Double Dragon
for S.M.

how happy he'd be when he sees me
how happy he'd be when he seizes me, if I'd let him

he seizes me though when he sees me and I let him
I let him every time

usually I smile, last time I laughed, unable to help it
unable to hold back how affected I was
by his joy to set eyes upon me

I entered the front of Double Dragon where he was
separated by the counter he stood before
I stood behind

he hadn't seen me- I hadn't seen him in a long time

how he must have missed me
how he must have been missing me
had I been missing- was I missing him too

he comes for more than just vegetable fried rice
with no MSG, extra egg and extra bean sprouts

it seems as if I am as sweet to him
he'd seem to be as hungry for me

I let him feast, I'd let him feast
I know he'd like to get my box open, lift my lids

God what if he got his chopsticks in
it seems he knows just how to use them

I'd call for mama then or papa or call fur Jesus
I have a sense of him, of his appetite

he'd want me for dessert after eating his rice
I can tell he likes what's nice


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:24 a.m. 31.08.10

Sea-blue Eyes

she needed to have seen Albert and me
on the way to dinner with her sons, and invited us to join them

rather than to have seen us on the way back
to her hotel room with her noodles,
with all that was left over, in a container in a plastic bag
to pass off, to hand us, to offer

not wanting what they’d eaten over, what they couldn’t eat,
to go to waste, chose Albert and me to give her charity to,
to make her charity case, to give her charity cake

drew back though, embarrassed at her faux pas,
blushing, apologizing, sorry if she’d offended us

no idea who the two men were, in conversation
in Marina Village, outside of Starbucks

either of us could have been Jackson Burnside,
designer of Marina Village, sitting, conversing,
sharing other ideas

instead of inviting us to accept, to carry home,
her sons’ and her leftover noodles,
it would have been a bit more polite, a little more acceptable
had she invited us to join them in Carmines for dinner

simultaneously selecting from what was served

did Albert and I look like servants she has,
her gardener maybe, some handymen


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2006
6:13 p.m. 21/june/06

In that Open Field
for D.B.A.

does she turn on possibly
too many men

is it irresponsible possibly
to have all of us,
leaping through the flames

circus tigers, she performing
in hand, her whip, her hoop

growling, snarling at each other
threatening teeth and claws

away from the circus though

whatever way she turns
within the region, in the world
or on the island,
someone else added
following, salivating

some of whom she turns on
afterwards faced
with having to turn off
switch off, unplug, undo

what she has done so well
has done too well

and who and what to give priority to
place at the top of the list
on top of the heap

her hips the whirl they whirl round
the flames around which they go
through which they leap

leaping in heat, through heat, through fire
does she have us all playing with fire

though I know she’s not some flirt
some cheap tart,
know I labor, I’ve labored arduously
for my place in her life,
for my place in her heart

how many of us though
jealous about her, over her
jealous to have her,
to know her as no one else does

is any position in her enterprise
this enterprise
not threatened, guaranteed

to what degree and to what depth
can I invest

so many along with me
like toys, wound up, turned on

on the move across the floor
until love or whatever collapses

who will be standing still,
holding on, heart beating still

when the clowns leave town


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:03 p.m. 30.08.10

She Erects Barriers
for D.B.A.

she leaves the door open

interesting the doors she never lets you open
the doors you never get to open
the doors you never get open

not as loose or as easy
as led to imagine or to believe

she leaves the door open
or she seems to or she doesn't


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:54 a.m. 31.08.10

Hymn for Herman
for D.B.A.

her love for me makes me weak
her love for me that real
of her love, she makes me that aware

oh the many minutes, many words
she and I have shared

worried still though
about her need to limit us
to keep us out or me out

of an area of her life or her heart
or her head, her emotions
or any bedroom business

wall up, shield up and I must
if desire is strong enough

break through, break down
whatever partition she erects
with will, with words

uses gospel music,
prayers offered up in earnest

whatever she feels she must
to reinforce the delicate barrier
her hymen is


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:55 p.m. 29.08.10

Cross Sticks
for D.B.A.

