Sunday, February 28, 2010

Smile for the Camera
for D.B.A.

truth telling
to tell the truth
truth be told

honest about the state she's in
about how she feels

though she wears a minimal amount
of make up
though her eye brows are altered
are modified

with red carnation above left ear
in her extra-carefully braided hair

face she wears
is not a mask

it is her own face she wears
herself she displays, bares

disarms who is looking at her
take off putting on
she instructs, advises without a word

truth be told, she tells truth
chilly to drink this time of year

Ovaltine with sweet milk time
or Milo time or coco time

a mug of one of these
for her as well
to put a smile upon her face

like the taste of truth she pours
out pours, fills my cup with

way to town from where she is
a bus rout, seventy-five cents fee

she's a school child still


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:08 p.m. 27.02.10

Saturday, February 27, 2010

With the Tip of My Pen

see a woman from behind
in jeans

and all you think about is
the church steeple
and when I get to heaven
or if I can

steep climb to the steeple
to the mountain peak

to be tempted as was our Lord
in the wilderness


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
5:05 p.m. 18.02.10
The Undertaker’s Daughter
for Marion Bethel

haunted I am, she is
or is she, about her dad
over how he went missing

wrote “The Undertaker’s Daughter”
about it

worked on it at UWI, Cavehill,
in a workshop, in summer, 1999
it appeared not long after, in Poui 2

don't know how ol' I was when
I heard on der news of her dad
going missing

of his plane going down
or lost, never found

went away to somewhere
among our family islands
and never returned

no body nor wrecked aircraft
ever located or recovered

remember wanting to hear
the end of the story
wanting it to conclude

like some tale Kafka wrote
I have all these years been suspended

like something you are unable
to rest down

no matter how tired your arms get
or whatever else or with which muscles
you were holding it up, keeping it up

but this for me
was but an event on the news
he but a member of the Bahamian family
this man lost though was her dad

is poetry what she uses all these years later
to work it out, to get a handle
on what she could not otherwise resolve

did this loss help her to find poetry
lead her to it

with her pen and mine
we dig for ghosts

we use pens to bury the dead
after digging their deep graves

how grave the many in Haiti, dead
an earthquake fallen on them
earth opening up and swallowing them

was her dad a victim
of the devil's triangle
full of water, waves
instead of flames, licking hot lips


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:41 a.m. 15.01.10
Fish Scales to Weigh Her In
for Arianne Etuk

words to capture
what words cannot

shiver to think of her
the pleasure too great

I know no lady more lovely
what a reward

to be able to call her friend
to fill her senses with who
with what I am

my essence, my being
inside her brain, her eyes
I for her to recognize

imagine her being glad to see me
how rich I am

able to enter her
like air enters, fills lungs

I take a deep breath when I see her
wherever

refreshed as when
one happens by the sea
and wants ones fill of sea air

bouquet of it, its cleansing odor
cleansing to me too
when I happen to see her

how she is, how she moves
unbelievably beautiful,
remarkable woman

Nigerian dad, Bahamian mom
flavor of a citizen, essence rare

here or on planet earth any where
so unusual

I see her and I marvel
she seems to know me
whom does she know
what does she know

as familiar as only a few people are

who is she, what is it
that she triggers off

I'd be too crazy about her
did I not hold back
did I not exercise control

in God's name what gift this is
her to befriend

what in addition to words
can I give this unusual woman

what she reveals, exposes,
exposes me also

allows to be on show
allows access to what
is usually enclosed in a shell
or within high walls inside a castle
with mote

tender loving life
how I'll envy who she marries

how I wish I were able
to have been born again
to be suitable for such a one
for such a woman

what her beauty triggers off
what her loveliness inspires

I see her and words tumble down
like rain or snow upon the ground
upon their knees to worship
and adore her

how is it
our wanting who we have already
are we not already divinely connected
is it like fish you're tied to

out to sea, rise into the air
too beautiful for words

sunlight upon it
want it, instead of out there
want it on the deck of your craft

to marvel at, up close
and to weigh if you want to


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
15.01.10
Fountain Pen
for D.B.A.

