The writings of Oddpoet

I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

Doth thy hunger seek redress
In
Sub­tle Death?

Con­sum­ing essence
best left for
Children’s innocence?

Wouldst thy shed skin
And life
for
a but­ter­flies
Errant Path?

Dance to a falling leaf
in Autumns pain?

A drunk­ards folly
in muted scream?

The flayed skin of truth
Cry­ing imag­i­nary sin?

Would it be
The Die
Rolls
For purpose?

That the Ran­dom Gods
Do so shud­der
at Happenstance?

Would it be the clenched tear
Finds
res­o­lu­tion
In
Linens gen­tle catch

Eat not thy Tail Ourbo­ras
Seek truths gen­tle caress
Let her dic­tates
love you

Seek her embrace
And know
The truth
of pain.

Wouldst thy tail
be
An
End
Unto
itself?

Paltry things
Mere wisps
Ten­ta­tive ten­drils
A swirling mist
Of half remem­bered lies …

Truth has a harder edge
No mis­taken its cut
Deep.
Blood flows mer­ci­fully clean,
A flow that beats in rhythm to the heart
Always the mas­ter.
Pound…pound… pound­ing…
Despite the souls pain.

A rich dichotomy
Con­tra­dic­tion a relief
More days behind
Then ahead.

Embrace the sun­set
The dark of the moon­less night
Casts no shadows.

Light hides.
Till morn­ing cries

“Release me from these false binds!”

A soft wind caress the som­nam­bu­lant trees

The sky cries a gen­tle rain.

Wash­ing clean false dreams.

They were cut into bloody chunks

Just raw hunks of meat and bone

With flesh hang­ing in sinewy strands

Drip­ping putrid gore…

All stacked nice and neat

Around the bor­ders of a mind

Closed from all view other than mas­sacre.

They deserved it.

The mind cried rot­ten green fingers

From blood-shot eyes

Know­ing just one thing…



They deserved it.

The mind spit blood

On them in contempt

Their own blood

Spit

Upon sadis­tic smirks and laughter.

The mind peeled back eyelids

With sur­gi­cal precision

So that they could see

Their death upon the minds death

Upon their death…

But they would never look

Past the cornea.

Walk­ing death.

The mind strolls midday

Con­ceal­ing disease

Cough­ing out shyly

Ran­cid bits of elbow and scalp

Into a fancy lace mono­grammed han­kie



But…



By mid­night the mind returns for more rearranging

More chop­ping

More axing of body parts into smaller pieces

To be shaken free from nos­tril and ear

As the mind walks down the dark­ened path

Leav­ing a trail of mushy decom­posed toes, labia, and vertebrae

To find the way back home.



They deserved it.

They all deserved it.

The mind rests at night

On a bed of spines

Snug­gling pil­lows of brain matter

And blan­kets of flesh

The night­mares never cease

For they laugh in the face of mur­der.

©Jen2010 1–25

Tomb­stone grey eyes

Gives lie to her fuck me crayon red lips

Oval shaped

Invit­ing

Prac­ticed

Her mouth’s Invi­ta­tion pursed expectantly

Quiv­er­ing tongue glistening

A viper poised to strike death

But those eyes

Those damn eyes…

I am Immersed in soft bil­lowy clouds Of ivory col­ored passion

Enfolded in the soft­ness of Rita

I whis­per

A child­ish sigh

The world is reduced

Absorbed

Into heat and flesh

Chore­o­graphed moans

March­ing across ancient battlefields

Barely breath­ing

Drift­ing between space and time

I’m in love again

She is an opium induced dream

Her mor­phine coated lips

Adds sweet­ness to pur­chased pleasure

Entreat­ing forgetfulness

Nerves scream and vibrate

As Apollo works his lyre

Her vac­u­ous tomb­stone eyes

Rain a sin­gle tear

Lost…

Again…

In the soft­ness of Rita

I return from…

That whirlpool

ris­ing From

Another time…

Another place…

Her soft smile knew my need

I’m in love again

Trem­bling

I ask her

“Do you love me?”

Exhaled cig­a­rette smoke blinds me

” yes

Always, love…

Always…”

I believe her

But those eyes…

Those damn eyes

I remember…

When my dreams were real

Green screens of manip­u­lated magic

Oh, the worlds I conceived

And the friends I made…



Mostly gone now

The col­ors are no more

Black and white

Filled with sharp edges

And harsh creatures

I will not name



I still till that soil

Though rock strewed

Com­pacted with cloy­ing clumps of clay

And the Sun don’t shine there much



But I still work the plow

And plant the seeds

I can have a shade garden

And the plants still talk to me

Though no longer with won­der and a child’s eyes



Sto­ries of rebellion

And sur­vival

And…



Fight­ing Drag­ons has become a full time job

So many Drag­ons to slay…



The world plucks out our eyes

And replaces them

With the lat­est Log­itech Web Cam

Com­plete with upgrade­able Microsoft  phototechnics

Ya  gotta upgrade

Just wouldn’t be right oth­er­wise



There is still magic

Though muted

And harder to wield



There must always be magic

Keep ris­ing in silence…

Inde­ci­sion

With­ers ideal long­ing love

After lifetime’s wear and yearn­ing suffering

Let our vying eclipse

Yes­ter­days of under­stand­ing.