i.
death will come for me soon enough
and carry me and carry us away

death will come for us soon enough
soon enough our time will be up
soon enough we'll be made to-
forced to take our leave

oh who in this life do we inadvertently offend
while we deliberately, aggressively even
seek to make someone whom we love happy

on the other side of love, hate, animosity
generated without intending it

along with what's immediately beside
what we intend to cultivate, to cause to increase
in the world, more love

love on the one side, on the one hand
war on the other

war we did not wish to wage
war our wages anyway

ii.
when you are bumped into
and who is in the next boat
which happened into you
in the night or in the day
in the middle of the sea
or in mid-ocean and is cross
and wants to cuss, wants to fuss
and calls out and comes to look
desiring a fight, be certain that
what they bump into is an empty boat

who then to fight with
or to cross swords or to cross sticks with

it is upon paper
where I do most of my lovemaking
here as well, where my boxing matches
my wrestling matches are staged
among words is where my wars are waged

blood on the battle field is either black or blue

I used to mark books
used to spill an abundance of red ink

even that oftentimes was like combat
resulting in animosity, in antipathy


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Tuesday, August 17, 2010
between 4:15 p.m. and 5:33 p.m.

There Are Exits
There Are Entrances
for D.B.A. & A.G.P.

she pushed me away from her
and into this relationship
for my own good, for my own sake
for the sake of love

somehow it seems she knew better than I
what promise- what promises awaited

I thought it impossible for anything
or for anything much
to come of it

told her what challenges such a relationship faced
she thought it wise- thought it good and right
to leave off, to leave me where I was, in love with Dee

that she thought was enough to go on
enough to keep me

I hadn't a clue of this place we have come to
of what we, Dee and I, have come through

what we have traversed, what verses we have made
she as writer and as inspiration
I as writer and an inspiration

what we write- what we've written
with the potential to change life nationally
universally

but all of that's beside the point
is another matter and off the subject

what is the point is how I came
into this relationship from another

could not have entered otherwise
or from any other corridor

went so far in that other one and exited
or it ended

and this new affair, this new world began
like a dream come true

in spite of patches of nightmare, here and there
look what it has brought me to

joy like you won't believe
happiness like I've never known or imagined

wanted to die, didn't mind if I did
whenever death knocked

not now - in love and I want to live
to see grandchildren, hers and mine,
in their school plays, in their church choirs


© Obediah Michael smith, 2010
7:50 p.m. 27.08.10

Two In One Sentence
for D.B.A.

we have something
or are having something
sans doute

recall lines from "Iron Weed"
Tom Waits' character, Rudy, says

doctor says I got cancer
it's the first thing I ever got

she and I have something as severe
and similarly, very likely,
it too is a life sentence

God, what attachment
what exists between Dee and me

I live to love her
hardly anything in existence
more rewarding


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:12 a.m. 29.08.10

A Rat’s Lunch
for D.B.A.

i.
she toys with me
emotionally and otherwise
and any way she chooses

abuses me a bit
she laughs at it

ii.
I am without end
battling rats and weeds
and everything else
springing up along with love
along with poetry

at times not easy
to strike a balance
the battle goes on

iii.
$6.40 for food for rats,
damn

well, it's their last supper

iv.
white people look raw
and we look done

but all flesh is raw flesh
our flesh and their flesh

unfortunate 6 million Jews
were done, were cooked
were too done

were done with
were done for

were done away with

v.
we must avoid being stuck to any class
or to anything

anyone seems natural enough to add
but I am reluctant to
because I want to be stuck to you
want you to be stuck to me

me to be stuck with you
you to be stuck with me

dancing cheek to cheek
or whatever dance
or doing whatever

doing all things
together always

vi.
I don't suppose you'd lie on me
Oh yes I would, I responded
You'd lie on me, Obi

my God, of course I would
readily, gladly

haven't they the same spelling, I added
when she almost didn't get it

vii.
just as we can be
lacking in vitamin C or some other
so can an orange

I've heard from a medical doctor friend
of an orange being tested
and being found to contain no vitamin C

there I was thinking that an orange
was mostly vitamin C

another case of salt
that has lost its saltiness


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:45 p.m.
on Tuesday, August 10 and
7:01 a.m. on Sunday,
August 29, 2010