I hope I soak your panties with my poems
as merciless with you I must be
as you are with me
you shake me like a tree
and would not let me be


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:30 a.m. 26.02.10

Friday, February 26, 2010

morning love song
for d.b.a.

own her
my own her
woman of mine
my own woman

allowed possession
enough to fill my belly
a belly full, a fist full
a full cup of her

or I fuss until it's overflowing
brimming over

bring my head down quick
to stop even a tiny bit of her
from wasting

slurp and lick and sip
however hot she is
burn my mouth
what do I care
as long as
not a molecule
is wasted

lick my lips
to taste her
to taste it
9:26 a.m.
26.02.10
Beams of Sunlight
for A.G.P.

already connected to the supernatural
to the Almighty

need you fear some other power
some lesser deity

which only exist if you’re stupid
if you’re superstitious
if you’re childish in your mind
or in your faith

face to God, God to face
faith in God, God in faith

outside of you in him and him in you
you and him and him and you

is anything left unaccounted for
leave no room for foolishness

with your hand in the hand of the man
who stills the waters, calms the seas

what can squeak in or out
or squeak through
sneak in or out or sneak through

let the light squeak in, squeak through
it does when morning comes

leaks in through cracks
open the windows up


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:37 p.m. 24.02.10
In My Craft My Art
for D.B.A.

these artists and their models
and their contact and I envy
and I envious

or I should be or should I be glad
for safety, for distance, for pictures

should I envy risking
falling into the pit of it

pitch into the pit, tar in the pit
fire in the hole

I have a stick of dynamite
to stick in and explode

not the kind to send rocks flying
pieces everywhere

just a piece here and there
now and then, so that she can
that we can, afterwards
sleep peacefully
sleep in peace

wife to be
does not like me writing these
though words assemble themselves
upon paper

am I an innocent bystander
or am I to blame
for the scheme of love
for the flame of love

aglow in the night
aglow in my life

wherever did she come from
into my words

my words not the same
since I saw her

should I have closed my eyes
not look, turned my head away

instead I stayed for sirens
who lure you to dismantle you
body and soul
along with your dinghy boat


© Obediah Michael smith, 2010
6:43 a.m. 24.02.10
Cocks Fight

i.
stretch marks, fresh tits
teeth marks, nipples, lips

nipples, teeth
nibble nipples
dribble, nipples

lips dribble
horizontal, vertical wet places
mouth to mouth
to resuscitate her

bound to faint
under the weight
of too much to enjoy

ah, upon the rope I cross
to her heart, all my weight

wait a minute
allow her to mature

is this warning correct
is she not ripe already

would you leave her
like water melon or tomatoes
spoiling on the vine

give her intellect room

pick her as I have done
as I am doing
put her in poems

able to keep there
better than if stored
on a shelf in a refrigerator
or in a deep freeze

deep freeze for her
to go off to to study
east or west,
way north somewhere

ii.
cock not enough

to knock upon her door with
won’t want to break down her door
with my dick

this to get up in her

good for her or not
wanting her warm climate
hot pussy with a fever
approach a hundred degrees

always summer up in her
and humid

human to desire sex
head to body, connected by the neck

cock head to insert in her
afterwards shove the rest

would she holler, would she cry
what would she/might she cry

a cock could alter history
hers and mine
of her country and mine

of all mankind
would that be cruel


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
3:00 p.m. 24.02.10
Grapefruit Feast
for D.B.A.

I ate it all
I ate it up
grapefruit I thought
I’d saved piece of

must not ever be
in such a predicament
where you are concerned

however much I eat
I’d want there to be more

however much I ate of you
I know in no time flat
I’d hunger still
I know I would want more

every time I turned
I’d want to find
a whole grapefruit
upon a plate or platter
with the skin off

no more to do
than to pull your plugs apart
bite into your heart
make you laugh


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:00 a.m. 25.02.10
Peas Soup
for Z.P.A.

on facebook
she asked me to send her
to surrender
my e-mail account

she has something to send me
she said

ever since, I’ve been wondering
what could it be
wondering what it is

just now, I jumped up
sat up in bed

oh, my, I thought
what if it is a pot
or a bowl

of her peas soup
full of dumplings


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:13 p.m. 24.02.10

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Fortunate Cookie
for Kelsha Roberts

i.
psychic gifts sufficient to know
she was 18 five years ago

though she said a week or so ago
that she is 18,
accepted it then

are you 18 still, I asked, a week later
and she laughed
and said, yes

and I said, but that was 5 years ago
it turned out to be so

ii.
wanted to a say her name
know it would have been
music to hear, music to her ear

combed my note book,
the pages of it, back and forth
before I ordered my box of rice
and after

without it turning up
needed to have placed it in my head
I told myself, rather than on a page
must do that now

need to have it, whenever I, in need,
reach for it

what a lovely name it is
one of a kind

her name as well as
the woman she is


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
5:39 p.m. 19.02.10

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Juju Season
for D.B.A.

