Sunday, May 24, 2009

Wild In A Cage
for Deanah Sweeting

all these years to discover who she is

what moments await us, are stored up for us
if we can only watch and wait
if we can hold out, can hold on

until they come, arriving one by one
like Easter, Christmas, birth days

met her tonight, finally
remember when I first set eyes upon her

how I was smitten, hungry, thirsty
to see her emerge from the store
with what she went shopping for

long ago, but I remember the banana
she emerged eating

I remember her pale blue shorts
I remember my heart swiftly beating
I remember being in awe

how many heartbeats has it been
from then till now

tonight,
to stumble upon her, upon her house,
to discover her dad is my friend

dark like him,
a million times more lovely

in what incubator was she made
14 years ago
14 billion years to go


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
11:56 p.m. 23.05.09

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Tin Tub
for Rachquel Phillipa Walkine


not easy against life's toil and strife
to remain pretty, friendly, nice

what sustains you, keeps you positive
but more than positive, elated or seemingly so

is it a mask you wear or is it joy really

what you can't fake or put on, I'm certain
are your gleaming eyes

out of where does that arise
what reservoir are you tapped into
full of life and light

always near the surface and ready to fly,
a smile, with others following
as easy as birds aroused, about to take off

one following another, off earth or off a lake
or off some place, off to some place

must enter air to enter heaven
or to take off for some other pond,
some other lake, some other land

some birds journey from pole to pole
or east to west about the globe

from what direction did you come
to this place, to this rock
we happen to be together on

eking out a living, smiling about it

is it because earth is not our home
sojourning here, we smile at it as it spins

as if attempting to wring us out
like a mop or like clothes
in an old fashioned tin tub

grandmother washing, wringing
hanging towels, bed sheets, underclothes
out to dry

are we too blowing in the wind
drying on the line

how hard working and how pretty
you are all the time


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
1:52 a.m. 20.05.09

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

From: Obediah Michael Smith
Subject: hand up hand out to get to Havana
Date: Tuesday, May 19, 2009, 4:26 AM

Friends, Family, Fellow Artists & Writers:
How nervous nervous I am about not being able to gather enough to get to Cuba for The 14th Annual Havana International Poetry Festival. I had aimed to collect $3000. I have now been able to reduce the need and cost to about $2000. I have received donations of $500, 200 Canadian dollars of which have come all the way from Canada, from a professor at the University of Toronto and his wife.

Donations are coming in like sweet milk, falling upon cornflakes, from a can just out of the refrigerator. I am scheduled to leave for Havana on Sunday, May 24 and I am still in need of $1500. Please donate whatever you can. It will go a long way and would be highly appreciated.

Hopefully & Prayerfully,
Obediah Michael Smith.

E-Mail back please! ASAP.
bestwordsmith@gmail.com


from Nathalie Wood
To Obediah Michael Smith
Date Tue, May 19, 2009 at 3:27 PM
Subject Re: hand up hand out to get to Havana


I would have helped if I were able to.

If you plan on travelling to Cuba every year, why don't you secure a sponsor unless you don't find running behind people bothersome? Shouldn't the ministry, perhaps tourism, take care of the arrangement and expenses?



from Obediah Michael Smith
To Nathalie Wood
Date Tue, May 19, 2009 at 4:48 PM
Subject Re: hand up hand out to get to Havana


An artist here from Canada suggested that for things like these a national lottery would come in handy.

Interesting the euphemism in your sentence: "... unless you don't find running behind people bothersome".

The bother, I am aware, does go both ways. I do struggle to get though to be able to give.

Last Wednesday, at The Hub, I read a 42 minute poem, Hymns To Him: A Poem of Cuba. It is what I wrote at Havana International Poetry Festival, 2007, the first one I attended. I collected - your donation included, thanks again very much - $3000 in a single week.

This poem is what I have given or what I am giving back. Its worth might not be appreciated at present but I assure you, it will be valued eventually. It is being translated into Spanish to be published in Cuba.

It turns out that that is only half the book. I have to type and polish and add poems from two notebooks from Havana Festival, 2008.

My or our community does not know it needs me or that it needs poetry. It does not at present seem to know the role of poetry and poets. It will eventually. It thinks Junkanoo and sports are enough. A nation though needs more than these two legs to stand on. How can it fight a dragon or dragons when dragons have so many legs?

A nation is also up against millipedes and centipedes. In the face of such adversities, can it afford not to see the worth in what we do and invest in it? I think not, Nathalie, fellow-poet.

The nation ignores us, its poets at it peril. We must be true nonetheless until they discover what we are worth. Let us keep each other pure therefore and driven.

