Way Ahead
Way Behind
for D.B.A.

life for me is constantly shifting
or is a constant shifting
between feeling that I am
way ahead or that I am way behind

I can, because of pride, suggest
that it does not matter
having you or not having you

but it matters actually, so very much
when you are thrown into my arms
or when you throw yourself
into my arms, I'd feel so very far ahead

when you withdraw or are withdrawn
again I'd feel way, way behind
as if in life I'd achieved so little

added to or subtracted from
when you and I are added together
or when you and I are taken apart

this miracle of our relationship
when it is occurring or when it isn't
when we are engaged or when we are not

affects me as deeply as life and death
as breath and the lack of it
as heartbeat and when
this beating, booming stops

no denying how deeply you affect me
the impact, this simple equation

gauge tells me where I stand
where we stand, where I am and you are

whether we're together or apart
when I am feeling way ahead or way behind

like a loser or a failure
or like one of the most accomplished
most well rewarded artists
who ever was, who ever lived


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
7:18 p.m. 29.11.10

Soul Worth
Soul Weigh
for D.B.A.

one hard fuck
and you could have an estate
worth $40 M más o menos

I am not available to just anyone
no longer available to you
to the brute that you are

able to see nothing
unable to see anything

me or what I am worth
in your without-vision hands
and I'd be worthless

what I am worth or could be
it seems, you haven't a clue
so backward, so simpleminded

smart enough to get a PhD
with sense enough only to seek a job
rather than create employment
for 5 thousand or more

$20 and $20 more
on your birthday
and you object, protest
almost refuse to accept

suggest that I am not a millionaire
when I was a millionaire
when I was born or before
or just after

when the several hundred poems
I have written of you
are worth millions or can be

enough to buy candy
for all the children of the Commonwealth
of The Bahamas for Christmas
and Easter eggs for Easter
as well as Easter bunnies

where is your vision
able to study, unable to imagine

you weigh with this country's eyes
see what this country sees
think what this country thinks
of poets of poetry

what will you do with-
what will become of
your own ability to create,
to right, to write

up in the night
children asleep


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
11:47 a.m. 29.11.10

On A Nail in the Wall
for D.B.A.

sweet and sour pussy
like sweet and sour pork

like something I bought
from Double Dragon
for my growling belly
for my belly growling

one rainy day which lasted a week
then six, then six months

never sick and never tired
of eating her sweet and sour pussy
like sweet and sour pork
while it rained

what I had with my blinds drawn
with thunder rolling, lightning flashing
snatching at my chop sticks

so much better to have, to handle
than knife and fork in this sort of weather

what storm is this
we are passing through now
something or other
threatening to pull us apart

dismantling us
with her own two hands
hands she used to hold us together with

sweet and sour pussy
like sweet and sour pork
I had been learning to love the taste of
though it was paradox
at times, outright contradiction

we fitted well until hell broke loose
I want the nut and bolt that we were back

on her back, I, fucking her silly
roll of thunder, nosy neighbours
unable to hear her cry
unable to hear us cry out
oftentimes simultaneously

whatever happened
to joy that was unbearable
to the boy and girl that we were

could we have forgotten how to connect
or how we were connected

box of Chinese rice,
our two pairs of chop sticks, reaching in

she used to open her thighs so wide
when I ate her
or close them about my head and holler

I want her on the floor again
with her panties on the kitchen table
her bra on a nail in the wall

ii.
getting out of bed to write this
wrote something else instead
hope I am able to recall
hope the gist of it still exists, is still in tact

outside of erotic we did make, we did share
in what sharp juxtaposition
times, attempts on your part
to resist my touching you with Eros

holding you with Eros in mind
along with Eros in hand, with Eros in my arms

your occasional attempts, inconsistent attempts
to negate, reverse, to nullify
making you mine, me yours
us an item, as the saying goes

at times you'd do this
such gestures, such words
to undo, to revoke what I'd invoke constantly
attempts without end,
to get your panties off

to get at your pussy lips, with lips, with finger tips
with this same blunt rebuttal I would reject
every gesture or suggestion of friendship

determined not to allow this to take root or grip
take hold or take over
as against such notions
as one cultivating flowers is against weeds