you too sweet
yur make mur mout water

i am terribly unfaithful
i confess to you
not to who wish me to

tell her not to worry
you know she should
i know she should

God has to save me
i know he will

deep space big space
you're in in my heart

what a flavor of love this is


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:59 a. m. 24.02.10

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Dream Girl
for D.B.A.

i.
joy like agony
you merciless
I holler loud
I think of you
unbearable joy

don't know what to do
about or what to do with you

what you do with me, to me
do not know how
you do what you do

you'd do it good
you'd do it bad

I got it good
I got it bad
is that good

ii
try again to tell you
language to confess in

want to tell and not tell
say to you directly
what yur do, what yur mean

it een easy
ta jus open yur mout', yur heart
ta say it, ta tell it, to confess

yur gat me on yur line, like fish

it gur be so sweet ta be in yur pot
in your stew, in your belly

oh, my God
gotten into you the wrong way
way down the wrong passage

my conch is what
I should have given you

imagined into being
you know conch een ge' no bone

is bone, my dog
what you have a collar for

what you callin' for

what you holler for


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
11:15 p.m. 22.02.10

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Two Telephones
for D.B.A.

affects me for weeks
like no one on earth
like no one ever met

like no one I’d meet
unless it is her again

around the bend running
run into my shadow
coming towards me
coming to meet me

no sweet chariot this evening
this week

what's sweet to feast on
nothing like water melon

drop it, burst it,
pick up one hunk or another hunk

my Lord is writing
my Lord is writing
my Lord is writing all the time

on the radio, round midnight

reminder, reassurance
that the boss is on board

boat won't capsize
storm won’t sweep away
love and life, her and me

what on earth says we cannot
laugh up a storm
laugh up a breeze

relate like twins relate
who, jealous of us
will intervene when

will say
two hearts cannot bounce
like two skipping, happy
like bettyandisbel

unbelievable that we relate
like we do, take risks
say words we say

what can we not say
do we dare say
on a day like today

language wants to laugh
and I let it

two pens for sword play
to sword fight

two friends
like some rock formation
ice formation

ice tea or ice cream sundae
treat to pass time
to put hours in, weeks in

they'd waste otherwise
all over the place

like when in May
snow melts, slow melts
slowly melts
and runs and drains


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:08 p.m. 21.02.10
Our Daily Bread
for D.B.A.

she has a sad side
other side of a coin

as near as that
to what joy she knows

able to switch like a light switch
off/on on/off

observed in person
see it
in the switch of expressions
in photographs of her

photographs she’s taken
she shares

no comment about her other side
but I observe it
wonder about it

from extroverted

to introverted
in a flash

am I implying
that these are symptoms
that something’s wrong

what I know is
I do not like when
in a moment she is withdrawn
and I must draw her out again

with something colorful
some tidbit, something tasty

I’d wish, I’d prefer though
that she did not go there
brooding about something

is something wrong
has something happened
which should not have
or should not have
happened yet

has someone seen
or done unto her
what they should not have
who should not have

has some son-of-a-bitch
trespassed
against her


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
7:44 p.m. 20.02.10

Saturday, February 20, 2010

18 Once
for D.B.A.

i.
idea of us, timid to put her in it
in this, even if it is a net of words
we’re in together

equation of us as difficult
or more difficult
than hazel nuts
to crush, to crack, to crash

to extract the meal inside
timid to make shells
with her and me in them
like yin and yang, like twins

what if she had
elsewhere to go
elsewhere to be

what if she needed
to break open a text book

lay it apart to study
to prepare for exams

as much as I wish her to be
want her to be part of me

would not want her to be
apart from the world she's in actually

apart from her pace and place
in the world

she can join the madness of art
the mad man I am
when high school is over with
when exams are behind her

won't want to interrupt
won't want to rupture
membrane containing her

rub the tummy she's in all I like
but I must wait until
after she is born to hold her
to lift her up, to baby sit her

ii.
her prepositions
inviting me, urging me
to write about her
of her, on her

and my mind and emotions
haywire, in a tangle
I have to loose out

too young, too innocent
to be aware or entirely aware
of double entendre
of double intentions