Wick
for G.M.

as severe as if cruel, love can be
how it clutches, does not let go
how it wrings us, as if to wrong us
its desire is to make us right

how passionately attached
she and I are after so short a time

attached immediately though
as we met, as if attached long before
from time began and will be attached forevermore

now though is what we have, is where we are
the saturated instance of existence
us two occurring in it

like substances combined
to make one intoxicating something
for who to drink, to taste, to take but her and me

the world might be able to have some later
to feast eyes upon, words we at present share
in years to come

words to share to sustain us, along with air
words which give life, light
words which are candle flames

pen I write with is a candle wick
she keeps alight, she keeps it lit

what a woman, like none I've known
fine and passionate

4 months ago no knowledge at all
that she was present on this planet


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
3:03 a.m. 29.08.10

A Bunch of Grapes
In A Bottle of Wine
for D.D. & D.B.A. & P.A.

i.
she has all of those paintings,
all of that art, does she have also
the broken hearts, the shattered lives

the stories behind the paintings,
the pieces, the lives, are as many or are more

though these stories, these lives
are not upon a base or in a frame
or in anything to be carried or to be kept neatly

is she as interested in these lives
as she is in the art she buys

true paintings, true poems, one truth
painters, poets, sculptors, another

to thank her for patronage
it was my wish to grip the curtain in my fist
and in and with one gesture, one sweep
pull it back, let her see
the life behind poetry

wanted her to see the raw material
from which poetry is made

wanted her to see
what art- what artists go through

before it comes out
like a bunch of grapes
in a bottle of wine

ii.
wanted her to see how messy it is
how messy it gets

before it becomes what is neat enough
to hang upon walls or to sit in a corner
or elsewhere in a room

a life is not a brain you can keep in a bottle
in formaldehyde, it's volatile,
it's firecrackers on the fourth of July

it's what Guy Fawkes was about to make happen
with or to or within the house of parliament
had he had his way, had it been his day

art is understanding
what Bob Marley wrote and sings
"I feel like boomin' a church"

the stuff from which art is derived
is not nice, is not neat

much of what is clean and neat
is derived from what's nasty, messy
not neat at all

artists, poets fall and break,
like limbs like teeth, like hearts
their limbs, their teeth, their hearts

thought she'd have been interested
to know, to see, to get on a boat
upon the rough seas of an artist's life

coming through the Middle Passage
over and over, again and again

every minute of the day,
every day of his life/her life
without end, through out eternity

art s/he makes, made to make
some pounds, shillings, pence
to keep body and soul
from coming together
from falling apart


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
3:24 a.m. 26.08.10

Three Times Three Turns
for D.B.A.

first time we met I said
"and what is this, a wig?"

having no clue at all
of what is or what was en vogue

and she said, "Yes,"
with a tinge of embarrassment

another time, another meeting
when she was near enough to me

when she came and sat
in the seat beside me
at chez Louis Dames

running the back of my middle finger
of my left hand, down her right cheek

I asked, "What is this, make-up?"
embarrassing her a little bit
and she said politely, "Yes"

we were all but alone
except for another poet at the round table
to the right of me, behind me

when I turned to address Dee
to inquire about her make-up

my touching when I did, like I did
where I did, was our intimacy exposed
expressed

we startled her
like arousing someone from slumber
from deep sleep

a similar thing happened
when I gave her those earrings
made of jade and silver

acquired at what was relatively
substantive cost
in Granada, Nicaragua

gave her these in Starbucks, Harbour Bay
day we were as intimate as could be

and she invited me to put them in
she wanted, without delay, to wear them

that act, my awkward effort
only by a few degrees
removed from the intimacy
the beating hearts involved in-
involving sexual intercourse

and there in public, there in Starbucks
those present, those who saw

as one, reacted
made to witness
to participate- to be partners with us
in our affair

unable to help but go along
but to participate
but to be carried away with us

I feeling so near faint with joy
she more stoical than I

laughing at me, giggling
my little girl, my little woman


Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:46 p.m. 27.08.10

Sex: An assessment
for D.B.A.

