Weight Upon A Metal Chair
for D.B.A. & Amanda Schmid
i.
who can tell which is my favorite
is this my favorite I am standing before
writing before, writing about
just walked from my house on Kemp Road to
Popop in Chippingham
hot, sweating, heart beating, blood racing,
that was a walk, a gallop from down town
stopped at the ATM, made a quick deposit
realized thereafter that it was 8:25, little time left
for exhibit if it ends at 9 p.m.
here now after racing with horses
got here at 8:44 p.m., wonderful, worth it
these Heino Schmid remarks, images he makes
smudges
way to go, way to disguise, to make a mask of
make a mask for who might wish disguise
and to be displayed at once
wish to be splayed, sprawled out in a room,
in a comfortable chair without a stitch to wear
ii.
I here now, able to relax now
talk to me, I talk to you
conversation, us two
told you you're with me everywhere
magical relationship
magical realism we've made of love
you've made of my life
not going to waste this blood racing
horse out of the gates
in my heart galloping
through my arteries and veins
not in vain have I walked here from west hell
from somewhere to somewhere
from no where to no where
what distances in love, exist in love
do you go and you come
do you come and you go
do you end where you start
is it circle you are on, circle you are in
or in a tin or a box, in a basket or a bucket
whatever buck up goes
does it matter or must you get it right or left
or right or wrong
he rub out what he draw
gives us, sells us what's left
iii.
you have to say no to purchasing
however irresistible the piece,
is the piece, is the peace
you have to say no to the man in the boat
however much it pulses, pitches
to be touched, to be tasted
I'm ready to weep again
the flood gates open,
the damn dam busted
I could submerge a city in tears entirely
inclined to weep because in love
because of the dead, of the dying
my own inevitable demise
but for now that's on hold
I want to live, I have to live
who dies while in love
unless in a Shakespeare play
unless in an opera, singing, expiring
until the curtain close
want to, with my love, doze
in my arms a decade or two
of days and nights
before I call it a day
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written Friday, May 7, 2010
between 8:44 p.m. and 9:22 p.m.
Coup de Gras
for Lady Edith Turnquest [R.I.P.]
he's lost his wife
he's lost his life
half of it or more or less
loss I feel too
I too feel less
connected to her
to him, to them
connected to nation
G.G.'s wife,
an MP's mother
they've lost her
we've lost her
81, visiting England
where she expired
was she there for medical reasons
or caught unawares
death
with her where he wanted her
snatched at her
first his fist full of all her petals
little left to do to finish her off
to finish us off
blowing in the breeze in the garden
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:59 p.m. 12.05.10
I’d Gone Out
for D.B.A.
i.
can't help but weep
on the bus, to Gospel music
combined with joy in me
with how divinely happy
are my skipping heart
my skipping feet
Spirit Gospel, 92.5
my baby likes 98.7
the love songs that station spews
I on der bus
it air condition an' I cool
blue pen in my paw
to make poems with
not just any animal
is capable of this feat
even others of my same species
want to declare my love
in a word or two
for one girl and no other
no conflict where this is concerned
room she occupies
no body else does
room of her own
in my beating heart
ii.
take her nipples in my teeth
don't complain before then
not before ten
when I am loving you
juicing your nipples like grapes
ow! ah!
grapes I'll be careful
not to break the skin of
not like a baby voraciously nursing
pumping like a calf
pumps a cow for milk
I'd be reckless and careful
one over the other
like a vulgar fraction
perfectly balance
pleasure and pain
don't touch my breasts
you suggest
knowing I'd not agree
when I am hungry to taste
clitoris as much as tits
to savor these
hungry to please you
to squeeze you
all your smallest body parts
you squeeze my heart
from miles away
from miles apart
when the thought of you
makes it difficult to breathe
iii.
lost the love I had
the love of my heart
the love of my life
and ever since
for almost 33 years
I wasn't much concerned
about appearance
about clothes or shoes
or if my hair was trimmed
or if it was combed
this descent, I though,
was into madness
or a retreat into it
I'd adopted, accepted
some degrees of it
not caring about appearance
even though I wanted to
I couldn't
what powers
such pride such concerns
like a part in me broken
like a switch malfunctioning
not working
had to wait for 33 years
until you came along
to restore pride in such things
even in Nassau
in the dead of winter
with you to see,
I got into cold water
all the works had to be undergone
whenever I had you to see
whenever we had a date
appointments otherwise
I regarded as part of
the same old disappointment
life had become
all this time for the star that I was
to come around again
even I am thrilled by its radiance
amazed that it's living still
that it’s on again
thought I'd gone out for good
or am I the moon, not lit at all
reflecting light you cause to shine
in what was a dark place
a dark space
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Wednesday, May 12, 2010
between 2:00 p.m. and 6:10 p.m.
