With Chop Sticks Fight
for D.B.A., A.R-M., P.J.W. & F.F.

i.
there is something about
where history and where
personal choices meet
where what will happen will meet
what we decide and do
meets what we ourselves choose

people in high places
with what seems to them-
to us too to be, ultimate power
arranging, rearranging, disarranging

what they wish, as they wish
until what set things into being
and into motion- got things going
before who came along to usurp this chair
this thrown, came along, kicks in again
takes over again, to cause creation
and everything in it,
to go in the direction intended

oh the forces pulling forth and back
rope between them or see-saw
with weight on two sides like a scale
one to win, the other to lose
or balance to strike

who comes into this world
bringing light
who goes out of this world
bringing night

ii.
what strong emotions
between us occurring, existing

we were together here
on her birthday, November 11
when she turned 19

always dramatic when I am with her
when we are together, wherever

but especially when alone together
in public together

entirely alone, at home, at my house
she shuts down or almost

fun when we meet in this or that cafe
delightfully, sparks fly

what a range of emotions
shared between us
would pass between us
have passed between us

have passed between us
since we met

what next, what more
the sky to touch yet

the back of her throat
the neck that's her cervix
to thrust open or to ease open
with what heaven
has provided me to reach
into her with

length and breadth, height and depth
of her to explore, woman I adore

Jesus, I must exit this rest room
away from my table all of this time
they must think I'm shitting

they'd think that I had been
think that I was

iii.
8 billion leaves on a tamarind tree
on a family tree

all able to access sunlight
all able to benefit equally
from the roots of the tree
however deep they grow or go
searching out, searching for
benefit and to replenish
what would otherwise diminish
in the world, in the whirl,
in the whirling world

iv.
outfit her, able to afford to
to afford it, my fit exactly

needs she might have
what she'd accept

someone I am willing
to take on after all
able to take on
put on or take off

like underpants I like best
I like best to wear

like blessing when we meet
blessing actually when we met
since we met

like raindrops, like snow flakes
like flower petals falling
like dew drops dropping
on everything, everywhere

like evening falling
like night fall

just a dollar-fifty,
beggar in Paradise
requiring a favor
requesting a sum of money
this sum of money from me

with what hard eyes
he fixes me to the wall
I lean against

demanding what he assumes
he has a right to

gotten into my pen
onto my page, into my poem

become the subject of my song

v.
what am I writing about
when I do not know
what the fuck is going on
yet I write about it on and on
in such detail

I do not know what is going on
who is running things
or ruining things
or putting things right again

drug dealer, similarly
does not know what is going on
what lives are being lost
which lives are being saved

so many in society
attentive to their own needs
to only what they want
to what they will get
out of everyday of life
out of every day they live

even out Prime Minister
other ministers of government
all around the world

are they aware of anything
outside of their own personal sphere
do they care

what it is- who it is
who cares for us all
who orchestrates it all

live our lives, let other pieces
other persons, fall where they may
and every day anyway anywhere
take care of ourselves, make sure
our own shelves are stocked out
with books or food or both

boats upon the water,
wither are they going
some overturning
along with cars long the road

vi.
I was certainly reluctant
to have sex with her
but sex with her sister
was a tight tight affair

it was difficult as the devil
to open her
with what was not
yet entirely grown

we were both in our teens still
we were in love, attracted to-
attached to- to each other drawn
had to have piece
had to find corners to hide away in

waited for darkness to blanket us
to veil us, to meet in

did we fuck or attempt to
more than just that once

regret still those times, years later
having intercourse with her sister

wiped her pussy one night, one time
with tissue,
returned from the bathroom
continued where we left off
bits and pieces of toilet tissue
she'd wiped with, left behind in her vagina
ended up on my dick
discovered there when we were done
when we switched lights on

how scornful it seemed
how mystified I was
until we together figured out
where tissue, in her, on me
bits and pieces
had come from

intercourse with a woman
I was not in love with
was not at all elegant

vii.
black and white, no way at all
to talk about people

films are black and white
people are far more than
and about far more than
skin color