as if the only way I knew how to love
was with my dick in hand

not holding it to pee as I often do
as I often must but stiff to aim it-
aim being to insert it in someone

after sexual satisfaction
out to satisfy myself sexually

this sort of love
dominates what I think about
usually/mostly

sexual desire, that craving, sharp, clear
what is not longed for, craved after
not as clear

why don't you stop wanting to nail me
she suggested recently
I want you to, she said

look at what she said here in writing
and I find I should have asked
want me to nail you
or want me to stop wanting to

or if I stopped wanting to
would you then want me to

would you then invite me to
would I then be invited to

what I am doing here
as well indicates that it is not to the sex
or second level of consciousness
that I am affixed

my needing to express
what is though and what is felt,
indicates attachment
to the fifth level of consciousness,
indicates the desire for self-transcendence

I write and read a lot also
devote as much time to these
as I do to craving sex

want to have sex with her, to eat her
fuck her going and coming
as much because of her intellect and scholarship
as I do
because of her delicious looking little anatomy

short and sweet looking, her ass so big
her legs amazing

what she attires herself in
leaves you thinking, starts you thinking

as much her and me as it is
the culture we are in or of

like sardines in oil or in water in a tin
thus thrust together

this a sort of colonization we are in
and must sink or swim

my pen the straw I reach for, clutch at
my pen and my dick, my stiff cock
to keep from going down, from going under

wish I, in addition, had money in the bank
or a fist full of dollars

no desire at all to fill my fist with knife
or gun, no desire to cock a gun and fire

just the desire to ejaculate cum in my baby
from the rear and in her front


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:07 p.m. 26.08.10

Rats' Alley
for D.B.A.

Lord, God, Almighty
this girl of mine, this girl and me
and her attempts to take
good care of me

to provide me the treatment
I require, desire, deserve

to imagine she knows what it takes
has what it takes
able to do for me
able to keep me satisfied, fulfilled

while she fulfills
all that is assigned for school

has a boyfriend on her right hand
or on her left, me on the next

her aim to keep us satisfied
all together

has what it takes for all of this
all of these

has the ability to please, to satisfy
these needs, demands

these in addition to customers
to satisfy
in addition to mother
to satisfy

my, I admire her, cannot believe her
what she desires to pull off
tries to pull off

has her own sense of ethics
her own moral codes
to guide, to govern
the moves she makes

the moods she passes through
passes in and out of and back into

suppose I should be tickled pink
however black and blue
to be included, factored in
to the degree that I am

I think it was a rat walking on me
that woke me
that has me up, thinking of her
making poetry
thinking of selling my house
vacating town
I was all the way
away in dreamland


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:19 a.m. 24.08.10

Cheese or Siete: Poem of Appreciation

don't know if I've thanked- if I thank sufficiently
persons who assist me- who've assisted me

people in the world who keep me alive-
who've kept me alive- who love and who've loved me

some have loved me so very little
some others in contrast have loved me so much

some people as lovely- as loving
as some others are wicked
or as some others are indifferent

there are those to whom I've turned
again and again

there are those who've turned to me
to love and to assist

I do not know if I have been sufficiently grateful
or if I have the nature, the capacity to be
as grateful as I should be

or am I the sort of beast who takes
and who's taken all that I have gotten
have been granted, gratis, for granted

do not want to be grateful, dead
want to be grateful here, want to be grateful now

busy in pursuit of more and more,
after achieving more and more, am I too busy,
moving too fast to stop and on my knees,
washed in tears, say thanks to those
who've loved me- undeserving, ungrateful me

ashamed to turn again
to such good hearts, to such good souls
to say, I have another mountain to go up
to go over, push me, back me

when I've not shown appreciation sufficient
to them for assisting- for insisting that I,
up to this point did not slip back
an eighth of an inch but assisted me
and insisted and still insist
that I keep climbing
that I keep making it
that I keep moving on

my soul looks back in wonder
and I wonder how I got over,
wonder why I did, didn't have to
how very often I nearly didn't

but someone or other out of the blue
out of the sky, out of heaven or out of nowhere

or a million angels with a net,
disguised as a person, saved me
is why I am weeping like a faucet
so happy, so helpless,
I'm saved, I'm blessed

