Opportunity of a Lifetime
some athletes here in London at the Olympics
want with all their heart and soul and might
to jump out of their skins into other skins
if their skin is rough- if life's been rough
if time's been hard
hard for themselves, for their families
rough for their neighbors
or if their neighborhood is rough
if they have been excluded,
left out among the disenfranchised
want to run, want to jump, want to swim
though few of them swim
out of their skins into other skins
into other lives - softer lives
into other worlds if only they can pull it off
what I attempt to do is to write my way
out of backward into forward
write until l take of, until I too
like runners, like jumpers,
like swimmers, like pole vaulters
like high jumpers have wings
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
2:53 p.m. 05.08.12
A Little Book
of Love Poems
for D.B.A.
I want you to have me
you can keep me
I've made up my mind
not a kitten or puppy-
not a pet you'd have to name
I have a name
oh, but how I do enjoy
all your terms of endearment
you can have me, you can keep me
I want to be in your life- in your arms
I cannot imagine anyone on earth
being able to love me better
or able to love me as much
cannot imagine anyone
able to love me more
so take me and keep me, I'm yours
I suppose you always knew
it would have come to this
you loved me all along
with so much passion
with so much faith
I certainly never knew love
like this before
and I do not want ever again
to have to live without it
or to have to live without you
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
4:32 p.m. 04.08.12
Jack Sprat's Wife
for D.B.A.
in no time flat, fat
needing new outfits, a new wardrobe
even before she could emerge fully
from girlhood
into womanhood
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
11:15 a.m. 05.08.12
The Color of Air
for D.B.A.
1.
my Jesus, my Lord, Dee,
how ticklish was your laughter
you up against me, acting silly
you in my arms, you and me, happy
aren't we happy when we touch
when we're together- when we hold each other
the woman and the girl in you
struggle as fiercely as you and I do
are as much in harmony as you and I are
God in heaven be praised,
angels rejoice when we are together
in harmony and happy
2.
have I written more than
a thousand poems of you yet-
not that I am trying to
I write poems of you
I write poems to you
because, like air I breathe,
my poems of you keep me
alive and well and kicking
how many times, I wonder
since you and I met, have we inhaled-
have we exhaled air
even though when it comes down to love
when it comes down to our making love
that is a matter of waiting to EXHALE
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
9:48 p.m. 02.08.12
Tightly Balled Fists & Kisses
for D.B.A.
that nebulous place / station in the sky
to which we're attached,
to which we're hooked up
I focused more upon our possible-
upon our inevitable, physical hook up
it is our minds that are blended
how emotional are our break-ups- our make-ups
makeup she puts on for a photo shoot:
eyeshadow, eyebrows, penciled on
layer of powder she covers her face with
lipstick in place and a wig complete
her slight alteration, slight transformation
to face the camera, to face the world
fists we face each other with, at times,
tightly balled
at times, her wish is to throw me a bone
allow a little time, but a little closeness
there is a limit to insults, abuses
to being shortchanged,
beyond that limit, I do not entertain
reserve the right as she does,
to say, fuck it or I'd say to myself, "Fuck her!"
as she'd say to me when she chooses,
"Fuck you!" and mean it
both mean, we'd both mean it for a time-
until we soften -
needing to embrace and to be embraced
we both know as well how to be soft
as we know well how to be harsh
when patience is lost
do to and do for each other what is inspired
deepening and widening relationship
with each other and with life simultaneously
today is the day she goes to church
when she is in another world
late in the evening
I might hear my phone ring: allowed what's left
I'd not know if to spit or to lap it up
left over love
without end
have to go out of my way-
it takes effort to be unfaithful to her
oh those affairs many persons are in
with someone married to someone else
having to sweetheart- being sweethearts
until the end
in the end, without rights to the body
without rights to make funeral arrangements
like Charlie Parker and Chan,
white American mother of his daughter, Pree
born in 1952 and died in 1954, not yet 3
what will become of Dee and me
will there be regrets
how far will we go- how far will we get
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
7:48 a.m. 05.08.12
Insiders & Outsiders
for D.B.A.
how is it that she could be
closer than my daughters are to me
closer than Marion, closer than Sonia
closer than my family is to me
as close to me- as close to her as underwear
people closest to me, like clothes I wear
she closer to my skin
closer to myself
closer to
my soul
Oh, God, I have two sons
as strange to them
as strange to me
as countries you cannot recall
where on earth they are located
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
9:26 a.m. 03.08.12
War & Peace on Kemp Road
for D.B.A.
the madness or near-madness
Dee and I can retreat from in an instant
can abandon to embrace
almost fucked up today,
she and I contributing to the negativity of it
we both cursed, shouted
what did she say to me,
"Why do you always have to be
"a fuckin' ass hole?"
I had a thing or two to tell her in return
a few cuss words of my own
I'd be at times showering her with shit,
baptizing her in it and she'd not abandon relationship,
would not abandon the moment we are in
yanking upon this, upon that to cause pain,
to get a point across
we got the ugly out, got over wanting
to have her way and my way and instead,
went our way
and what a way it was, what we crossed into-
transitioned into together, we like we never were
I wanted more, I always do
I greedy for her - always starved for her
because starved by her these four years
these four years with such limited nearness
having to wait for her to grow ever so gradually
attachments to relinquish, she clinging to them
out in the deep with him is where he wants her
where he wants them to be together
in the deep where they were last evening, in harmony
after they'd been as if roughly thrown together
didn't know they'd make it pass that impasse
and didn't care -
prepared his stoic side, his stoic self to suffer -
for suffering - to do without her
without seeing her - without her ever coming near,
paying him the visit he'd anticipated
prepared himself to do without the gift
she promised to bring and had now brought
prepared to abort it all,
slammed the door, turned his back
but she came up and cussed and fussed
and he responded, harsh for harsh, rough for rough
but that was over soon enough
sooner than he or she could have imagined
miraculous shift into cooperation
though, that, he recalled, she is famous for
for a more adorable time together, who could ask
hugging, she giggling,
outpouring his affection upon her,
guarding against overwhelming or offending
her love for careful hands, for easy-does-it
embraced her anyway
like someone who was heaven sent
who was in heaven made
there was lipstick on his shirt when she left
but he could not have been happier
it seemed she too was in bliss when she took off
to return to work in her sister's SUV
what she left behind, so much of herself,
so much of her heart and soul
so much in addition to her red lipstick
left upon his shirt
when she was giggling in his arms
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
12:42 a.m. 03.08.12