for you, when you choose to rebut,
lovers wouldn't do
just as adamant or more about
not allowing- about not accepting friendship
not at all what I am after
or ever was or ever will be

unless in addition or on top of
the tooti fruti
of what lovers are
of what lovers do

iii.
windows and doors that you have shut
I want open again

remember when rain and sunshine
used to get in, used to be let in

remember the songs you used to sing
songs you used to send

why was this phase
put so quickly behind us

oh this graveyard in our relationship
that we have come to
that we are going through

not at all a delight for me
is it a delight for you
this separation, this living apart
our cruel exchanges
your cold lack of contact


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:30 p.m.
on Saturday, November 27
and 4:36 a.m. Sunday,
November 28, 2010

Tall Glass of Friendship

happy to see her
happy to see me

my banker friend
as short as a sword-off shot gun
as efficient as can be
first few times she served me

then conflict, serving me
and a second customer
to my great dissatisfaction

before or after that
in response to something
I needed done
that the bank did not allow

I said to her face, so very emphatically,
without uttering a sound, "Fuck!"

next time I appeared to be served
wanting her,
wanting no one else to serve me,
she fled or seemed to
to avoid serving me
I felt so very deeply slighted

I'd held- was holding
nothing at all against her

friendship I thought I'd deepened
I'd botched or destroyed
or damaged temporarily

joy to find her happy to see me
at the Dundas this evening

gave me one cheek to kiss
I accepted, requested the other also
to plant a second kiss upon

to establish or to re-establish
friendship
like a church upon a rock


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:58 p.m. 27.11.10

Dilly Milk
for D.B.A.

fuck trying to force-ripe who isn't
fruit ripe on so many trees to pick
whole lot a ripe fruit what dun fall,
all over der ground

force ripin' what een ripe, exhausting myself
with what I need ta leave to the fingers of the rain
to the rays- to der beams of the sun

no wonder I exhausted
tryin ta force-ripe what een ripe

pretending to be, pretended that she was
get my hands around her

fill my fist with the woman I thought she was
only to find a child, as green as a green dilly

that sticky milk, if I had snapped the stem
not juicy at all, not sweet and soft

as hard as turn off, as hard as annoyance
frustrating to tangle with

my God what I was tryin ta do with what ain't right
with what een ready ta pick

maybe soft to somebody else
ta me as hard as a head what hard
as hard as coconut shell


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:08 a.m. 27.11.10

In Opposition In Battle
Whatever You Can Throw
for D.B.A.

i.
fighting for her, for who
fights against me
for who undermines me

fighting for who is not on my side

ii.
I am not in love anymore
I am cured of that
that is over and done with

all the pints of blood
I gave everyday, largely ignored

given away- giving away
what is left of the rest of life
for nothing at all
attempting to make significant
who isn't at all

desire to bring about in her
some cultural shift, a shift in emphasis
instead resulting
in a shift in- in a shift of my own

need to get back on track
regain forward momentum
even if alone, even if on my own

I've always had my pen in hand
to rely upon - this fist, this affair

what need have we of her
intruding, interrupting
woman from backwoods

with a store in her house
with her house in a store


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 11:30 p.m.
Thursday, November 25 & 12:33 p.m.
Friday, November 26, 2010

Arms around the Moon
for S.F. & D.B.A.

i.
wait around
for her inadequate responses
for her small girl responses

couldn't respond appropriately,
adequately, even if she wanted to
desired to, tried to

in addition to or on top of
being unable to
she has always resisted

turned me off
after she'd have turned me on

shifting into reverse
just as the vehicle we were in
had accelerated,
was going swiftly forward

silly me, baring heart and soul
in poems I wrote, in notes to myself
always shared with her,
was no way to win her

nothing I did not tell her
of all I had ever done, of anyone significant
I have ever been with

she on the other hand
kept her secrets to herself
what she did not want told
what she did not wish to tell
what she did not wish to spill or to spell out

oh what has all that we have shared
all that I have given, added up to
no more than words left in print or left to print,
a million or two million or more