I have one family of parents and siblings
and I have another made up of mystery
full of mysteries, both families are actually

what have I done to deserve
this state of Christmas
state of Easter unending

this ability to lift up, to lift off
cross water, walk on air
from January to January
from year to year

is there any wonder
when my photograph is taken
I am grinning from ear to ear

no need to ask me to say
cheese or siete


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
4:15 p.m. 22.08.10

With Napkin
Soak A Poem Up
for D.B.A.

to open her
how very opposite
the act and activity
of opening Champagne

cork to force, to coax out
open her with cock
I push, shove, coax

that nothing breaks or rips or shatters
hymen, pane of glass in a window
to remove, to push out

let light in, let lightning strike
the heart, the soul

woman I love, to love
I love to love
I'll love to love
until one world ends
and another begins

what dividing us,
dividing life from life
and light from light,
to remove
or to pass through

remember the frosted
stained glass windows
in St. George’s in Paris

want it to be like this,
like that between us
between us, nothing to separate us

not even a cork in a wine bottle
my cock, deeper than that, than this
by far

descend into the liquor inside her
the liquids inside her
splush out and spill
when she is deeply thrilled

why it is I am after her thus
out to get to know her
in the biblical sense
I am uncertain

know though that on some level
exactly antithetical to having offended me
she has done and does do something to me

for which I must or feel I must retaliate
come what may- come May or the month after

how unrelenting she is and has been
I am unrelenting in response, in return

caught in a culture of an eye for an eye
a tooth for a tooth
equally committed to favor for favor

in the service of love, she and I
equally, mutually dedicated


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:55 p.m. 17.08.10

Hoofs in Snow
for Rosetta Haynes

made some steps upon the campus in snow
Rosetta and I, I desire to continue even if alone

wrote erotic about her
demeaning her - insulting to her - not about her

conceited to be insulted
to assume herself the subject

does me, does poetry a disservice
to have responded as she did, as she has, as she does

blamed, it seemed, her not being awarded
the Rhodes Scholarship for which she'd applied
upon me, upon poetry, upon our friendship

or is she not speaking to me because she recalls
as I recall, her being shocked
that I'd gathered clothes she'd left in the dryer drying

when they were dry, when she had not returned to collect
what was rough, what was delicate
what was neither rough nor delicate

seat of one panty, after washing,
stained still with period blood

this and what else does she hold against me
from all those years ago at Fisk

found her recently and recently before that
a professot at a university with a PhD

sent a message, sent another, she ignored them
ignores me or were they not received

she used to follow me- would follow me innocently,
naive as brilliant as she was
was I brilliant too

she was about the smartest student on campus
majoring in Maths and English with a 4.0 average
as well, she was the fastest female at Fisk, a serious athlete

we wandered onto Vanderbilt's campus one week-end
one Saturday - crossing that campus going to Kinkos
to have copies she needed made -
crossed it returning to our own campus again

relying upon me to lead her, to lead the way
for a minute or for four, I mislead her, mislead us
realized it and turned
and there were her footprints and mine left
in freshly fallen snow, going the wrong way

I'd like to pick up where we'd have left off
leave fresh tracks in fresh snow

old blood in bloomers, in bikini seat
am I being blamed for looking, for seeing
what I happened upon