Box of Rice Cup a Tea
for D.B.A.
i.
my love for you today
so presses against my heart
some force as if pressing it
between two palms
every now and then
time and again,
I have difficulty breathing
I gat it bad
Clifton's going by, along the side
of Woodes Roger's Walk
opposite where I am
here, upstairs of Starbucks
he walks along the water's edge
got to the bottom of my box of rice
digging all the way in
all the way down with chopsticks
I eat with
to perfect the use of more and more
Chinese tradition demands
that you not leave a grain in box or bowl
I've learned therefore to,
with chopsticks,
collect the smallest particles
it is love that picks me up though
and shakes me, uses me, misuses me
however it wishes, however it chooses
I'm helpless, love's merciless, you are too
let love and you undo me
do I mind
what do I care or fear
ii.
can I afford to be here, to tea here
all the things I have to do
to be in step for Sunday
oh what friends to gather with
from around the globe, in Cuba
what friendships, a love affair
to leave behind on this sweet rock
didn't used to rock, it used to suck
but now even I am willing to concede
that it is Paradise or almost
I shall be divided
to a degree I imagine now
I'd be unable to bear
difficult to bear the thought of it
anticipating it
between Nassau and Havana
torn like banana peel
as exposed as one
awaiting teeth
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Monday, May 10, 2010
between 5:55 p.m. and 6:50 p.m.
First Look
for Rebecca Draisey
alter the down you fall
alter the down you feel
uplift wherever you are, whoever you are with
your wit, nothing more to do it with
add color to wit, add color to it
snapshots of what cannot be captured
for you to behold, to hold, to look at
with what are we to capture soul
Oliver Twist as well as Charles Dickens
as well as George Orwell
all three wearing shoes
soles worn down
down and out in Paris and London
soles with holes
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:28 a.m. 10.05.10
Boil Fish Head
for D.B.A.
you are not going to sit upon his lap
innocent or otherwise, while I live,
while I sit in the back seat
of this vehicle
for such a move, move he made
were I king, were these only
very slightly altered times, other times
he'd have, were we French,
gone to the guillotine
were we Spanish
gone before the firing squad
German he'd have been sent
to concentration camp
then to be gassed
then incinerated
were we English
he'd have been beheaded
for such a gesture
against the queen of my kingdom
against the queen of all my days
of all my nights
he'd have had to pay with his life
he'd have had to pray for mercy
God only knows if I'd have had any
if he'd have gotten any
no leniency because his father
is as fine as fine can be
not because his father is X-priest,
best friend
son is no friend of mine, no friend to me
what Jazz music, I wonder,
would he set this sentence to
when it is a sentence
requiring his own head
crime committed
against the crown,
against the king,
against the queen
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
7:33 p.m. 07.05.10
Left Open
for D.B.A.
there was this opening
and I slipped inside
two sides of her skirt
where it in front divided
requiring two swift hands
to handle what was like
a door's two sides
what was like that moment
in “Chocolat”
when Vianne and her daughter,
Anouk entered the town
and the cold wind blew
and the door to the church,
in two halves, flew open
and the handsome, tall mayor
rose and went aggressively
to shut the wind out
to restore order
as was his wont at every turn
what I vehemently desire
to get at, to get at here
is how- is that she constantly
and possibly deliberately
leaves openings for invited
as well as uninvited
for desirable as well
as undesirables
to get in, to be let in, allowed in
and like the second mate
of that woman with long chin
beautiful still, in Brazilian film
"Me You Them"
baby for one man
and then for another
lover of one man
then of another
second lover
wanting to keep any other out
unable to hold on to her
unable to tame her
or to make her belong to him
longer than she could tolerate
longer than she could relate
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:20 a.m. 09.05.10
Guatemala Girl
for D.B.A.
i.