ii.
winding this up or winding this down
this broken watch of a relationship
this broken ship of a relationship
for dry dock or to take out to sea, set fire to,
let sink

sink pen in ink, as poets of old used to,
had to

used to sink my pen in her, in her liquor
poems for her pussy lick, for her pussy lips

now what am I left with
panties purchased for her, present for her,
to present to her,
in my backpack

is the gap between us
closing or widening
are her thighs closing or coming apart

getting to know each other better
as time passes, is added to, is added on

I so los' I know not where to turn
or what to do

intense fire beneath the pot
we were cooking, necessary,
according to her, to turn down

damper to insert also,
so peas and rice won't burn

or is it too late already
and what we were cooking up
has to be thrown out

for cat and mouse, owl and rat
pot cake and raccoon to fight over

to try to settle the score of love
our unfortunate love affair, run amok
gone haywire

I was expecting what I expect of Delta
a smooth take off, expecting it to land soft

instead, what a rocky flight
what a rocky fight this is

iii.
SF, I need to turn to you
I wish that I were able to

who on earth as close, as near
to share my tears with
to show where I am torn

paper love affair that I was in
and I am ripped

riff between that girl and me
your friend and mine

she and I, adrift, I do not know
if together or apart

able to locate you, to trust
where you say you are
though in London, far away

this girl
I thought I was going with
here on New Providence,
no providence for me

how unstable,
raft we two were standing on

it rocks, shakes, this way,
that way and in the water,
wet, time and time again

know what I am watching
wishing you were near

"Henry and June,"
of Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin

what do you think of this idea
abnormal pleasures
kill the taste for normal ones

silly me, dreaming of love
of a lover far away

what futility I, without end,
or we without end

heap upon our plates
at the banquet of love
we wish life was, we think life is

I always did want to drink/a drink
of your milk-white skin

against it, how black must appear,
hair growing where
your secret's kept,
where your secret is or blond hair
and blond there

bees' wax for your back
want to kiss you here and there
lick you in and lick you out
lick you up and lick you down

all over, over and over, kiss you
roll you over and over in love flour
in love petals, in love flowers


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Saturday,
November 20, 2010,
Between 11:45 a.m. and 3:35 p.m.

When Buttons Pop
for D.B.A.

how could I have failed
with all of my fingers
to indent even one of your buttons
your piano keys or the keys
upon your typewriter

how could I have failed to play
a single note or chord, to drop your draws,
to expose you,
to reveal your true identity

you lie to say it is not you at all
that I have written about
when every bit of it, of all I've written
is of you, is your portrait actually

you go to church
you suggest I've gotten it all wrong

you almost convinced me
that all I've written is fiction
but it isn't, you know it is not

wanted to get words in
about your two bare breasts
about your two breasts nipples

written of your pussy often
but seldom about your breasts
never about
licking or kissing or sucking them


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:54 a.m. 20.11.10

Jigsaw Girl
for D.B.A.

great big me she wishes to relegate to being
or wishes to keep, as her lil piece on the side
my dick, every now and then,
to lick like she'd lick ice cream
nothing more than a child's treat
a treat for a child's cheeks when I am
entirely enough man for any big woman
how many dicks does she wish to have
to hang onto, to hold onto like two cow tail,
in opposite directions going, pulling, coming
or like straws for a woman drowning
in what would, without Dick and Tom and Harry,
boarder on boredom - in this city, tiny as it is,
in need of a lap or two to sit in, a dick or two to sit on


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:49 p.m. 19.11.10

Each Other to Catch or Drop
for D.B.A.

she would throw me anything
anyhow, anyway

if I catch it, I catch it,
if I don't, I don't

she to catch and I to catch like flu
or worse than flu

that is how it has been
between her and me

fucking her without a condom
wondering why, all this time,
she is not pregnant yet

but all along, all the time,
she is wearing one or wearing gloves
so that when we touch
she won't catch me

thought she'd have been
dying for me by now
like I'd be dying for her

but she always has her condom in
her gloves on

when I think we're close
or thought we were, we are-
we were in separate rooms

detached, she'd throw me
anything, anytime, anyhow, any way
to catch or not catch, get or not get
take it or leave it, way the saying goes

used to bend myself
however out of shape
to catch wherever she threw to me
or hurled at me, however

but I've decided
to let what break break
I've had enough

enough to take or leave
faced with take it or leave it
and I am this morning
unable to decide what way to turn

she is colder than I am
or pretends to be

might just leave it to her to decide
if this relationship lives or dies


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:14 a.m. 19.11.10

Unable to Find A Soft Spot
of D.B.A.