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:35 p.m. 11.08.10

Art of Air
for Hilton Woodside

i.
reconstruct a poem lost
reconfigure thought process

impossible as it is
to make such rivers- any river at all flow twice

egg in my vegetable fried rice tastes nice
pigeon pauses, shits upon the roof top
outside this window I stand before

ii.
standing on air
lovers walk upon
because of delight too great to bear

I am as light, as happy
in love myself like you won't believe
with whom, you won't believe

going to Mexico City, money to raise
God be praised

painting given to me today
I cannot believe

"Cuz!" he calls me
because he is, because we are

we are cousins
his family and mine
from Simms' Long Island

painter and poet,
artists of Long Island descent

orange purple green
make a girl dance

music to which she dances
perfume she wears

paints for five senses
for five centuries

Venus de Milo
at Musée du Louvre
older than the city of Paris

make art to outlive- to out last
who paints, who sculpts

God on the other hand
older than creation

will he start a new one
when this one becomes undone
unravels like straw work

rhythm
steps she makes
to Rachmaninov music
or to do meringue

she is Russian and Caribbean

out of what seeds
did our roots come

out of what seeds
the leaves of trees

the hair on our heads


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
3:18 p.m. 19.08.10

On my Mattress on the Floor
for D.B.A.

i.
only you could hang up here
hang upside down or right-side-up
hang like a bat or like an acrobat

hang like clothes upon a line
like conch on a line to dry

like fruit upon a tree
all full, some ripe and ready to eat

not everybody- anybody
able to hang in the stratosphere
in this atmosphere, rarefied air

mountain to climb
to this moment we're in
to this place, this space
where poets make song
sing songs along with birds
calling, whistling

Rasta man going by on bicycle
"Good afternoon! Peanuts!
"Iri-nuts! Good afternoon!"

in the South of France, along the beach
"Cacahuètes!" is the call, is the cry
of the boys with peanuts
in great big bags
for customers to buy

ii.
short stout

this is no mouse overturning
pulling things apart
scattering things about

something out of place
I'm unable to identify

where I'd not have put it, placed it
indicates that the rats are back

another of the things
I must grapple with, wrestle with
here in this house, back on Kemp Road

poison for these angry hungry suckers
I as angry

whose house is it- mine or theirs
whose page is this- hers or theirs

how they upstage even in their absence
even when they're absent
mess they make, mess they leave

short stout
about my baby
about my sweetie
about her being short and stout
about her being a short stout
like a Milk Stout
Milk Stout instead of Guinness
as bitter as gall

short sweet stout
too sweet malt
she'd sip sometimes
to my annoyance

things she eats- she'd eat
and drink to my annoyance
challenge my love for her
my loving her
my being in love with her

oh the things in this life
increasing and decreasing us

I'd have poetry to leave when I am gone
and the rats will still be running about

short stout
love of my life
nibbling on bacon, chewin' on cheese
Sammy said to Susie
"Honey, would you please be my missus?"

is she my muskrat love
is this my muskrat love song


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 12 noon,
Thursday, August 19 and
8:26 a.m., Friday,
August 20, 2010

Heavy Life to Lift

without end
battling rats and weeds
and everything else

springing up and spring back
along with love poetry

at times not easy to strike a balance
battle on

world like hot muffin
choose to or have to or forced to
break in two to share


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:41 a.m. 20.08.10

Bottle Neck Corkscrew
for Vanessa Linden

how can all that's in your stomach
come out between
where thighs meet

stomach so much bigger than eyes
when she turns, looks at me

how pretty she was yesterday
hair an arrangement of flowers

though microscopic when it went in
whole world certainly can see it now

belly like melon
large enough for a dozen hands
half-a-dozen faces,
half-a-dozen mouths to bite into

having a baby, sweet as all spices

bitter the bridge to cross
to get her baby boy or girl
into this world
into this whirl


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:25 a.m. 20.08.10

Jelly & Gin
& Coconut Water
for D.B.A. & A.J.P.

when you're good to me
you're very good to me

you'd give it to me until
I am unable to take any more

until the smell and taste of you
are coming through my nose and through my pores

until I am sputtering, spitting you up
coughing you up, choking on what, on who

I love better than anybody in this whole world
wasting what is Dee, is thee most precious drink
on planet earth