skin color though
is as varied almost, or more so
than the colors and textures
of flower petals

black and white films
black and white hardly the sum
or sum total of what- of who
people are

some of us, not at all interested
in fitting into or falling into
these narrow categories
like train rails for the human race
to run on or to run off

derailed already, a race
that sees or defines itself
in such terms

I watch black and white films
see black and white photographs

I watch people,
I see more than
their black-and-whiteness

viii.
is our affair deepened
when we argue
when we with words fight
with words, cross swords

recall when we were happiest
sword fighting with chop sticks

silly sweetheart and I, moment of bliss
between us shared

in what sharp juxtaposition
to when we argue, when we fight,
when fires ignite

how exquisite, how we put them out
she and I, committed
to extinguishing them
with minimal destruction
with minimal damage

is our affair deepened
when we argue, when we
with words cross swords

we are where we are, after 18 months
connected after
so many blissful patches
following breaking up

breaking up and making up
making love and making poetry

ix.
in our business,
in the business of the arts, of artists
easy as pie for the mind to flip over
to end up mentally on the wrong side

how very near I've come, I've been
to such a state, to such a place

to do what I do, to create as I do
to be creative as I choose to be
as I've been chosen to be
and not to have gone mad
is for me a blessing,
a reward that no money can purchase

I prefer soundness of mind
to millions in the bank

I'd like both
but to have one or the other
give me mental health

health of body and soul added
and what have I to regret
or could I regret

money is overrated
air underrated
light and water underrated
peace of mind, peace on earth
underrated

money makes the world go round
they say, but does it

who has made the earth round
makes it go round


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Tuesday,
between 11:35 a.m. and 11:33 p.m.
on December 28, 2010

Just Wars
for D.B.A.

this is what limits
your ability to write poetry
as well as your ability to live fully

this "just" you find necessary
to insert in what poetry is
in what poetry does

"just" you insert in yourself
like tampons or between your legs
like whatever sanitary napkin

your just is not just, is unjust, is injustice
is a wall about a city,
walling in and walling out

part of me in, part of me out

poem written only recently
about wanting to take down walls
I suppose hadn't anything to do
with me, with us

you and your just walls, unjust walls

poetry within the middle
of the lake of existence, landing
along with your period blood, dripping

stone dropping in the lake's middle
sends ripples out
to the very edges of creation

nothing "just" about
where poetry is or what poetry does
when it is everything
when it is everywhere
it begins everything, it ends everything

but you are not ready to believe
or to accept this
so what am I preaching to your for

what is the use
of what I'm throwing away here
down the drain with a million other words
with all my other deeds
to do with you, added

ii.
sign of the cross made over and over
between salvation and damnation
between enjoyably living and self destruction

sign of the cross made over and over
between heaven and hell
between hell fire, the fires of hell
and what heaven has promised
what heaven has to offer

sign of the cross
made over and over again
when she takes happiness away
or threatens to
and I am near to not knowing
what to do with myself

is she as stoical as she pretends to be
does she cry
does she make the sign of the cross too
when crisis nears,
when we're coming apart

my heart in her fist
and her heart in mine
squeezing and squeezing
we two in pain

just as painful
when we are no longer walking
hand-in-hand

I make the sign of the cross
at times like these, again and again
in desperation, in prayer

with the sign of the cross
I hang on, hang in there in bad times

I pray in good times too
and laugh and cry


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:55 a.m.
and 4:16 a.m., on Friday,
December 31, 2010

Purple Apples
for S.A.

apple, a pull a day
most certainly would
keep the doctor away

a pull of what through straw
or a baby or me
with breast nipple to pull on,
to feast on, to feed through

apple a day, a pull a day
for thirsty me, to keep me well
to keep me happy,
alive, and loving you


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:12 p.m. 30.12.10

Raw Egg
Windy Morning
for D.B.A.