I have penetrated nothing,
I have gotten no where

with tenderness, with gifts,
with all my goods and goodness

instead of accepted,
acceptance, I am met with resistance
with KEEP OUT, with bad dogs

a heart as hard as ever a heart was
a stone upon my plate, is my supper
is what I am served, is all she has to offer

a snake instead of me
is eating my apple, my papaya, my plums


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:23 p.m. 18.11.10

Edge We'd Fall Off
for D.B.A.

without Dee in the world to bounce things off
what a loss, what a place, what a no place

off of what to bounce thoughts
or a heart wanting her heart to bounce up against

what a note or what notes she located me with
located me to play

her and me, able to make a happy composition
or a stormy one

knows well how to play the notes of peace

Jesus, lost, alone, without a word
from her all day, wondering about
the other half of me

what was left of me, skin I occupy
cold and uninteresting

got through, did this and that
but oh how I wasn't

pretended to be a person for all I encountered
more like a zombie,
went undetected, fortunately

attached to her is life, is purpose
oh what colors fill me

I was grey all day, worse than blue
I was bland all day

11:06 p.m.
I was at a wedding reception, she said
I went at 7

"a.m.?" I asked. "p.m.," she corrected

whose reception
where were you earlier
why not a single solitary word or wave

I have questions
answers I'd not insist upon
what if answers to these questions,
to my inquiry, to these concerns
evoked jealousy, anger, shouting,
severe upset

when she is soft, yawning in my ear
like I love her to be
is gift and joy and comfort to me

don't want her reticence though
to be cover up, tantamount to dishonesty
to her making a fool of me

Balzac's Cousin Bette often times
at times like these, comes to mind
read the novel decades ago
own the film now, need it at my finger tips

to be able to shove it in
need Dee near enough to be able
to shove dick tongue or any finger
into her ass or vagina


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:01 a.m. 14.11.10

Thin Ice
for D.B.A.

i.
I'd be assuming
when I'd not have heard from her
for too many hours or for a day or two
that she is ever so far
and that we had grown so very far apart

she'd surface, reappear as it were
call from her, she upon the phone
I'm here, I'm right here, ever so near

reappearance, reassurance
that she is mine, that I am hers
that nothing at all has or had changed
everything in order, everything in place

when I thought our world, my world,
scattered in every way, in so many ways
scattered, displaced, all intact,
she'd kept it that way, would keep it that way

even if our affair is laced with unfaithfulness
like Arsenic and Old Lace

ii.
tickle her pussy with my pen, without end
wiggle it about as if within an ink well

stories to tell about her, words to spell,
spell she's cast, I'm unable to dispel

spell I am unable to break
won’t want to if I was able to

tied up in her, tied up together
way I like to be, where I like to be
how I like to be, who I like to be

a man in love with a woman in love
whether or not, like me, she is able to declare it

milk I drank or ate, out poured over cornflakes
and I am farting so deliciously loudly

how convenient to be alone, to be living alone

my baby as close to me as the tip of my pen
if she were with me
we could have sexual intercourse
or together, we could watch Moulin Rouge
about Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

I am instead watching it alone
Dee in my heart and in my head

iii.
moving on from what, from where, from whom
away from what, from him to whom
you have not ever been faithful

wedded to another world, citizen of another city
another situation

what the fuck, is what I say
I still have life to get on with
poems to write, to right
tears to weep and to dry or not to dry

