Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Enough Safe

might as well go out to the edge
go out on the edge
on the edge of this volatile world

could blow up, could go up anytime,
any minute, foolishness to play it safe

where is safe, who is safe
might as well risk it, might as well take a risk
might as well go for broke

better to have loved and lost
to quote scripture or what is not scripture

life is my scripture, I am scribbling away
on whatever I can find to scribble on

hate when a pen runs out,
when no scratch appears
instead, a cut in the paper or a cut almost

out on the edge to go, to live

let George Gershwin have
let George Gershwin keep
Summer time and the living is easy
with the cotton high, with fish jumping

I want to jump, to leap
I want to/I have to keep keeping on

somewhere to get to before the rain comes
before night falls

before the knife falls
Guillotine across so many French necks
whenever there was revolution
when there was need for an execution

the blade falls, the grades fall
a nation wishes to rise but can it

cans of dicks on food store shelves
in light syrup, for $60, for who will buy


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:44 p.m. 21.04.10

2 Comments:

Anonymous D.A. said...

"rather than never to have loved at all"- I'd have left that out - its stale. Maybe you could use an image to mimic the concept.

The last 8 stanzas are wonderful. Reminds me of a book that I read called: "The Knife of Never Letting Go" by Patrick Ness.

I love the emotional movements of this poem, from personal to interpersonal, to local.

I'd like to know what the imagery in the last stanza was about. Does it connect?

Wednesday, April 21, 2010 10:30:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

Maybe the concluding stanza as well as the rest of this poem, has to do with needing to get your attention and the desire possibly, to self-destruct or the feeling of uselessness, in spite of virility and however alive I might feel or might be - when I do not or cannot hear from you, or get your attention - over-due for just a few minutes even. Because of praying without ceasing though I usually have a grip, I usually am in control even without needing to resort to drink or drug or smoke or even Phensic or Panadol or any other pain killers. I do life entirely sober. I do keep normally. I do hold out and I do hold on - you and poetry these days to sustain me. This poem suggest being a bit or feeling a bit crazy. Maybe I should have some water or eat and orange. Maybe you need to call me. Maybe your voice and the nearness it produces would be sufficient. Maybe I need to use the toilet. Here I am, DBA, troubleshooting, as it were. I do not like art that has run amok, as it were - nor horses for that matter though a stampede, on television, is fascination to watch or a film about war even. Not so good to be out on such ledges - out on such edges yourself. I think I only need to use the toilet. After that I'd be centred.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010 11:02:00 PM  

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