i.
in costume, on Bay St.
leaping up and down

with the tips of his toes
touching the palms of his hands

squirming round and round
squirming up and down

has all of that energy resulted
from vitamin D
he delights in
invites in

ii.
have twin girls, call one
shan't tell, call the other shall tell

is that Shan I glimpsed just now
on TV,
rushing for Conquerors for Christ

I am certain
that was her smile I saw, I glimpsed
and no one else's

hands within the neck of her costume
her aim to,
with one gesture, one motion,
adjust the cardboard bulk of it

rushing with the wind to do battle with

iii.
among the words
you're reading and writing
after you'd have been reading
and writing for years and years,
you hear words you are not reading,
words you are not writing

just as when you're praying
and you hear also, words you are not praying

words you are reading, writing or praying
fitting into those other words
like hands fit gloves

something divine at one and the same time
going on, someone or something
ministering to you, whispering to you

something communing with you
voice going through you

true you,
as you write or read or pray
to find, to locate yourself,
in between what you are writing
reading or praying

and this or that still, small voice
whispering through
whispering to you

true you, out of rubble arising
out of ashes arising, arriving

iv.
shaking myself up like milkshake
but none for you, but not for you

shaking myself up
Junkanoo juju juice to bewitch
who could take it
who could taste it
able to see after tasting it

shakin' murself up like milk shake
broke raw egg in it, drink it
who I decide to give it to

invite who I go tru, ta come tru me

v.
what is it
that he's making from scratch

chicken scratch to a love affair

what is he sketching out
scratching out,
stretching out like a neck

someone dropping from a height
to his death, his neck in a noose

my God, what an image
to interrupt a love poem with

art goes where it wishes
not always able to dish it up to eat
some delicacy to delight in

so that or this, is what Dee is doing
in her most recent poem
attempting such an eclectic mix

stretched to a point
just short of being incongruous

just short of everything included
failing to be related

just short of all the parts
being just short of relevant

as rich a mix as what we defecate
as what we pass out

a mix of such a variety of tidbits
our feces as well as we ourselves

sweet potatoes and vegetables
peas and rice and rabbit stew
cat fish or cod fish, ackee and corn bread
jam and bread, rum and wine

things we piss out, shit out
we fill a poem with

what we make fit, force fit,
force fix, what we call art


© Obediah Michael smith, 2010
Written between 2:15 a.m. and 10:06 p.m.,
on Monday, December 27, 2010

Silver Bells
for Arianna Vanderpool-Wallace

i.
everybody eating ham and turkey
what am I eating
not even jerk cat for a pot cake dog

watching Oliver Twist in black and white
by David Lean, Sir Alex Guinness in it
with John Howard Davies

filmed in 1947
cinematography to die for, by Guy Green
I am not after all excluded from the goodness
Christmas brings

ii.
like a bolt out of a cannon
is how she swims

hits the wall opposite
with such swift finesse

even in third
is third in the whole wide world
is but a few tiny fractions of a second
behind who got gold
behind who got silver

she can roar, she can roll
she can rock 'n' roll in water
in a great big pool

iii.
Jesus! turkeys must hate Christmas
don't talk about hams

they must both hate the fact
that Christ was ever born

not at all happy of the state
in which, in such large numbers
so many insist that they show up
at the birthday of our Lord

from year to year, around the globe

iv.
I am so very nearly centred in myself
compared with where I was in relation to me
early this Christmas Sunday morning

it feels like self-love, like self-intercourse
able to go around with myself inside myself
like going about with two hands in two pockets


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:30 p.m. and 7:57 p.m.
on Sunday, December 26, 2010

Years of Gears to Change
for D.B.A.

i.
tied to God's goodness
thought I was cut off

to love connected also
thought I was unwanted
thought I was unloved

nerves and veins and arteries
attach to, arrive at
pass through and leave
the organ I am, where I am placed
in the body also

