Friday, July 30, 2010

Story Book Children
for H.L.T. & D.B.A.

thought ours was a relationship
to die for, to die in

not a relationship to be in,
not if I wish to die in peace

troubled child, troubles me
song to locate on YouTube, “Troubled Man”
whose is it, I am this moment unable to recall

when I am nicest to her, she is nastiest to me
treat her like a lady she is a breast to me
a brute beast, to use a term from
“You Can Lead A Horse to Water”
play Winston Saunders wrote

think of this play, I recall Heather in it
recall wanting to, wishing to
have a relationship with her

recall wanting to- imagining
I'd marry her
recall imagining we'd marry

kiss upon the cheek last evening
reminded me of one from long ago

I hadn't the confidence though
suppose I haven't the confidence now

I lack confidence on a variety of levels
as gifted as I am or as I am supposed to be
I have these insecurities

a good thing and a bad thing, I know
what I know is that I am uncomfortable
about affirming class

wanting a society without class
among whatever class, I do get nervous
feel outside, feel outsider

upper class, middle class, lower class
I just want to be

trappings about any social station
is a trap for me, frightened me

I am not fit, I am not qualified
I do not fit in such outfits: in wigs and robes
prefer to sleep naked, prefer to die bare

Lady Chatterley and her games keeper lover
frolicking naked in the rain
is my kind of moment, is my cup of
coffee, Milo, cocoa, tea

what a match I thought we'd make
Heather and me

that must have been
two-plus decades ago
heard she had been looking for me
asking for me

encountered her finally
after an event at Le Cabaret Theatre
and presented myself, here I am finally

the need she brushed aside, dismissed
to this day I still do not know
what it was she wanted

I was so flattered to hear of her needing
to get in touch, trying to find me
maybe we'd marry, maybe she loves me

silly me, silly thoughts
oh what a great big success I'd be
and that would be

marriage in and to such a class
it would have meant to have arrived certainly

went to her directly
through whoever was around her, about her

and we did greet divinely
hugged like birds with feathers, with wings

biggest, most delicious kiss upon the cheek
I had ever received, a kiss like a bird call

noisy, natural, sweet
why we never developed into anything
why a romance never commenced
was for me a mystery

I've always been afraid though
of the class she's in,
afraid of its professionals
intimidated by their being
more educated than me

I had a father who couldn't read
I had a mother who read barely

though I have amazing brothers and sisters
all as brilliant as my father was

I was the first to transition off to university
to shift into that culture or into that class

but chose with my degree, after I'd completed it
to remain humble, lowly
to cling to my mother's class or way of being

outsider looking on, looking in
in spite of this ability of mine
to write and to make poetry

do it right along side the best in the business
my success at it, success with it
suggests it has begun to give me wings

it has begun to work like magic
begun to have a magic of its own
begun to give me status

purchase it or marry to attain it
instead, it is my own,

should I rhyme here with homegrown

maybe homemade okra soup
and homemade bread

out of or rather eaten right in
my mother's kitchen

love she used to put in pots such as those
in things she'd extract hot from the oven
is what is responsible for life and my belief in it

my mother's love and love of that quality
or of that strength
added while she was here to love me
and added since

I know love when it falls like rain
when it is the sun in my face
when it is the moon upon the waves

I know when I am being treated shabbily
when instead of being loved
I am being humiliated

when I am being fed shit
with the suggestion that it is cheese

I’ve been in affairs, I have had friendships
in which life on earth was heaven
in which my life was truly transformed

what am I called to do for Dee
to demonstrate to her about love
about its magnanimity

how am I to treat her
when she inspires me - when she doesn't

I like when I upset you, she told me
early this morning on the phone

we touched each other,
touched some place we never had before

what am I to do or am I called to do
in spite of what I get back or do not get back

what am I to show her or to tell her
that love is

what will I leave her to remember
about what called itself love

what if it isn't, what if I have lied to her
and to myself

what has motivated what we have shared
up to this point

we are at a cross roads
what road will we take
which way will we turn

she turns me off and she turns me on
wonder if I want to fuck her still
am I just enjoying saying it

I've come to wonder if I like her
she can be abusive, abrasive


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:52 a.m. 29.07.10

2 Comments:

Anonymous D'anthra said...

You have never mentioned such things such feelings such truths in your poetry before. Are you growing up too? The poem does lead me in a romantic direction, it should be a play.

Very touching, provocative and most adept of you and your poem. I love it. I love you.

Friday, July 30, 2010 11:27:00 AM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

Your response dba has filled me eyes with tears. How vulnerable I am where you are concerned. The only shield I have or use against your loving or hurting - your causing pain, is poetry. I am with you so emotionally bare. I let you do to me and with me whatever you like. I beg you to be kind - that is if you can be if not I'd have to wash with verse what would have to be the most unkindest cuts.

Friday, July 30, 2010 11:54:00 AM  

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