I am a divided girl
my girl, divided
who I think is- think of
as divine is divided
that is- is that how
she feels inside
is that how it is
inside her
who makes me whole
makes me wholly happy
is divided
though for several days
one week
a while ago
her dividedness did affect me
did go down the middle
of me too and my own
wholeness, all cracked up
was in bits
invited, advised to divide
love of her
instead of
in one container
asked to empty it out
here and there
she didn't care where
didn't work
for her nor me nor us
what are we left with
where is it at
where is she
at
she says, I am a divided girl
between faith in Christ and lust
between literature and science
might be why poems of hers
are not or might not be pearls
or eggs
why, when,
when they are pushed out
when they are laid
they are cracked
what is in them,
running this way,
that way, here and there
whole though, you could
with what is egg and cracked
and running, make omelet
or make cake or make milkshake
ii.
in a photograph I have of her
two friends on two sides of her
three of them pressed together
cheeks together
like this for a picture, for a moment
as well as until the paper fades
for as long as the picture lasts
upon the table she is sitting at
milkshake-like drink
in a tall glass with a straw
through it
she sucked in, sucked up
Guatemala
three of them visiting
three of them on a school trip
when she got to the bottom
of what was in the glass
glass in the photograph
will never be empty
in a moment which
has come, has gone
the noise of the last, of the end
at the bottom of the glass
and a belly full, tummy rumbling
muted thunder of satisfaction
some noise escaping
through this or that opening
requiring a hand
to cover a mouth
with the need for, "Excuse me!"
she’s polite you see
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Saturday, May 8, 2010
between 8:40 a.m. and 9:36 a.m.
In Leaves In the Garden
for D.B.A.
Heino and his wife are leaving
“Have a good night!”
he says to the yard
to those in it as he goes
my head was down, writing
like someone on bicycle, in a race
out here in the leaves on the ground
ventured out here to make poetry
away from jewelry to buy
away from necklaces and earrings
away from people
only liked what suits you
a thing or two
unable though to afford to buy
not with having to go to Cuba
not with furiously raising funds
needing to apply brakes to spending
dog shit or cat shit among the leaves
perfume the air
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:09 p.m. 06.05.10
Time Out
for D.B.A.
how sore my butt is still
from yesterday
both buns, bones too near
on the edge of my seat for hours
right up against ecstasy
sustaining erection until I came
not entirely satisfied, did it again
all along wondering
was I able to afford
all this time out of the project of life
out of what daily
has to be accomplished, accumulated
even this though, time out,
part of the project of life,
the project that's life
raising funds to get to Cuba
XV Annual Havana Poetry Festival
and I virtually took a day off
doing that, missing her
saddled with exams to write
not knowing when
we'd have again connected
turned to, turned upon pictures
pictures turned upon me, aroused me
ripe to be aroused, overdue for arousal
aroused for hours
until release, until released
what unrelenting grip she has upon me
how transformed my life is
not the same since we met
hadn't a clue that, at 18
she could be so merciless
where love is concerned
what if I were in her clutches, actually
what of opportunity
to be bare in bed together, frolicking
after frolicking, fucking
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
5:40 p.m. 06.05.10
Examination Day
for D.B.A.
i.
she allows you to look
into- in through- inside her
my God, how near she is in this shot
in the mirror, to me, to the camera
she does not fear exposure
shows herself, I see her
I look, I open also, permit her enter
we trade selves, trade shells
able to fit into hers,
she, able to fit into mine
sort of intimacy Peggy and I shared
she and I share
what the divine makes possible
I grab hold of, let take hold of me also
Jesus, what a grip she has
how sweet and how forcefully
she holds me
holy demands she not let me go
let me drop or let me down
I'd drown in air, on land, without her
I have never in my life
needed a woman more
need for her now as strong
as I needed my mother once
as vital as this
who orchestrated
this connection we enjoy
what walls left to move,
what mountains must we,
with faith and faith alone,
cast into the sea
I am in love like I never was
my heart is a ball bouncing
ii.
vertical vulva lips
lips of her mouth
horizontally laid
are those not
close relatives, twins
kisses without number
to plant, to let fall
upon both places
let's face it,
if you cannot, faint or fall out
I promise, I'd finish my chores
in the dark
kiss until you come to
until you come too
iii.
penetrated her with my pen
she's penetrated me
in each other always, ever since
at times so intense
her presence inside
my presence in her
in a minute, in a moment
in a second in time
in a stitch in time
will we ever stop
or pop or get off
iv.