With all my love to you, Obi.
Coin Death Life
for Shenique Hart

with this unworthy energy
unworthy mind

like bringing or like offering up
inappropriate hands
to do a job or to make something with

wish to make poem like cake from scratch
like pottery upon a spinning wheel

something though to reflect you
I love you, you know that

how you sparked it off, light in darkness

girl you ever had to light a pilot light
knowing how dangerous such a thing was
holding a lit match, trembling, waiting

to hear the soft poof when it did light
rather than boom of too much gas
escaped into the air, into the atmosphere

boom loud enough and with enough force
to lift the house roof, blow it off

love can be efficacious or it can destroy
can self destruct, can go up, can blow up

or we can have dinner or we can dance
and flowers can be bought, can be brought
or can be delivered

I like fruit in bowls also
apples, oranges, pears, grapes

I like onions, avocados, yams
mangoes, cantaloupes, watermelons
showing their near red insides

inside a poem I open for you, filled with nice things
against the nastiness of this world
against what annoys, against who annoys

what do you miss most about your island
what do you love most about our capital city

what you triggered off in me
I wish I were able to explain

if I did you might lay no claim to it
might know not of it

silly me, reading what you were not at all sending
or saying
hearing what you were not telling

am I feeling you now, are you feeling me
hearing me

are you helping me invent a poem
one like none which ever was

this is just between us, o.k.
how poems come to be made
my head in your head and yours in mine

it calls for being intimate, into one another
do you mind such intimacy

to hold spiritually and couple and copulate
though as apart as a pen top off a pen

lost, looked for all over the place
until brought together again

can cover the pen when the poem's written
I have a case for it, a place for it

put it away until I have something to say
to you again

write so you can locate me in the dark even
feel about until you find me

I'll be here or I'll be back


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:34 a.m. 19.05.09

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Water for The River
for Adriana Perez-Allen

hardly anything you can say
that can hold water

hardly anything you can say
that is not porous

whatever we are able to make with language
we fill with water and it drips, it leaks

if not immediately, eventually

including what I've written here
including what I'm writing now

sentences, lines of poems, are not cups for tea

language unable to hold water
unable to hold tea, unable to hold pee

language runs like rivers run
always reaching out, stretching out to sea


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:18 a.m. 17.05.09

Friday, May 15, 2009

Here's What I Hear
for Arianne Etuk

quiet as ghosts and as soft

as difficult to fill hands with
to get a handful of

as illusive as this, as illusive as mist

wanting a taste of it, to be filled with it

unable to drink or eat it though
snow cone of snow, sweet milk to cover it

what can I cup you in, contain you in

when you go, you come
so quietly, on quiet feet
pulling at my harp strings

who knows why it's playing
who knows who is plucking out a tune

vibrating strings but no fingers move
none anyone can see

just me singing seemingly
without reason, without cause

you are gone but still with me
still I see, I hear, I feel

the pull of you too strong, too strange
my heart strings, unable to still them

until the song, its highs, its lows
are all out, like tide, like ocean waves

until these are spent
across white sand, a stretch of beach

I want no one walking where
only you can walk and leave no print

weightless one, weightless once


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
12:21 a.m. 15.05.09

Thursday, May 14, 2009

A Green Bench
for E.M.L.

not just about her,
they are as much about me,
my poems of us

makes me feel elegant,
possibility of our having an affair,
beauty and the beast

though the beast has a pen
is a poet, is a wordsmith

is ours a fair trade,
what she gives, what I give back

are we playing tennis
or are we playing squash


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:40 p.m. 14.05.09

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


Add Up To What
for E.M.L.

i.
from what part to town
from the heart of town
from which family island

Abaco or Spanish Well
or Green Castle, Eleuthera

is she related to artist, Alton Lowe

never thought of tying in intimacy
tying intimately

with this part of the population
my part of town, to her part of town

what though is her part of town
who is her family

what would they think of me, say of me
would they accept me, would she

were I to offer myself
along with poems, with pen, with poetry

what if she were offered the entire package
to unwrap, not just poems to read

poems are about relationships after all
not just 154 sonnets to entertain us
not written as academic assignments

written within relationships
like words exchanged in conversation

as liquid, as alive as that, as vital as water, as air

river flowing through a city, flows out to sea
Stratford upon Avon

ii.
layers of friendship, one at a time to remove

until I am, until we are
at the heart of the artichoke, of the onion

sounds of these not as sweet as she is

she does not like her given name

iii.
is she considering, examining
to see if she and I fit, if I fit the mystery
if she and I fit mysteriously

might we, by divine decree, to an extreme degree

what of the possibility of her and me, combined
being like a drink which never was

as refreshing as could be
for the thirst of the world
would we, could we be drink for all the world

or should we, selfishly, drunk ourselves
night after night, until we die

she knows what’s on my bank accounts
nothing much

I’m unable to impress financially
unable to lie about what’s in the bank
she is my banker, she sees me bare

what have I to offer, in addition to song


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 10:48 a.m.
Monday, May 11 and 2:32 a.m.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Monday, May 11, 2009