Sunday and instead of joy, enigma
unhappy messages

maybe I should not have mixed mentioning
my oldest girl's birthday
with that poem of you
must rescue it, title it, post it on my blog

what headaches I've been suffering
desire to get well without aspirins
or other medication

oh this narrow strip of something
of someplace we occupy, you and I
musie like a piece a wood across a rapid

often falling off, falling in
how much of me I feel, I fear is wasted

unappreciative of caviar
even the eggs of sturgeon fish
get left on the plate or are raked out
raked off, food for the dog

iv.
she'd run out of maturity
not knowing what to do next
because she is so young yet

unable to tell her, to instruct her
useless for her to hear from without
what she has to hear within, in time
what only experience can teach her,
can tell her

v.
little more to get up for
besides her and poetry
otherwise I could lie down and die
and I will eventually

be rid of the pains which existing is
which accompany it
rid of the struggle without reward

one of the most precious,
most priceless rewards of all my days
for living, for sacrificing, for writing
and I am unable to have her outright
all to myself

someone else eating something
someone else's something to eat
and I'm allowed a bite of pizza or apple

why, oh heaven, oh God, am I not allowed
the whole enchilada

am I not at the banquet of life
the banquet of my life

why am I limited to what's left over
to scraps of D'Anthra

allowed of her
what another fellow has eaten of
eaten off, played with, played over

all the music I write of her, create of her
I am inventing her with words
with what I write, for another man
to call his own

should I not be upset, angry
with poetry like this to write
with such a song to sing

should I not want to die instead of live
want to die more than I want to live

besides her and poetry, what have I
to get up for
to worry about bills and illness
impotency, failure, with insufficient
to sweeten life,
to inspire the mountain climb

higher to go and higher to go
without her love to lift me, to uplift me
to give me wings, to take me swiftly
to the summit of every day I have to be
to be or not to be, a bee or not a bee
life bitter and not sweet

vi.
we don’t have nothin’
we never had a fuckin’ thing
just thin ice, nothing else,
nothing more between us
the world has fallen through


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 1:10 a.m. on Sunday,
November 14th and 11:26 p.m.
on Monday, November 15, 2010

Price Tags on Gifts
for D.B.A.

i.
I always show her my hand
in poems of her, in notes to myself
one way or another, somehow or other
she gets to see my hand

am I playing with her or against her
am I for her or against her
is she for me or against me

want her always
to be armed with the advantage
of knowing what cards I have
instead of holding the hand I have to my chest

I always bring her in on it
reveal to her my hand,
what cards I have exactly
to place down before her
rather than wait to surprise her
when it is placed down
when it is pulled out

I arm her to act against me
and I'm surprised when she does

keeps what she has to play to herself
if not all the time, most of the time
so when we argue or fight, she wins
or can win easily

that is if I did not turn ugly
or turn to ugly or turn too ugly
or turn myself inside-out

ii.
shorter by far and younger by far
yet how amazingly we embrace
or we've begun to embrace

wrap her in my arms
wrapped in her arms
small child and me
in something or other
in each others arms

armed in each other,
invincible, I go about
in this armor of love

mi amor y yo
on one day or another of the week
would meet, arms to enfold her in
embrace two share to share
her bosom up against me
pressed up against each other
two palms in prayer


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Saturday
between 10:20 a.m. & 12:19 p.m.
November 13, 2010

Our Kite in the Sky
for D.B.A.

i.
you have changed my life
so why can’t I change yours

along with your diaper
along with your bed sheets
your bed spread
along with your pillow cases

or am I chasing clouds
chasing the wind

my kite, no longer upon its string
I running, not with it
but away from it,
going down swiftly
in the direction opposite

ii.
why do you resist life
as if you wanted to
or thought you could
prevent it happening
even the good times

iii.
who or what able to separate us
after the force that has brought us
that has put us together

good times or bad times
hard times or when times are easy
however high ups
or however low downs

in danger or as safe as ever
broke or when we are rolled
or are rolling in dough

whatever visited or visits us
would find us together

some cement, glue,
some merriment against blues

together whatever held us up
or held us down
tied us up or tied us down
lifted up together
elevated together

is this your daughter, niece, friend
one curious woman/friend of mine
enquiring

oh, she’s your wife, another curious,
outrageous woman concluded

do not know
what she is or what she’s not,
what we are or what we’re not

know happiness that I’ve never known
like I’ve never known in all my life

in this relationship we dedicate to God
and wish will never end


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 6:55 a.m. & 1:07 p.m.
on Friday, November 12, 2010