back to pictures of her
to rely upon, to keep me
once pictures of her were all I had
until we opened up, opened out
affair we share, we're in
gained more room
this week and next week
she is writing exams
has finals to face
back to pictures of her
return to pictures to keep me
her pictures the company
I have to keep, almost exclusively
pictures along
with poems I've made,
along with new ones
she makes ooze out
something or other
without end,
oozes out, oozing out
tears or ink from my pen
or when she makes
my cup overflow
my underpants wet
I am always dripping for her
some substance or other
without end, in song
songs I sing
because she makes me
because I happy
v.
oh, Dee! when I overdose
when I am unable
to take any more
all the woman I have
all the woman I need
on my knees, all my days
I have prayed
evidence finally
heaven heard
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Wednesday, May 5, 2010
between 10:55 a.m. and 12:07 p.m.
Up My Steps
for D.B.A.
i.
You must let her have her personality
you must let her be herself
won’t want her- don’t want her
forced ripe, would not taste right
be satisfied,
wait patiently
as we do for seasons to run
until they run out
and for another to commence
squeeze tomatoes, mangoes, bananas
how soft they get, they go
firmer better, sweeter
won’t want her beginning to go bad
getting full and waiting, watching
enjoying
bees and other insects about her
and I become impatient, jealous
of what they gather around
of what of her they are drawn to
or drawn by
smell, color, contour as she ripens
how round she grows, she goes, she gets
too big to ball my fist about
must use two hands to hold her
ii.
this round, this week
more careful about
who I tell about her, about us
so it does not dilute or dissipate
so it saturates more and more
joy I was, last week, unable to contain
unable to keep to myself
had to tell the world
give everybody some
of what we are, of what we have
of what she inspires
like rum, like what drips like this
like liquor when it is made
thickened like this, intense like this
apple brandy Noah Dearborn
brewed in private, in secret
gave a business executive
a lawyer a sip, reward
for assisting him chop wood
it changed his life
sold all he had and with his wife
elsewhere out west
acquired a vineyard
I taste life, taste like it never tasted
sweeter than ever before
wanted to be generous
too much wasted
this week, this round
with what she has filled me again
want now to be stingy
thin slice of it in poems I write
for people who read
will try besides, not to open my mouth
not to tell the world
not to spread the word
not to spread too thin
the sustenance she serves
able to extend a life
I thought, at 55,
just about over and done with
to the longevity enjoyed
by Leo Tolstoy
or Marc Chagall
iii.
is it off to Russia, her and me
this girl and I, with our pens in hand
arm in arm
how cold though will Russia be
love enough though between us
to keep us well, to keep us alive
to keep us hot, in whatever winter
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Tuesday, May 4, 2010
between 12 noon and 9:03 p.m.
In A Space In Time
for D.B.A.
Haitian friend of mine
complaining about
my habitually arriving
just before closing
to quick shop
cornflakes alone
left on my list
to throw in my trolley
I have to say
hello to my baby
locate love in my heart
the love of my life
in my soul and belly
she is all about in me
I must draw her in
in lines of verse
like chords of a sail ship
she provides direction
true north for me
compass I go by
go buy cornflakes
and get out of here
before you're locked in
locked up with rats
along one aisle
so very strong
there unpleasant smell
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:06 p.m. 03.05.10
Fist of Petals
for D.B.A.
i.
no no
no go
this element involved also
too young to pick
in spite of this sign,
that sign of ripeness
as inviting as she is uninviting
she pushes me and she pulls me
with equal force
I like instrument she was playing on
was playing with
school girl I'm in love with
her blouse recently
covered with messages
with remarks, written on
written all over
written upon her blouse
and upon her upper body
back and front and sides
upon shoulders, upper arms
where sleeves are
I avoid thinking who wrote where
which were boys, which were girls
what of who might have
with pen or marker
selected or happened upon
one or another erogenous zone
who wrote what's written
where her breasts protrude
“But she is 18
“what are you going to do?”
a friend asked directly recently
I answered just as directly
shouting it really, "Nothing!"
and we both laughed boisterously
somewhere within though
hoping, praying
that some force
would intervene
permit to happen
much more than nothing
who has caused
what is already happening
attached us as we happen to be
is that force not still
available to us
is it not still available
to act on our behalf
is it not on our side
what has it in mind
is it not her and me and it
connected
us three in this joy-making
joy-bringing, joy-giving affiliation
what has it, has he to say of us
of what we might become
of where we might go,
might get to together
already I am transformed
by what we share
it is, she is, all the world to me
how this is, is holy mystery
answer is not mine to provide
where I or she intend
to push us or pull us
we are opening more and more
like a fist of petals
to sweeten creation
ii.
shifted from the need
to be faithful
to wife to be
or not to be
to needing to be faithful
to what was but
an extramarital affair
to what has become
and who has become
my heart and soul
the centre of my whirl
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Monday, May 3, 2010
Between 2:40 p.m. and 12 midnight.