God's will be done
concerning painting of Antonius
a buyer wants to buy

fear I'd die to give it up
to have to part with it

would like the money too
I love the painting more

instead of ten thousand
I asked for four
want to take my word back

want to have my painting
and the money too

want to have my cake and eat it too
want it to be winter and summer too

Jesus, I want Dee in my life
as close to me as she can possibly get
as she can possibly be

want to be in her, want her to be in me

silly sweet baby I love
with all my heart and soul

without knowing how come
without knowing why

ii.
want somewhere
where I can weep out a poem
where I can whip up a poem

whip out like my dick
like I do when I'm desperate to pee

whip up like I would or one would
whip up whip cream

I am walking along the road
stopping along the road
going home

what do I care what becomes of me
about being or not being

without her, what does it matter
what becomes or does not
become of me

how I suffer in this affair
how I'm affected

afflictions to bear in this affair
the divine makes bearable

how bare in this affair
stripped to the skin, to the bone

to drive, she takes her shoes off
baby of mine, bare feet upon
cold tar surfacing the parking lot

a lot for her to have to transport
everybody home

minus me, not willing to add myself
to who- to all she has to lift

unprepared to be added to weight
to what she has to carry
my duty to make life light or lighter

I am committed to carrying her
not the reverse of this
not the other way around

iii.
no room for me to raise a hard on
with so many other friends of mine
and friends of yours in the car

you with your grown up self
transporting everybody home

you dropping me off
instead of my seeing you home safe

what sort of arrangement
would that be, what sort of man
would I be

pattern laid down
must do for a long time
for the long run
for the long haul

a ride home not a one time thing
in the situation tonight offered

not a right nor the right relationship
distance between us incorrect
or would have been

add ride offered
to the things to abstain from

I'm good at abstaining
only unable to abstain
from poetry and loving you

iv.
you know what I want to squeeze into
did not want to be squeezed into
your mom's car even with friends

with you alone in love
for time with your alone, I long
want to be longing still

no half measure
to take the edge off wanting
time, occasion, situation
to sit with you and share
or stand or lie

I want to wait until our turn
my turn comes or my twist

oh, sweetie, little darling, honey child
am I wrong to expect of you
what it takes a grown woman to deliver

I call upon the woman in you to emerge
I want to hold her: want her to hold me

v.
don't want anything modified
want to go all the way, the whole way

old way of love for me
without sway or stray
or diluted in the least

shall we go together, my dove
to this strange feast
taste the things
offered there to eat

will there be wine served
or beer or stout for two unusual lovers

way before them, ahead of them
to them both, novel,
equally so, equally strange

holy ground to trek across
my baby and me together
hand in hand or arm in arm

mutual belief in love
not just a word for us
instead, a way of life

way of light, way among ways
straight and narrow nights
straight and narrow days

vi.
ah, honey, I know finally
it is- it was for poetry
that I refused to ride
refused your mom's warm car
with friends

no, said Frost, I am out for stars
and I will not come in,
no, not even if asked

under the stars, walking home
what have I to fear
what need have I to fear

who might assail me
have my pen to fear, my use of words

words I am able to use as skillfully
as any criminal wields a weapon

it was for poetry that I chose to walk
to foot it, to live life hard
this instead of cushioned seats
instead of wheels

preferred to foot it
for verse to come into being
for poetry to be added to
to be elevated along with song

vii.
let nothing stand between her and me
between us, oh, God

not my herpes simplex
not her twisted wig

she so biggety, seeking out
whom she knows of but does not know
to have a conversation with

as if she were so avant-garde
so open

ask her is she having her period
after writing of her, hundreds of poems
after knowing her for going on 2 years
and she shuts off, and she shuts down

Miss out going
Miss as brave as they come

brave to a point
then what is or seems like
the edge of a cliff and she were a horse

and she freezes like Sonia, last evening
when Margo appeared
and in one open palm, a great big moth

viii.
it was not a ride I wanted or needed
it was you- is you for whom I long

what you so freely give to/give out
to any friend or any one
you come across or run across

not what I want or need
need of you what even you
do not know you have to give

not what comes easy or too freely
want what a poem requires

special attention, words selected
with the greatest care
to be made over
to be made new

from scratch into what never-
into who never was in your life

what I wish to be, sweet child
baby girl, love of my life

ix.
do I take good enough care of you
and vice versa

know you limit what care
I'm allowed to take of you

hardly anything in this world
hurts me more
than your wanting distance
and independence