Poem on her Birthday
for D’Anthra B. Adderley

i.
she’d snap at me, snarl at me
the way a dog gone mad
or born mad might, at the one
at the hand providing it food
providing its food

like a mad dog, bad dog might
she might bite the hand
feeding her, the one
feeding her, caring for her

the one who cares for her
she might bark at, she might bite

might bite who is inviting her
to love,
to play,
to have a good day
a happy birthday

ii.
intertwine, intertwined,
her beating heart and mine
bouncing off each other

her mind and mine, thinking,
ticking in time
I am hers and she is mine

do I pay too much
do I purchase or is love free

does she love me, how deeply
confessed as much, a time or two
usually, she keeps it to herself

love is use, is need, I’d at times think

outside of usefulness,
of need for me, how do I figure in
am I factored in,
in the scheme of things
in the theme of things

she and I, some sort of team
sort of team Cynthia Sue Fisher
and I were in ’76,
when I was approaching 22
and she was approaching 19

my birthday, March 30th
hers, April 13th

it is D’Anthra’s 19th birthday today
just about the age CSF was
when what we had,
when what we shared
was stormy and wonderful

Dee does not know what to call us
I call us lovers, think of us as such

way I love her, need love no other
not the same for her

ashamed of me or is she
should I be ashamed of her
to be seen in public
as we sometimes are

how delicious such contact is
such meetings are

oh the memories we made
and left in Starbucks, out Bay
before they closed their doors

we were in there, day before
they were no more

more to us though, to us two
to go on living for

iii.
examine our closeness, our close knit
how close knit we are
close enough to get stepped on

what of to get slept on
to get to sleep on

well, she’s done that, she does that
only not upon my chest,
upon the phone

I’d hold on, I’ve held on
while she snored

music of that like tide washing up
like some beach we were on

but on the shore of sleep and wake
we’d gather sometimes
we’ve gathered sometimes

at times so intertwined, so integrated
I have trouble breathing

like when love of her
has such a grip upon me
such a hold of me
when it clutches, grips like death

don’t mind when I feel
that I might die of love
I’d fear a bit but I’d give in to it
give in to her

at times her love for me
is that strong force, strong bond
that is the reason/justification
physicists give
for the orbiting in atoms

whatever law governs atoms
governs planets, their orbiting
governs love, governs lovers
governs her and me, why we met
and almost ever since
hardly live or spend a day apart

some way or other,
some excuse or other
to connect, to stay together
to remain connected

iv.
sliver of a relationship
on the boarder of her world

end of my wits about
how to relieve her of underwear,
of panties and bra

unable to get her out
of those she has on, buy her more

win some and lose some
beat um or join um

what am I thinking of settling for
not for settling down
not for sinking down
or for sink or drown
or swim or drown

treading water in this relationship
in this country I love
in this country of love

my God, I shall have to be well
I shall have to be happy

Dee called to say, O.K., we’ll meet
at Via Caffè, on Parliament St.
at or just after 4 p.m. today

v.
in and out of being an adult
back and forth between
being an adult and being a baby

between being a baby and being
my baby

frustrate the frustrations out of me
frustrate the F out of me

pulling me, pushing me
humming and hauling me

calling me, waving goodbye to me
or turning away without a word

to turn her head, her cheeks
for kisses hello
or kisses goodbye
the biggest difficulty

how could we ever live in Paris
with her unable
to receive such kisses naturally

one minute, back-a-der-bush
next minute, able to critique
my poetry of her
or any, or the loftiest literary works
able herself to write sublime poetry

God how she confuses me
with her vacillating between worlds
between identities
my head turning this way, that way

her birthday, unable to reach
Vaughn Scriven’s Photography
to get the master,
with an eye for women
to agree to locate her
for photographs on her birthday

her last teenage year to wear
before she drops this decade
like a house coat, like a snake sloughing
like a goat dropping a kid

who is it that I am going with
or coming and going with

unsure if I’m going or coming
most of the time in this divine
relationship, in this ship of love
or ship of state, our state
of affairs or affair of state


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on D’Anthra 19th birthday,
on Thursday, November 11, 2010
between 3:30 a.m. and 9:12 p.m.