Fist of Petals
for D.B.A.
i.
no no
no go
this element involved also
too young to pick
in spite of this sign,
that sign of ripeness
as inviting as she is uninviting
she pushes me and she pulls me
with equal force
I, like instrument she was playing on
was playing with
school girl I'm in love with
her blouse recently
covered with messages
with remarks, written on
written all over
written upon her blouse
and upon her upper body
back and front and sides
upon shoulders, upper arms
where sleeves are
I avoid thinking who wrote where
which were boys, which were girls
what of who might have
with pen or marker
selected or happened upon
one or another erogenous zone
who wrote what's written
where her breasts protrude
“But she is 18
“what are you going to do?”
a friend asked directly recently
I answered just as directly
shouting it really, "Nothing!"
and we both laughed boisterously
somewhere within though
hoping, praying
that some force
would intervene
permit to happen
much more than nothing
who has caused
what is already happening
attached us as we happen to be
is that force not still
available to us
is it not still available
to act on our behalf
is it not on our side
what has it in mind
is it not her and me and it
connected
us three in this joy-making
joy-bringing, joy-giving affiliation
what has it, has he to say of us
of what we might become
of where we might go,
might get to together
already I am transformed
by what we share
it is, she is, all the world to me
how this is, is holy mystery
answer is not mine to provide
where I or she intend
to push us or pull us
we are opening more and more
like a fist of petals
to sweeten creation
ii.
"Fuck you, friend of mine!"
complaining about
my habitually arriving
just before closing
to quick shop
cornflakes alone
left on my list
to throw in my trolley
I have to say
hello to my baby
locate love in my heart
the love of my life
in my soul and belly
she is all about in me
I must draw her in
in lines of verse
like chords of a sail ship
she provides direction
true north for me
compass I go by
go buy cornflakes
and get out of here
before you're locked in
locked up with rats
along one aisle
so very strong
there unpleasant smell
iii.
shifted from the need
to be faithful
to wife to be
or not to be
to needing to be faithful
to what was but
an extramarital affair
to what has become
and who has become
my heart and soul
the centre of my whirl
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Monday, May 3, 2010
Between 2:40 p.m. and 12 midnight.
Love Songs
for D.B.A.
as I did before
I began looking too late
for her building
off East Street,
Stainless Steel
sign upon it
words to end a poem
on a building like a gift
like a message
her poem about love
about how it works
about whether it works
thoughts of love inspired
by radio station, 98.7
piping love songs
she in her mom’s car
awaiting her return
listening to love songs
she wonders if love
could be trusted
relied upon
what percentage of the time
or does it malfunction
needing/in need of WD40
or does it rust, lose its edge
its sheen
sign on that building
business which supplies
steel which resists stains
resists staining
what of love though
was this building, sign upon it
insurance, reassurance
some guarantee about love
that it sustains unblemished
untarnished
whatever weather
it might be or might
have been left out in
rain upon it, sun upon it
spit upon it, shit upon it
able to wash it off
and good to go
like when creation
commenced
on the first morning
of the world
when the whirl began
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
4:52 p.m. 30.05.10
Get Lost Mosquito
get away from me, mosquito
I don't want to hear your secret
your dirty joke
you whisper too loud anyway
vulgar creature
half or more
of what you've whispered
in my ear all these years
are lies, I know
I never ever wanted to listen
so shoo, mosquito
my ear open for poetry
not for your news
who cares about or for
what you have to broadcast
from ear to ear
from year to year
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:42 p.m. 02.05.20
Waltz
for D.B.A.