I want you defendant upon me
I depend upon you

you almost always come true
you seldom let me down


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 9:45 a.m. on Thursday,
December 23 and 1:06 a.m. on Friday,
December 24, 2010

Icy Beauty
for D.B.A., D.B., T.D.,
C.D.J., S.J. & C.S.C.F.

i.
I know you're busy
but when are you going
to take a month
to thank me for loving you
you're over due to

Jesus, when absence shifts
to showing up, how difficult to bear
your nearness, your looking at me
and marveling, like you alone can

fixing your eyes upon me until
it is I who lower my head
or look away

when apart shifts to attached
like when a plug's plugged in,
the string of multicolored Christmas lights
all at once comes on

when are you going to show up
make it Christmas in my life

it always is when you are mine
and in my presence

present I have all my days
prayed to Santa Clause for
looked to St. Nicholas for or to heaven for

uncertain where you came from or when
though I know when you were born
can approximate when you were conceived

recall the evening we'd have met
one when I, looking at you, marveled
when before you were no more
than a rude girl, an impolite somebody

when though did you cross into my life
when did I cease being me alone
or who I was or who I had been, minus you

when was that, and when exactly
was I added to your life
when did we become a sum,
like 1 + 1

ii.
is this a one way street affair
all the traffic sent from me to you
from my way your way

few vehicles in comparison
from your way my way

iii.
squeeze and sweetness oozes out
when I am squeezed,
when I am please to see someone
I hadn't seen in coon days
as the saying goes, what is squeezed out

envy her sweet smell
envy pleasant smelling
sweet smelling people

how I smell, I am uncertain
with clothes on over night clothes

cologne, gift from a friend I cherish
shows I'm cherished too,
sprayed on, two sprays,
to disguise that I haven't bathe

no time to do more
than to wash my face
too cold to do more
than to wash my face

I squeeze her and I smell sweet
feel sweet, more genteel

recall the class to which I belong
though I stray from it
attached to it like a spider to a thread
by a strand of web

hanging from the ceiling of a room
or a forest, from a ceiling
of limbs and leaves

iv.
bring a girl out
for whoever she passes/we pass by
to drink up
with hungry, thirsty eyes

until there is no more of her
until I am walking along alone

v.
as sweet as the candy
melting in her mouth
sweet as the candy she's sucking on
sucking out of existence

got her in my mouth
were I to suck as hard
would she think of me as cruel

cruel to a mint which in moments
will be the taste
remaining on her tongue
remaining in her mouth

what taste to go around with
were she to melt upon my tongue
melt into existence

what flavor, what fragrance
left upon the wind, upon the mind

she is so deliciously little,
I said of her when I saw her

friend with me communicated
what I'd said,
how sweetly appreciative
was her smile

vi.
falling apart
even as the earth rounds the sun
rounds itself

falling apart as the river runs
blood flows, hearts beat
flowers grow, petals fall

petals falling off me too
falling apart, growing old
going fast

how fast earth goes
while we imagine
we are standing still

spins us round, spins us up
spins us down

round round round
down down down
until we disappear
not to reappear
until Christ comes
or comes again

vii.
attires himself as if gift wrapped
his tie a bow

I am a gift, ripped open long ago

viii.
on the cutting eggs
cutting edge, cutting beef
cutting fish, cutting leaves
a mark, makes a mark

we too must leave our mark
carve our names upon trunks
of trees
in forests we pass through

knife to carve a top to spin
knife to eat our breakfast
lunch and dinner with

ix.
how could you put a bullet
into a talented person
into a person's talent

bullet through a talent
through a talented person
like a pin through balloon
let air out in an instant

let the talent burst out
talent exploding
talent of so many
talented persons

pulling trigger, taking lives
talented killing, killing talents

so many corner stones
thrown into deepest
cold sea waters

sink out of sight not to be seen
or heard of again

x.
lovely, love me
I see beauty
icy beauty
lovely, love me


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 1:30 p. m.
& 10:49 p.m., on Wednesday,
December 15, 2010