Attired In Flames
for D.B.A., J.A., L. C. & A.W.

i.
maybe my life is too complex
for you to swallow or to attach to

maybe I should not blame
your insistence upon-
your choosing instead
a fresher start, a cleaner slate
a better state than I can offer

my notebook written in
written up, written over
in all kinds of ways
and scratched up
with things crossed out
or with things
I've attempted to cross out

things even I find difficult to live with
things which make life
my life, my story distasteful to me

things I have contacted, I've touched
and wish I never did

things and persons to whom I'm attached
and wish I never was

this picture of reclusive me, of detachment
a life of solitude, is false

things and persons to whom I am attached
and wish I wasn't
can pop up any minute, any time

like that night with you on the phone
when, in the dark, at my door
figures appeared and I was startled
and you abruptly rang off
choosing not to hang around

turned out it was my two sons
I am not entirely sure of

their mother is a monster
good at pretending to be a human being

I am certain you have enough monsters
of your own to deal with, to grapple with
to fight with

enough monsters of your own to live with
or to do away with

no need to take on my ogres as well
all of my unsorted things
and unsorted clothes

things which even I am overwhelmed by
when the weather's bad or turns bad
and the waves are high enough
to cover the hotels built along the coast

much less a couple in a pleasure craft
in a yacht or a flimsy dinghy boat
with a couple of paddles

with me with poetry and nothing more
to fight back with, with which to achieve
and to maintain a semblance of order

ii.
what is constant, what remains
whatever or whomever comes or goes
or comes and goes
pulling at heart strings
pulling strings and things
this way, that way

plucking things this way, that way
exquisitely or awkwardly
soothing or causing pain
dreamlike or nightmarish

what after whatever
in spite of whatever
remains constant, remains intact

me/I beating heart, breathing air
two feet to stand on, to walk on

was this date botched like this
because of Dee
because I told of that affair

should I have kept silent
is silence not often to tell a lie
secretive about
what should be confessed

embrace Weltanschauung
your own, gone to sleep
or put to sleep

wake it up
and in what sharp juxtaposition
to the world, to people in it

what I had to undergo to get here
to prepare
what I had to subject myself to

cleaning off, finding clothes
underclothes,
with so little clean to present myself in
to be presentable

under this shirt, undershirt
only one I had left
only one clean left, has holes

all this effort, preparation
and this delightful outing
interrupted, cell phone to consult
another date for this date to clash with

space and time to make poetry
if not to chitchat,
tête-à-tête unavailable
or that must end
or must be ended abruptly

and I have pen and I have paper
however inexpensive
to enter heaven via

iii.
it was a cold conclusion to a warm outing
it ended wrong

another date to run off to, to run onto

as if to say, don't let me keep you
no need even to linger
to deliver her usually awkward hug

delight in showing cold people
cold women that I know too
how to be cold

able to demonstrate to them/for them
how to act without feeling
how to drop it cold, as the saying goes

not being all sensitive all by myself
if cold it is, insensitive the way to go
the way to be, the way to behave
the way to heaven
let us together go
or together go to hell, attired in flames

prefer to be suited alike
rather than unique, rather than alone

outfitted in poetry though
my favorite attire

of this I never tire
nor will I ever in this life
retire my pen or retire my thoughts

iv.
his art to understand, his misdirection
is he misdirected

what alley, what lane is it
that he goes down, goes through
chooses when I'd wish he'd turn
otherwise, another way

where does he go
away from reality, away from real
away from true emotions
away from what happened
what happens, into fantasy
into what is sensational

like what goes on in
and on the Inquirer

kind of news I do not buy
I do not read

twist of happening
on the event that's life
I know not to trust

away from Eliot or Orwell
or Hemingway's By-Line
from which I recall

"Rocks are hard,
we are gonna make them soft
the ground is rough
we are gonna make it smooth"

words of several thousand
Chinese workers
during WW II
transforming a forest
into a landing strip

needed completed
to win the war, to end a war
before the war ended the world


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Wednesday, October 27, 2010
between 12 Noon & 11:30 p.m.