that all life comes

futile to look elsewhere
here and there
to this one, that one

who delivers are angels
alighting out of thin air


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
10:25 p.m. 07.04.09

Wholly Weak
for G.M.L.

what about our being all too human,
Gina and me

the other side, the under side
of loveliness

mess to pass and pee to pass
sleep to sleep and dreams to dream

indisposed they say, we say
to cover a host of activities
not to be shared

to be performed, enjoyed
in private

what is stink to others possibly
is sweet to us, is bliss

point of relief, of release
point at what escapes
or is escaping from us

us once, us no more

separate what we eat
what we ate, from feces

where waste and what’s good for us
part company

with whom to share privacy
with whom unembarrassed
about what nature calls forth

inescapable animal element

in juxtaposition to the face
to prepare/we prepare
to meet the faces we must meet

at work or out to eat

out to eat a pretty girl
like a ripe mango
make her drip and cry out

grip the bed sheets
hang on for dear life
as if upon a raft in mid-ocean

sharks in the water
swimming round, circling

as hungry to eat her as I am


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:16 a.m. 07.04.09

I So Fed Up
for Hubert Alexander Ingraham

one thing to get rid of
filthy, nasty litter

must follow this
with getting rid of
filthy nasty people

pluck from among us
as if they were flower petals
all those persons

who do not love their country
who do not love themselves

garbage off the ground
off and out of
the waters of the harbor

how can we leave undisturbed
awful, evil persons

who pollute the air
fill the atmosphere
with smoke,
trash they burn against the law

or equally awful,
equally evil persons
who make thinking straight
impossible

music booming, pounding
artificial, abominable thunder

we subjected
to their clubs over us
we their hopeless,
impotent hostages

of these persons
of those persons

owners of what roars
what rattles, what backfires

these enemies of the state
enemies of the people

lets rid ourselves of these too
while we’re at it

aren’t we after
making a good impression

must uproot, must get rid of
whatever is dirty, nasty

any who would break the law
or drop it

but there are those
who do not just break the law

they pick it up and lick it down
and get away with it

we must cease letting them

these we must extract
like tooth, like teeth

which have been hurting us
too long


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:26 p.m. 04.04.09

Strings Harps Hearts
for Gina Lowe

unusually-made/
beautifully-made mouth

made to fit into mine
or into whose

could drive my Blues away
with kiss, with kisses

made happy
even with a smile

so very easily able
to pull at, to tug at
my heart strings

she can be cruel
or she can be kind

hooked or hitched or tied

moon to tide
similarly connected

moon rises and falls
tides high and low


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
10:13 a.m. 06.04.09
Concluding 10 lines added
between 7:10 and 7:24 p.m.

How about being this good, this skilled at something? Must you not then rise to the top of the milk, to the top of the pile, to the top of the world? Could you help then from being recognized?

I am only just discovering this pianist, Jenny Fu as well as this composer, Carl Maria Friedrich Ernst von Weber.

Obediah Michael Smith.
10:21 p.m. 04.04.09

Erotic Episode

i.
I never withdrew from her

within her still
filling her still

like a filling station
pumping petrol

what capacity she has
for lovemaking

all of me to fill her with

how erect I've been
I've remained
for over a decade

a lifetime inside her
as hard as ever

as long, as large as ever

we've been in love,
making love, it seems

longer than forever

ii.
shove this, shove dick
shove this dick inside you

until there was cream
in streams
everywhere flowing

sweet too sweet
to go any further
any deeper

sweet too sweet
to go on any longer

fuck until your cup overturned

until we spilled
the Caribbean sea
full of sea men
full of sailors

all over the bed

iii.
fuckin' for a Rolls Royce
to win such a prize

fuck until it arrives
within the paper still

gift wrapped
for you to rip open

fuckin' for a Rolls Royce
don't stop until it's sitting

outside your front door
upon your green lawn


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:00 p.m. 02.04.04

The actual colors of my Open Testament cover.