God, if and when your aunt finds out
what is going on between us
how deep it is- how deep it goes
what will she say- who will she tell

will she approve of us- support us
one of our supporters or not

I was, the other day, tempted to confess
share my poems of you with her

point her to them, to my blog
where there are poems upon poems
of you, with pictures of you

she has been very good to me, you see
what I wonder is if she is wondering
why I am- why I've been as good to her
as I have been- if I have been

why I came to see her off
helped her with her luggage like I did
when I am usually lazy lazy

why I was up and out- up and about
at half-past-4

you at that hour in dreamland
didn't even know that
I had accompanied
the driver of the cab

didn't even know that I was
just outside your door
with your aunt's bags
to strain me- to strain with

your mother, God bless her
referring to me as a thin man

which I further converted,
commuted to another sentence

reduced me to the tin man
word play which produced
two balls full- bows full- tin tubs full
of belly laughter

oh how happy with words
with each other
you and I are sometimes

as well as I can complain
how right down to my little toe
satisfied sometimes, like right now

like this very morning
puppy nearby, barking
at 6:11 in the morning

you up yet or you still snoring
dreaming, beauty-napping, cat-napping

while I'm in dog heaven
me and this page and this poem
and this pen in hand
and this pen of mine

your aunt's Pennerman, isn't she
or is that her pen name
her nom de plume
her nom de guerre


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:16 a.m. 19.08.10

Sacred Interrupting Sacred
for D.B.A. & G.M.

aborted the poem
I’d commenced writing you last evening
I had to, phone rang

it was Dee on the line
did ignore it for a few rings
to get down a final image, a final thought

but I was feeling you, filled with you
we were having- were in the throes
of poetic intercourse

way away, far away, in the snow, away
far from thrown away

you were amusing me
my chief muse and me, attached
Dee coming between us, taking us apart

“Were you writing me a poem?” she asked
she knows I usual am
or something or other about her

amazing her ability to ask such questions
devoid of conceit or ego

it is just that I am devoted to her
have been for some months
several hundred poems is proof of it

her high station, that room in my heart
now has a partition, made of Formica
or is a membrane
is a room for two, for her and you

thought to or had to explain to her
who I was in bed with

to you I feel it is-
find it to be necessary
to confess as well

who it was- why it was
I had to abort abruptly
connection we were having

in church as it were
and having to end the service

my mother, God rest her soul,
used to think it unacceptable, unforgivable

for my brother or me or anybody
to switch off the radio
while a preacher was preaching

however foolish or whatever foolishness


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:45 a.m. 18.08.10

Guavas
for M.G.S.

too small for too long
then suddenly
they were ripe


© Obediah Michael smith, 2010
7:01 a.m. 19.12.05

Clean Sheet to Commit Adultery
for G.M.

I can write erotic about you, you see
you'll see, you've seen already

what's now left for me to see also
where ink will flow or where I'll go

don't know what I am being bitten by
what is biting me

I feel like a dog with flees
are these mosquitoes or what
in love with me, after my blood

siphoning it out or out to get inside my veins
inside the arteries, these tiny red rivers

go for a swim or for a ride
get off at some bend or other
or sail over what is like a water fall

don't know what is bugging me
has distracted me
from writing erotic about you as I wanted to
as I know I can

my sheet entirely covered or almost
emoting about whatever it is bugging me
biting me, thwarting, undermining adultery
I got onto this clean sheet to commit

want a bit of it- of you still
few white areas remaining still
to squeeze ink into

squeezed into what small space
in this life together
for what purpose, to what end
out of the vastness
of the whole wide world

where we were once - before May in Cuba
into the tininess of acquaintance,
acceptance

soul mates you call us
united by Bergman, by English
in heavenly eyes

not sex, not romance
but what plucked us out
to unite, to make a union

what ropes, what chains join us
unable to break apart
or pull apart ever again

mystery of relationship to explore
friendship to establish and explore
ocean of it, its depths

ship like this even
has rough waves to go over
has its conflicts

even friends break up and make up
have ups and downs

did not tell you, I turned the page
changed the sheet,

needed another one
to dirty or to make clean
with love of you
with loving you

this sheet running out also
volcano to erupt, dynamite to set off
in seconds or doves to release

end a ceremony, a marriage of sorts

is what we have- what we are
not one of seven sacraments
pillars of church and sky


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
4:21 p.m. 16.08.10