I laugh, I'm careful
not wanting to read in
what was not written in
what was not intended

someone or other
heaven sends along

when we get to those junctures
to those forks in the road

to conduct us onward
knowing the way
no need to pause here

let us keep going
I know your destination
where you have to be when
way for you to get there

I get where I need to be
when I need to be there
with you to guide

18 once myself

and angels came with wings

they came
and trusting
I went flying
as if upon a magic carpet


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 5:45 p.m.
and 7:35 p.m. on Friday
19.02.10

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Toussaint’s Children
for Antoinette Gloria Penha

even before the earthquake

what Haitians in Haiti let-

have allowed to happen to
to happen with human life

sights and stories
to cause you
to bring
or to want to
bring up
what you had for breakfast


able to butcher a human being
until he or she were in pieces
without feet or hands or limbs

until a brain in a head
was upon a pavement
or upon a sidewalk

too extreme the carnage
too extreme the chaos,

the fuss, the fights

from the nights of the revolution

similar nights ever since

able to boil over any minute
over any unresolved matter

able to massacre
a congregation in prayer
people in church

able to, with machetes
kill a pregnant woman

I know a little about mayhem
I know of the hem
of the garment of Christ

of a woman with
an issue of blood

needing to touch it
needing to clutch it

what does Haiti need
to grab hold of to heal


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:30 p.m. 17.02.10

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Uncork Champagne
for D.B.A.

i.
where is here, where is now
I’d know when I see her
where and when we meet

moment and place that matters
that would be where it’s at

usually I am
hanging out with her pictures
she, with my poems

where her pictures, my poems cross
is certainly somewhere significant

but where and when we meet
that would be here, that would be now
that would be where it’s at

the present, a present
with her and me in it, as if wrapped in it

will she wear a bow
will a ribbon be around her

gift with her and me in it
in a dark box, until the lid is taken off

when the stone was rolled away
what light shone, what a new day

what and where is the present
I’ll know when she and I meet

where she and I met
where east and west cross
where wood pieces cross

our paths crossed
and my life changed
and her life changed
and the whole world changed

where will we roll it
like a bowling ball

will any pins be left standing
when the ball this world is
from her mind and my mind
from her hands and my hands
is released, and wham

and a forest of trees
are flat on the ground

flat on her back
on the floor of a forest

I looking at her
awaiting instructions

ii.
I am not good
with the time on the clock

forgive me, I never was
I never will be
rivers just run

clocks tick, bombs tick
snow falls, rain falls, waterfalls

to get into love
necessary similarly
to tumble down

like water, like snow,
like an avalanche

iii.
the intellectual and the body
the intellect and the body

which to address
which to undress

look down to see her
eyes fall from conversation
to what is made for clothes

without clothes, what where,
what here, what there

intellectually connected
eyes connect
I collect what I can
what eye can drink
what I can think up

I look down like a crime
I was committing

stealing sweets, stolen sweets
to unwrap

wrappers drop
mouth for sugar daddy
for candies, for toffee

bite or suck or chew or what
too eager, too greedy to decide

allowed a little
or allow myself a little

but a sip of what is so inebriating

drunk as well by conversation
in conversation, she’d laugh
but not out loud

covers her mouth with her hand
embarrassed is she
about emotions
about her body
about her intellect

I want to free her
pull the stopper out
let Champagne spout

iv.
I only didn’t get to wash
my entire back

washed where I could reach
above hips, over one shoulder
then over the next

truth be told,
I did not wash my neck

the rest of me though
head to toe,
visited with soap and water

too cold to do this
or to attempt to

in winter on New Providence
in my house, cold as a dungeon
in December, in January, in February

like a cat, I’ve been avoiding water
but out of the blue, a date
and guess who wit’

girl 18, a muse of mine
occasion to see her

not just pictures
not just online

meeting in person
beard had to go

I had to go into the water
and suffer, and tremble
and holler

v.
woman I came upon
Starbucks back room

words cannot do justice
cannot capture that moment

thought of knowing it was she
woman I was meeting

expected a child, becoming a woman
in flux, in transition

is she here, where is she
my eyes wandering

quick breathing,
heart beating, beating

feet searching
floor like a studio for ballet
pale wood pieces
fitted together

where could she be
where is she

she could not have/
would not have left
before I could board ship

she had to be here
be there, somewhere

back to me, before her
stretch of glass
out through which
you could see the harbor