do you find cock sucking poetic
is pussy licking good
is soixante-neuf the way to go
to get to heaven
prayers too slow
on your knees to worship
to cock suck, to get fucked
one position or another
on the floor, beside the bed
positions
only athletes could assume
get into, come out of
hum in, hump in
jump in, jump out of
Houdini underwater
in ropes, in chains
has to free himself
before his story ends
in love knots, in whose knots
whose nuts
two nuts
head in two thighs
nut in a nut cracker
squeezed as tight
squeal and crack up
groan when dick is up
is out, in and out
expert mouth
with eyes closed
could I tell who it was
doing it, holding it, tasting it
would it be as sweet
in man as in woman
as sweet in a mouth
as it is inserted in vulva lips
in vulgar lips, in hips
in his hand or her hand
in my own hand
what sex is best
sex with who all
and who all is blessed
with what all
and what all
want to come hard
in a womb, a mouth
or elsewhere
or like Onun,
up against a wall
wall where pilgrims go
to wail or to offer prayers
to petition heaven
to intervene on earth
to intervene in the affairs
of mortals, born to die
©Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
11:55 a.m. 02.05.10
Paper Towel Poem
for D.B.A.
has euphoria fled
in the rest room with my baby
here in peace, we can commune
oh God, where has all the joy gone
I feel almost ordinary
where is my high, by love inspired
by love alone
am I loving her less
is she loving me less
what has telling done
to what I was into, to the zone I was in
I recall now, recent poem of her
one which triggered tears
triggered weeping
I have shared with friends
around the globe
that had to result
in something altering
that joy is just not inside
my fluttering heart
not just in my body
causing it and me and my hand
to shake
it is shared, it is in the world
it and me, altered certainly
next phase, next phrase
must await to grow, to go higher
must await a new something
fresh mystery
to make my bow quiver
I let the bird out, the bird flew
which was caged
with its startling life
love was like that
must await another wave
another gathering of life
with faith sufficient
it will arrive certainly
there will be more to share
more you'll have to share
when joy is again more
than you are able easily to bear
you know she knows
how to go through you
how to get to you
how to penetrate through
to the core of your can of beans
you know she knows- she has
the combination to your safe
your filing cabinet, your safety
deposit box
she has keys for all your locks
though you know not how
or from where she acquired them
"Honey Please"
what she asked me to say
when I hunger and thirst for her
when need exceeds what
I can comfortably live without
or do without
already she has promised
to be there for me, here for me
to be near always
is love capable of forgetting
or of breaking a promise
love like our love
relationship like this one
genuine as the need to pee
or sleep or breathe
as genuine as heartbeat
and blood through our veins
as genuine as sweet dreams
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:38 p.m. 29.04.10
Funeral Hymn
[For Jane Fitzroy Bethel
14 May 1917
to 22 April 2010]
attached, they know not how
they know not where
they know not why
attached enough to weep
for grief, to grieve for the dead
today to grieve
among the bereaved
one or another might wonder
why I am affected as I am
afflicted as I am
love, my excuse, if I need one
love, my reason
which love, one might ask
which of the four
which of all the loves there are
in love’s embrace, taste life
know where- know they
seamlessly connect
know no divide
this family became my own
met Marion, life changed
a richer prize in this life
I have not known
a better prize for poetry
I cannot win
not even in Stockholm
in Sweden
ii.
I can identify with tears, with rain
let them fall all the same
let what falls from heaven fall
death bursts the dam
not the damned of the earth
of this world
though we might have been
but we have been redeemed
let rain fall, tears fall
flowers grow from these
a petal for each drop
grieve and flowers grow
not a bad exchange
grief and joy on a see-saw
petals falling, rain falling
tears falling
life goes on
iii.
you masons
merciless with your trowels
cementing us apart
doing us this favor
saving us from the smell of death
of dead
dead we love, is us, is our own
cement us apart
seal us separate
our worlds apart
our worlds two worlds
our bones
we used to embrace with
used to be in bed with
bones in a jewelry box
beneath slabs
weight of these
to keep the spirit
rising up - keep a spirit
which might haunt us
from haunting us
no morbid note to sing
just hymns, funeral songs
to rejoice about the dead
is there sufficient cement
each man his duty
a duty to perform
to put the dead down
this to do, that to do
before we wash our hands
flowers in a heap
beneath which
we bury who died
who's dead
who loved
who lived
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Pts. 1 and 2 written
in St. Matthew’s Church, pt. 3
written in Ebenezer Cemetery
on April 30 between 10:45 a.m.
and 1:44 p.m.