Let Out More Line
for D.B.A.

i.
are you sure going to St. Andrew's
hasn't gone to your head

I thought St. Andrew's students
would all be cultivated, cultured
not ill mannered, impolite, inconsiderate

attending St. Andrew's does not at all mean
that it is where you're from

you come from where you belong
to go to school

at school, pupils
from so many backgrounds gather

from a great variety of levels
or layers of society
are these pupils drawn

here is where the contradiction is
though you chose, because you're there
to put it down, a height you’ve jumped

now no big deal, small things, small change
what you have overcome, having gotten in

you know the status it has
academically and otherwise

this you're glad to be part of
to buy into, how ever high the regard
however undeserved or undeserving
glad to take in, taste of, swill, swallow

ii.
but are we closer, is the question
ups and downs and ins and outs
are we after all, after each day passes
are we closer, do we know each other better
are we adding up to better acquainted
to better understanding

am I, through her- is she through me
leading to her knowing herself-
to my knowing myself better

oh what a sculptor does, chip away
and when the chipping away is over
what is left far surpasses the marble
before the chipping away began

are we chipping away at each other
as aggressively as we do
with some end in mind

are we creating or recreating each other
like seeing all the hair fall
upon the barber shop floor
but what is left is something
more than before
the cutting away commenced

iii.
treats me like who she thinks I am
treat her like who I think she is

what of when all this guessing goes away
all this estimating
and we know clearly who each other is
and we can relate with our real selves
our true selves

and knowing who each other is
we could trust- would know
what to expect
rather than some fictional her,
some fictional me to deal with
to relate to
when the real her and the real me
are available to interact with

Oh God, let fall away,
what or who we imagine
each other to be
make available, the truth
to stand before, bare

bare before the burning bush
of what- of who is real

iv.
why can we not have our relationship
why must you say no to it

we have a relationship
why can't we- why don't we own it
why must you insist upon
its sleeping out of doors
like a hardly wanted pet

why must it be fed
scraps that you feed it
that you feed us

your reaction to us, how you teat us
makes you a creature
of the cruelest kind

v.
something very masculine
about that girl

I suppose there is
something very feminine
about the boy that I am

I feel like a girl up against
the brash, abrupt, awkward boy
that she is so comfortable being
cold and crude and rude and callous

what if I had a dick, she asked me once
would you love me still

maybe she does, maybe she has
why I often these days,
find her as difficult as I do to love
find it as difficult as I do
to love her

vi.
she'd go good with peas soup
could she cook it, I wonder

dumpling that she is
would only have to fall into the pot

have your cake and eat it too
eat your dumplings
and have them too

vii.
how old is she now, my friend's mom
but a young, bright boy when
his mom and I were lovers

God, how did we ever fall into love making
taught her a position or two
entirely new to her, she was fascinated

what a lover of sex she was
unable, hardly ever, to get enough
I had to measure up, had to keep it up

had to have her sex,
she said it was her weakness
in spite of how religious she was
quoting scripture, talking profoundly
about God and Christ,
about the Holy Spirit
but so much it was sickening
but how sweet was sex
it was sweet for her too

so sweet that when she had
or neared an orgasm
she, with her tongue,
pushed forth, pushed out
her two or three, false, front teeth

not caring that I saw, that I knew
she had teeth missing

one girl, oh how I miss her
how sweet she was,
when she neared orgasm,
she shoved her tongue into my nose
into one nostril or the other

now that was extraordinary
oh how she and I together
folded and unfolded

that was an affair
outstanding among affairs
I'd not tell you how we met
or where we met

both of these relationships occurred
in Freeport, on Grand Bahama Island

I can imagine them happening
no where else on earth


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 7:30 p.m.
on Wednesday, 8th December
and 2:00 p.m., Thursday,
9th December 2010

