Thursday, June 17, 2010

Twilight Time
for Stan, Dennie, D’Anthra,
Brooke, Chike, Nejmi & Louis

take us subtle savior
no blood this time

just a rhyme or two
just rhythm and blues

we gurn wit’ you
we tired a here
tired a harsh

tired of der noise we hear
we want subtle, with tea

in a whirl with a girl
which turns, what way

what day of want
what day of need

what kind of want
what kind of need

resist this, irresistible that

this to combat
that to bring back

from wars fought
to free the living
for we the living
the dying, the dead

this is after the battles
have been fought

bodies of soldiers
cleared from the fields
after blood’s
been washed away

and It’s a new day
and evening comes
with its colors

twilight time

familiar face
familiar place

bite, smell,
memories arise
out of the flower pot

out of the pot of peas soup
cooking on the stove

out of what is in the oven baking
vanilla and eggs
cross over, converge

and what a smell occurs
what a smile
when happy rises
from the grave
from the dead

what a price to pay
what a prayer to pray
what a prize to win

the tin is full
of assorted chocolates
imported from Swaziland

lost in the paintings
in the painting
or left here on earth

girl here on earth
and I kiss my teeth

with the tiles on the floor
their brown geometry
wonderful small squares

address the walls for me
dress the walls for me

halls to traverse
into where
what awaits
is desired

where who awaits
is desirable

unable to get lost in art

cat to attend
knickers to mend

her use of time and mine
different horses
to tend as well as to ride

galloping off
in different directions

maybe now a neutral gear
to shift into, to shift out of

when words come
or when words won’t
or don’t

want to be alone
with the man and his thoughts
with the man and his dreams

with the man in the stars
with the man in the clouds
with the stars in the sky
with the man in the moon

one the cow jumped over
don’t recall the beginning
or end of that story

what catapulted it
where did it land

pink and blue
peek a boo

sun coming up
curtains aside

fun and jokes aside
breakfast of ham and eggs
and orange juice

waffles out of the waffle iron
over them outpour molasses

someone finally
I want to have breakfast with
and dinner with and stew fish

it is for sitting on, sitting in

comfort to come to know
come forth to come to know

coffee stain my life
sustains my life

I want to be up
until I’m down

want to be up
until I’m underground

coffee stain my life
sustains my life

it is like Zen
you turn
and there it is

spot of pink
stroke or two
or blue

stroke like that
like this

color to wheel you
to where destiny ends

she wants to leave behind
her mark, her prints
her oils, herself
upon the painting
of oil made also

wants to test
the texture of canvas

wants to see by touching
wants to be scolded
like when she was eight
for doing what she was told
she shouldn’t

moment of conflict
eternally lasting

or for as long as it takes
to wake from this dream
I scream in
until I am aroused

bit of the mischief maker in me too
like the cat where it shouldn’t go
where it shouldn’t be

I look down upon creation
from the clouds in the sky
from on high

I high from rice mussie
and der truble ta get here
with my dear

thought I’d not have been
laughing, chuckling for a while

but here I is
in a moment like this
in a moment of bliss

oh the situations
we’re allowed
in this land of woes

she has me silly as she is
into games and things

I is a serious artist
Stan is too

the over-throwers
over turners enter
come along
and yur gatter laugh

insist upon seeing
the world another way
upon using it another way

what do Dennie
and Stan’s children
passing through their phases

through the pages
of the story contribute
to daily life
to the paint brushes

while the sea splashes

look to me for inspiration
I’d not look away

day to be stared at
to be steadfast

riddle to unravel
time after time

rivers, brooks
merging, converging

clarity, understanding
after argument

water over waterfall
to catch in two palms
or to pass
through sieve wire

always the front room
where living takes place

takes first place
takes last place

where inspiration
spews its very last breath

Lakers playing tonight
last shot to take

shot of rum to get to bed
shot in the butt
when the doctor calls

like when there are
no lines to guide you
to guide me

when I free ta dance
ta sway like der day

the way the wind
plays with blades of grass
with flower petals

wind makes us drop
when will we get up, go on

there are other songs to sing
about this beautiful world

whirl world
twirl girl, I watchin’

watch, ring, chain, cuff links
ta put on
ta take off
ta take off

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
This poem, in 17 pieces,
was written in response
to Stanley Burnside's exhibition,
“The Optical and the Synthetic “
on Tuesday, June 15, 2010
between 7:00 p.m. and 8:40 p.m.


Anonymous D.A said...

This life: about freeing yourself taking risks being honest taking off-shackles to initiate flight to write right.

Incredible poem Obi. You are very much able to translate. The day could not have been wasted. Those paintings told you something that they didnt trust me with. Like speaking in tongues aye? I still waiting for the Holy spirit.

Thursday, June 17, 2010 10:58:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

How very generous and how very humble of you, fellow poet. I am greatly honored by your kind, inspiring words, DBA, sweet friend.

Saturday, June 19, 2010 1:36:00 AM  

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