could see tourists
could see ships
could see sea gulls

could this be the woman
the creature, the creation
I am here to see, I wondered

even though I have photographs
recent ones of her

I was unprepared for what I saw
her from behind, her hips in her jeans
contour of her anatomy

woman, her beauty
not easy to surpass

grapefruit tree, full of grapefruit
anyone of them, requiring two hands
to hold

have I become this fortunate
am I this rich

remember her now, younger
in a photograph, a series of them

of her upon the lap
of a young man in a car

only now am I able
to imagine the fun
he must have been having

how overjoyed he must have been
no more room, no more space

for more hips in front or back
of the car they were in

overjoyed that his lap
was where she ended up

her weight would be
even sweeter now

my lap the lap to take off from
to get to heaven


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 11:25 p.m.
Monday, 15.02.10 and
2:03 p.m. Wednesday
17.02.10

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Pissing off St. Valentine

two men pissing in my yard today
open my window, shouted,
"Y'all trespassin'!"

didn' know no one was livin' here
we jus' come from church, dey say
as if any shit dey do is holy

I is a spider, I have a big web
I have to run, without en'
from one en' to der nex

when someone or something or other
pull upon it, trow something into it
rub up against it or bump into it

not enough to remain stationed
in the middle, at the center

though I am the beating heart of the web
they think the spider who built it
who owns it, whose home it is
was dead, is buried

spider who is alive and well
is in love, it's Sunday
it's Valentine's Day


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:50 p.m. 14.02.10
In a Molecule of Water
for Dion & Romaina

Dion and his girlfriend
Valentine again
still together I see

how many billion flowers
since they met
have dropped their petals

challenged to write
a poem for them
at the drop of a hat
in response to request

must put the whole world in it
must leave not a thing out

must recreate the world
in words, as our Maker did
in six days, in the beginning

when I rest my pen down
poem requested, commissioned
must be finished

petals drop
but the planets orbit
attached to the spheres
they're in

Dion and Romaina, similarly
lovers forever, bonded for life

like oxygen and hydrogen
in a molecule of water


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
5:35 a.m. 14.02.10
Veil Divided
for D.A.

not even twenty
that hole to climb from
yet we connect
yet we're connected

why this is, how is this
twine wind round
earth going round

somebody spinning it
spinning us

a friendship
into oneness

have done it
continue to

began it when we met
or when I saw her
and my eyes shut
rocked open

there was daylight
she was in it

with hands attempted
attempting to close back
veil divided

light streaming in
what had been
a moment before
a dark room,
my dark room

picture all of a sudden
developing
in a flash
before me

what was I to do
or am I to do

was it a breeze assisting
was it the earth
oscillating still

was it the skirt she purchased
chose to wear
and since, I am helpless
or is she assisting

taken possession
my pen in hand
guides it, it glides
across pages

in a calendar
had a painting, a copy

original made by artist
without arms
brush in a firm grip
in his teeth

with which muscles
in which sweet wet cavity
dipped, dripping

does she hold
the pen I write with
poems she inspires

what does she know
about desire
about such fires
at 18


©Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:39 p.m. 13.02.10

Friday, February 12, 2010

Für Elise
for A.G.P. & Z.P.A.

were I able to
I'd make music
with the women in me

with the feelings in me
the conflict and harmony

were I Beethoven
I'd compose a fugue
or if I were Bach

mais je suis poet
with a pen alone
without the gift of music

except muted
like music in sonnets
by Keats or Shelly
or by Shakespeare

we are the men
afflicted with love
with words alone
to sneeze in response

I wish oftentimes
I were able to sneeze music

I'd have sneezed out
Für Elise a few times


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
5:52 p.m. 10.02.10
Use to Be Friends
for Vanessa Linden

that was it for her and me

she became a stranger then
a stranger again

imagining the men's room
she had just cleaned
was too clean for me

the door is locked, she said
and I don't have the key,
she lied

it has been cleaned for tomorrow

it was today then
it is today now
as it always will be

our friendship slipped from us

now a part of yesteryear
of yesterday


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:50 p.m. 11.02.10

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Oranges on a Boat from Andros
for Wilshire and Andrea Bethel

he exudes success from all his pores

not like me
on some days rich, on some days poor
in some ways rich, in some ways poor
on Sundays rich, on Mondays poor

he exudes success from all his pores

not like those, like tides
which rise and fall

it’s been like this, it’s been high tide
for him for years

wish I knew what his secret was
want to be like him
before I grow old
before it gets cold