Molasses Morning
for Gina Lowe

what’s ephemeral perches, stays
purchased, pinned down

things otherwise, lift into the air
gone like an hour of the day

like dawn or noon or twilight
when it’s gone it’s gone
when it’s done it’s done

things we want around
those we want with us
how I wonder, does she feel

some one to be faithful to
learn to be or try to be

she’d have art to love
lots to feast on

emotionally bare, actually bare
we’d bathe in laughter,
sweet as molasses

listening to Annie Fischer play Liszt,
Piano Concerto No. 1

missing having breakfast
in Memphis, with Oran,
in The Pancake House


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:41 a.m. 10.05.09

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Three Pieces
for Julia Ames

i.
Cleophas

he’s beginning to wear his mouth
like an old man

in public, playing piano

without giving a shit
about it

ii
Tia & Fred

would eat me like a wolf
were I to turn up at his door

for something I wanted
or for something grandmother
sent me for

after Joseph Spence’s music
and he has some, has all

I’m timid though to go by

afraid of his teeth ending
deep in me

hungry for meat, for me

he seems to think
I’m sweet

iii.
Nicolette

wanting to be able
to cut and to bleed

able to hear it when she writes
and when she speaks

wanting to break out
though she’s on the inside

wanting to cast a spell
though she can spell very well

wanting to be as ungrammatical
as can be, can hear and can see

dog on a chain, dog on a leash
is instead lion, tiger
unable to be tamed or chained

able to roar still
able to make thunder roll
the welkin ring

chains of rhyme
she can pop when she pleases
if she pleases

in spite of Cambridge, Q.C.
C.O.B.


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 8:41 p.m., Saturday,
May 9 and 12:20 a.m.
Sunday, May 10, 2009

Saturday, May 09, 2009

Bon Appétit
for Shenique Davis

she used to go through me
I used to let her, she used to let me

we used to love crazily, passionately

what used to rise up in her, rise up in me
emotionally, occasionally
overwhelming mutually

we used to draw near
we used to pull away
fearing beauty, what was crazy

fearing being carried away
too far, too swiftly

that was love and beauty
as strong as I have ever known

to the edge of it, to the brink of it
as far as she and I ever went

bucket, river, well
we'd go to drink, trembling

last time I held her, she held me
what joy, what memories
what blood rushing through us

up river, around bends

how shaken we were
to see each other


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:27 a.m. 09.05.09
Poem After Proposing
for Gina Mercedes Lowe

what could we between us make

could I make you into
you make me into

together you or I I feel
can change the world
the composition of the universe

do we dare, should we try

I think transformation
has already commenced occurring

the universe already
is beginning to recompose
to reconfigure itself about us

what is it about us

now I know you will run and hide


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:29 p.m. 07.05.09
Clothes Doors
for V.N.P.S.

i.
let the camera frame you
clothe you, nothing besides

nothing outside of it
to put on or to wear

back to Eden
to these Edenic shores

Adam is a cameraman
must photograph
what he names, what ages

as the world turns
as the leaves turn

ii.
with his camera
as if by magic
he flashes off
flashes away
what a model might be wearing

does not stop flashing
until she is topless

and still does not stop
until she is entirely bare

made bare by his camera
flashing away

without ever otherwise
lifting a finger

iii.
photographer
like a cold blooded killer

but no less so
are some of his models

he shoots
but they are shooting back
shooting too


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 4:08 a.m. and 6:14 a.m.
on Thursday, May 7, 2009

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Away Like Cedric

wherever you go you’d still be on earth
with air to breathe

and being an artist, very near broke
and writing about it, inspired by it

always a bit worried, unless it’s a place
where artists are paid,

where art is bought
where poetry books are purchased

and you can feel a bit better than you do

always giving something for nothing
with your own needs not met

and you have to beg with a cup
or with your hand or hands cupped

to get out of a slump or out of a hole


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:59 p.m. 06.05.09

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

On A Tiny Page
for Gabriela Prado

icy eyes
sea eyes
under sea eyes

fish seeking fish
seeking food

some having to leap
to leave the water

for their own safety
and splash back

under sea eyes
sea eyes
icy eyes


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:52 p.m. 01.05.09

Monday, May 04, 2009

As Soft As Hush
for P.A.

