Tuesday, December 28, 2010

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

3 Comments:

Anonymous d.a. said...

An amazing poem, quite the assertion. Cleary, I am not going to get away with writing any ole thing.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010 5:01:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

Girl I happy you dun read dis. Thank you, my love, for how connected we are. You inspire me and your reading and responses inspire me again. How extraordinary you are and we are - and how extraordinarily blessed!

Wednesday, December 29, 2010 1:09:00 AM  
Anonymous Jon Murray said...

Thanks for sharing Obie!

Thursday, January 06, 2011 9:14:00 AM  

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