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
7:59 p.m. 10.02.10

Sunday, February 07, 2010

Into My Words
for D.B.A.

write of you or pop like balloon
want something badly, unable to get it
you feel you might crack
like something might pop

das how I feel
in response to response
in response to her words

das how she's been
since she slipped into my senses
and into my words

into her world and into mine
this trade, exchange
and ever since, what transformation

thirst when without her
when I go for long without a word

when I get word, when I hear from her
I ache anew, another way
ache which joy causes

end of school, a woman already
a woman a while

more and more dangerous to look at
more and more daring
the outfits she wears

man that I am in a little girl’s hands
or how it seems

but she knows how to hold,
how to grip me, what to do
when she makes me weak

when I weep for joy
these poems I write


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:24 p.m. 07.02.10
Made for Walking
for Sonia Farmer & for Diana Wallace

unlike old leather shoes
of which Van Gogh made a portrait

which he immortalized
painted as if it was
the owner’s face he captured

all he has in his brush hairs
this old pair of once, brand new,
leather shoes

which have gone miles
which know the ropes,
the road, the weather

the leather held up and then gave in
who wore them though
off the scene, off the stage

must be as worn as his shoes
unless he’s left them, passed away

a finger pointed to, pointed out
red, leather boots

at a poetry reading recently
invited me to put them in poetry

I looked,
dismissed them
as unfit for poetry

they fit, they suit the woman in them

portion of them to turn up or turn down
about the ankles

wooly without when down
wooly within when up
about ankles in snow in New York
when away from home

what have they though to say to poetry
what has poetry, a poet
to say of what has no voice yet
no history

like a new car,
recently out of the show room
finds the road strange

shoes in a store window a week ago
on feet, on the ground

a stranger, shy yet
just stepped into this world

or calves or cubs
just born again


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
3:43 p.m. 05.01.10
Not Allowed a Pinch
of S.F.

not satisfied to have almost all of her
jealous of my little bit of her as well

how greedy love is, a lover is
I on the other hand,
must do without so much of her
large portion that’s his

her arms, almost as white as milk, raised
her underarms, from where
she’d have recently, with razor or cream,
removed hair

I had this sudden urge
to plant a kiss or two in her right arm pit
bury my face there for a moment or two

we were in public though
her jealous lover not far off

I do at times thirst for her though
for her milk-whiteness

part of her that’s mine, was mine
before she met him, before he came along

he wants to put his arms about her
encircle her, make a circle about her
wall out all the world, like walls about a city

but even a city needs who comes and goes
needs to export and to import
like inhalation, exhalation

need her, needs me
what can he do with or about who are friends
about two friends

relying upon each other
even if nights in winter, in summer
he’d lie with her

he’s seen her naked, held her in his arms
like a tall glass of milk, he has emptied
over and over again

what I get a sip of,

what I am only allowed to sip from

thoughts now and then
have flashed through my mind
to climb into her like a milk bath

to waller, splash about,
nutmeg in milkshake


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
11:31 a.m. 03.01.10
What to Wear
for Sonia Farmer

no need to put on airs
already clothed in poetry
already bare besides

already she’s familiar with
aware of my bareness

of my verse
of my best
of my worst


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
11:38 a.m. 06.01.10

Saturday, February 06, 2010

In A Sugar Cane Field
for D.A.

hurts to look at her
after not seeing her in so very long

how she is made and has grown
how her high heel shoes
affect how she stands

her bottom, her back, the back of her head
against a pillar of marble, erected behind her

she reaches back, rests a palm upon it
caresses it in a way I look and I'm made jealous

what if her blue dress were ripped off
certainly she'd not maintain this posture
unless she and I were in private somewhere

I can see her without her dress
with her arms about her
to cover as much as arms could wrap round
as arms could wrap up

I'd like to get my arms about her naked


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:35 p.m. 05.02.10