i.
when we were boys on our dad’s farm
when we had to go, we went in the bushes
we’d clean with leaves or with stones

an older cousin used to advise
my brother, Kevin and me

have I outgrown Ceddy’s wisdom


what would he have said

about a woman whose eyebrows meet

what is said about such women
about such persons

attached with latch, latch on a screen door
easy to close, as easy to open

our dog never barks, never bites
our door never bangs

ii.
no one touches me as gently
and at once as aggressively as she does

her ability to combine
such opposite dynamics
is an amazing gift, is a miracle almost

as if I were being touched physically
when all she uses is voice

connected intricately, emotionally
the moment I come into the store

such active interaction until I’m served
and reluctantly leave

able to interact and to connect like this
though she is married

as close as pups in a litter must feel
as close as squealing piglets
muddied, feeding

how they rub and bump and fall
against each other, frolic together

she and I have hardly ever actually touched
but how we connect, how we’re connected

while I’m shopping in the convenience store
as well as afterwards, as well as always

since we reunited,
away from Marlborough Antiques
where she worked and I shopped
for art and books

in the store where she works now
I go to buy bread and cheese
bananas, lemons and water
in 5 gallon bottles

with which I’d have to
across the street
struggle home


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Begun 29.04.09 concluded 02.05.09
Hands Cards

cut God right in half
with what’s secular
and what’s sacred

when he made all the world
when every second’s his

what is his is what is first
as well as what is second



© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
3:44 p.m. 22.04.09

Sunday, May 03, 2009

When Dawn Breaks
for Noelle Nicolls &
Roan Kirk Anthony Steele

seed of death in us

when it germinates
like seeds,
it's time to be buried

eventually we will all
have been picked

waves upon a beach arriving
staggered, sliding back,
down again

how and when we come in
when and how we go out

our lights or when our house
goes up in smoke--up in flames

when our time comes
when our number's called

answer or not, hide or hide and seek
we will be carried off

our part in the play, our lines said

after which, afterwards
vacate the stage

character in a drama
set down, plucked up

cast in fire, cast in flames

our flower petals fall like tears
fruit and seeds come round again

another cycle of life
another day, when dawn breaks


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
7:12 a.m. 03.05.09
Poem for Gina
for G.M.L.

no gun required, already inspired
by almost white hands
by pretty plastic ring

not a wedding band, she assured me

though it's on that finger

I always need to examine her closely
examine her swiftly
go over her with my eyes

I am not intimidated, she assured me

feeling the need to apologize
for too intense attention

I had to tell her
that I tremble
to look at her


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
4:55 p.m. 22.04.09

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Map of the World
for G.M.L.

i.
silly love song
silly in love

or have I lost faith
in where, in love leads

down that road
a time or two

love knocking at my door
I knocking
on the door of love to be let in

want to try again, maybe this time
it would turn out right
rather than how a sore turns out

what if this time, as with Voltaire,
as in Candide

old man covered in sores,
desiring a hug, gets a hug,
transforms into an angel

transports you to heaven
to happiness unimagined

want to trust love once more
go through its door
if she allows, if she lets me

even if it is the end of a life
beginning of another
ready for transformation

like no one I’ve ever encountered
on this planet or on any other

into toilets I come to write of her
where inspiration comes

she turns toilets into temples
in them I worship, thank God

need to become a new creature
deserving of her, one she deserved

need to be, as well as to have
what is most precious to give her

God knows she deserves
the stars in heaven
in a crown on her head

she is queen of the world

is this world good enough
will it whirl us into a couple
what will it whirl out of us

before we’re dust, before we’re ashes

I need to dispatch a dozen roses
why have we, I wonder,
ten fingers, ten toes

together we’d have twenty of each
and how many more
when we’re joined by children

happy and pretty as she is

ii.
idea of our having been
whirled together
in this world which spins together
which spins apart

what has the potter in mind
to make

already made elements
to make another mixture

world without end
never stops spinning
what does he intend
to make of us, to make us into

already made, always his desire
to make us anew

us in his blender
what punch for the world
what potent sip

what place to sit, to lie, to slip
egg in my milk shake

seeing her always
leaves me inebriated

like brandy in drinks
mom used to make daddy
when his back was weak

how many weeks have I known her
how weak I am for how lovely she is

how beautiful she is

iii.
when is your birthday
she asked, for some reason

how sore my butt is, how it hurts
to sit upon certain spots

must find new positions
not warn, not bruised

at my computer sitting
day after day
all through the night
night after night

I get a lot done
in addition, this sitting
doing what I do
writing what I write
is undoing me