She was born on a Wednesday
for D.G.

i.
D'Anthra's gift
only pretty is a present, pretty as a present

in a package like one, packaged like one

is a smile a bow or sort of
an assortment of smiles and bows
bows in abundance

fingers and toes, inspected at birth
make certain all your tiny little parts
were in place

at 18, look again
to see that what should be added
is, was, has been
see that nothing's out of place

show up in my place like apparition
Dee to show up
because she eats the wrong things
because she is short and has fat genes

ii.
has she told you
what good friends we are
what good friends we are not
what good friends we were
what friends we were and are not now

all the differences between us
surfacing, arising
because of some other love affair
she is simultaneously caught up in


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Danielle’s 18 birthday,
between 11:45 a.m. and 4:40 p.m.
December 9, 2010

Hilton Ball Point Pen
for D.B.A.

knew you since you were 17
beginning to be a long time
since I have known you

I've held you together
as well as you've held me
we've held together well

amazing how we hold together
when we are coming apart
when we are being pulled apart
when we are self-destructing
destroying ourselves

bond like that, inexplicable
bond responsible for orbiting of planets
orbiting atoms

like two fireflies, we circle each other
others see, look, fascinated

as close to you today,
as deep in me today as you ever were,
explain this, explain it

why are we seemingly inseparable
how is it that what we are
is like things that are difficult to kill

God, we have had our challenges
thought we were over, were done with
thought we were behind us
but not so, not yet

in spite of unending threats
up against our heaven

I have you today
however far away you are

how gentle we can be with each other
immediately after having fought

I have a hard on for you
twin brother of my black,
Hilton, ball point pen

unable to abandon the planets
our two hearts are


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:08 p.m. 08.12.10

Tender Eyes Ears Hearts
for Caroline Bird

we've been invited to read for babies
without a word of warning

them to meet the verse I've written
selected this evening for this occasion

but for children's eyes, ears
must confess, I was not prepared

too rough possibly, my verse
for their uncertainty, for their shores

too rough blow possibly
wind and water up against soft rocks
of which they're made

how much corrosion in one evening
or will I test the fabric of which they're made
stretch what they are able to withstand


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
7:05 p.m. 14.07.10

Words Can Say Words Can't Say

You bitch!
I'd not addressed you like that in ages
used to address you like that when you were mine

Ah, fuck! how I miss when you were mine
or when I thought you were
even if you always knew better, knew otherwise

even if you were just stringing me along
or disabusing me by degrees

wanting to let me down gently, let me down easy
let me down eventually, you certainly did

You dick head! never sucked my dick head
never inserted inside your hairy opening
hairy Suzie

what could I say that I hadn't said, that I haven't said
think that I hadn't thought
where within your body, has my pen not visited

cussed, carried on
without ever having whispered in your ear

how long has it been since I told you, I love you
is it because I don't any more


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:58 p.m. 07.12.10

Tenderhearted Times
for L.B-C. & D.B.A.

i.
I haven't any elsewhere
away from or in addition to
the place where poetry is made
where art comes into being as she does

she goes and comes, she comes and goes
at times away from her and me, from art
for what would or could seem like ages

with this disloyalty, this division, I am impatient
always was, always will be

able to put art poetry and me second
has taught us, with her, to do the same
to demote her also

deceived into thinking initially
that we had her attention

that we came first in her heart
her hands - her eyes, her mind

ii.
remember the noise
of our attempted kiss, in 1986
against the quiet of Nassau Public Library

that octagonal building, down town, Nassau
which was once a prison

where we were was once a cell
we two, too free, walls on all sides
lined with books

what a daring moment that was
teacher and pupil in the public library
downtown, kissing or trying to

nervous, elated, awkward, out on a limb
and falling off, kissing or trying to
and trying to keep our balance

how many moments like that, shared
in our brief affair

opposition to it arising,
threatening, frightening


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:40 p.m. and 3:29 p.m.
on Monday, December 6, 2010