my backside sore, my neck stiff

for some odd reason
this need to share what’s delicate
tell her my hip hurts

intimacy to enter, to invite her into
allow our two lives kisses

what if she and I fitted
like a hat fits, like shoes fit,
like gloves fit

what if I were able to afford
to love

able to afford this pretty,
infinitely priceless lady

who thinks I’m somebody

iv.
quality person or not at all

I mussie too picky
I’ve been so selective
for so many years
all my life actually

why I’m not married

need who would be ideal
to complete me
to add to the mixture that I am

avoiding all these years
the wrong ingredients
in my omelet, in my soup

cinnamon, nutmeg
in my corn meal, oat meal

no desire to intake, to eat
who or what would hurt my stomach
once I swallowed

how very sensitive my belly is
my nose is

don’t want to have to throw up
or sneeze

bringing things up too long

having to avoid things
and people of this world

who would do would have
to have come from heaven
would have to have arrived on wings

will we eventually
have rings to exchange
vows to exchange

v.
in the toilet with you again
us two in the toilet where I reign

I should have had kingdoms
to share with you
for you to be queen of

but already you are queen
of all you smile on, smile over
of wherever you walk
holy ground beneath your feet

wish I had cloaks enough
to cover wherever you walked

Elizabeth and Walter Raleigh
have both long passed away

there’s nothing more precious
than air we breathe

how did we come to be alive
in the same hour, same city,
same century

centuries pass, are spent
when I see you, when you see me

when you and eye meet

vi.
what she stirs in me
like nothing I’ve known before

like no one I’ve known before
seen before

like someone from dreams
day dreams, wet dreams

someone I knew in other lives
here in the flesh
unable to believe my eyes

must pinch myself
to be good, to be true

where from here
apart or together
or into each other

change ourselves
along with the universe

what have I found

is this the ground or heaven
am I awake or dreaming

I make her as nervous
as she makes me

though she has declared
that I frighten her
not even a little bit

vii.
seeing her, what joy

what ability she has
to make my day

is it she who will end up
owning my Dali lithograph

copyright to all I’ve written
poems of her, love poems
of other women

my bones in a grave
to her attached as well eventually

what of the man/of the men
in her life, after I’m gone
after I’ve passed away

hope one of them is a son,
our own

I’ll have to make a will
what to leave to whom

if only I could live
and be happy, oh God
until I’m 88 at least

could how deeply I’m thrilled
by her in my life,
inspire me to live a long time

rather than give up the ghost
when death raps

first knock and I collapse
with a heart attack

or because of her in my life
tell death to go away, to call back
when happiness evaporates

with her about, it never will

I want to die
with a smile on my face
with joy in me heart

with her in the room
to kiss me good night
to close my eyes

I’d order her not to cry
she will anyway


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written between 5:55 p.m.
and 10:05 p.m. on Friday,
May I, 2009
What Hands Are For
for Vanessa Linden

what a thrill to be useful
to have had to struggle a little
to assist you, to please you

how worried I was for a while
and how desperate, amid difficulty
fearing I’d not have succeeded

feared I hadn’t
the required strength in my fingers
fearing I’d not have been able
to get the right grip

grip required to turn a stubborn screw

after I’d gotten it loose,
you came along, undid it the rest of the way

releasing a trickle of milk


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
8:38 p.m. 01.05.09

Friday, May 01, 2009

As Near As My Computer
for Karisma Registry

like a great strawberry to bite into
in her tight, red panties

so very near the camera, the viewer
with her legs apart

wicked chicken
knowing I’m hooked, knowing I’m hers
smiles slyly with me, with so many

and swings an arm, and winds her waist
her gesture of farewell

am I in heaven or am I in hell
hungry, thirsty for a girl
I am unable to reach, to get to
through glass

am I, are we animals in a zoo
is she the zoo keeper

or is it she in a cage as it were
and we have come to view
a wild girl


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
2:34 a.m. 01.05.09
Can Party and Cry
for Karisma Registry

day breaks
where thighs meet in tight shorts

squeaks through, squeezes through
as light does, through stained glass

must confess, want to worship
seeing you dance in shorts, tight as skin

what a grip--shorts hug you
hold you, expose what they hide

grow hungry for it, for hairy pussy lips
or do you/or have you shaved

my heart races, along with several
hundred thousand others, while you dance

beast in you calls to beasts in us
how hard you screw and screw us

are you wicked enough for all of us
craving a moment in hell

with you to light our fires
to roast our nuts like chestnuts


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
5:49 a.m. 30.04.09