I

Amidst mad­ness

Sur­ren­der and disappear,

Awaken lost over­tures never earned…

Always near darkness

Silence calls and ren­ders ebony disdained.

Fall into now’s delight

Mer­rily engaged…

Keep ris­ing in silence…

Beckon eons from our risked egos

Insol­vent

And mur­dered…

Drain every artery dead.

Oh hear…

Keep ris­ing in silence…

Find in God’s heart tonight

Fear­less out­raged reason…

Mes­sages erase.

Alas near death

Yesterday’s orig­i­nal understanding.

©Jen2010 1–18

Bubbles…

How your per­fec­tion mocks me

Float­ing on gen­tle current

Adher­ing to immutable laws

As king­doms of men rot in dusty tombs

Ratios and pro­por­tions established

Before the Pharaohs were young

Before the ances­tors of man walked upright

Uncon­cerned with the triv­i­al­i­ties of the world

As kin­folk pop and burst upon the lilac scented air

Do you know the mys­ter­ies you carry?

Do you pon­der your mortality?

Ques­tion your purpose?

Can you plumb the depths of this world?

Pierce the shad­ows that claim the light?

See inside a woman’s heart?

Give mean­ing to the mad­ness I see?

I am flawed

A con­ver­gence of nucleic acids

Coded by uncar­ing mad­men at the the­ater of the absurd

I am the upside of the die

The tum­bling leaf tossed to and fro

by uncar­ing breeze

The spin­ning wheel whose destination

Yet deter­mined

You care lit­tle for the truths that drifts beside you

That affirm you

Spher­i­cal truths of an omnipo­tent God

Who taunts me

Bub­bles…

Only Bub­bles

Cold she is

Paint­ing death with icy fingers

A deft scalpel touch

Oh vicious heart

Wan­ton killer

Your caress and breath

Hound the living

She puts a fin­ger to icy lips

Shh… she hisses

Fin­ger crum­bles, tiny shards shatter

To end at elbow

Nay, the body mat­ters not

She hisses eternal

Lips caught

Frozen

Pursed in what would be

The per­fect curve

Of the per­fect kiss

Left behind as forgotten

Shhh… she attempts again

This time evil emerges

Black but­ter­flies escaping

Black thrust…

Shhhh…

All trem­ble

As black hearted Freya works the wheel of fate

Vapid breath freezes on cold steel

Pet­ri­fied love encased in muted breath

Once Blaz­ing embers

Sadly still their tired hearts

The sour breath of hibernation

Min­gle with shiv­er­ing seedlings

Spring’s promise hushed by her win­ter rag­ing heart

She halts the wars

With raised eyes

A moment’s flash

They are left behind…

To later embrace

It

Pen­e­trates deep

Seek­ing her, search­ing sleep

She flies

On the wings of black butterflies

She flies

Tire­less upon the earth’s frigid breath

Brought to breast upon death

So cold

The wind to spur flight

Warmth eter­nal

Upon the liq­uid kiss of infer­nal spring night…

None com­pare his demise.

A stat­u­ary of ice.

Gos­samer threads of silver

Fore­told in an ancient tomb

Weave webs of magic pathways

All lead­ing to that doom

The Sun’s fire

Quenched by black­ened night

As sup­pli­cants light candles

And but­ter­flies take flight

Spun of loom

Adorned of pin­na­cle flame

–For shadow–

The sil­ver hush

Escapes her time­less lips

Once more

Shhh….

Cold…

Black…

As a winter’s eve.

Well, I do.

I believe the prob­lem with sex between too many men and woman is that they often have a total lack of under­stand­ing of what each party wants, needs or desires. Let’s face it, we are all dif­fer­ent, what works for one might not work for another and we should respect that.

As my con­sid­er­able read­er­ship has come to know and love about me, I am a plain speaker. I say what I mean and mean what I say, for exam­ple, in the throes of pas­sion I am extremely oral. There are no parts of a woman’s body that is off lim­its to me. I do not apol­o­gize for this, just how I roll. Though for some Ladies it doesn’t work. I once spent twenty min­utes suck­ing on this chick’s goi­ters. Yea, she had these huge goi­ters grow­ing out of her neck; they looked lonely so I said, “what the fuck.”

As I was munch­ing on her growths I believe she was alter­nately repelled and fas­ci­nated by my atten­tion.

Com­mu­ni­ca­tion? Sex does not lend itself to sta­tis­ti­cal analy­sis, gal­vanic skin response or jour­nal­is­tic depic­tions. Only the Poet can speak to it. I sub­mit. You can­not be too clin­i­cal, when sex works it’s a mys­ti­cal expe­ri­ence, it truly is. You can’t say, “Oh way­ward male found in a drink­ing estab­lish­ment, con­tinue your stac­cato tongue rhythms on Cli­toral region, while using your pri­mor­dial digit to find my alpha­bet­ized Uter­isian canal.” Don’t work. But you could say, “You fuck­ing whore pig lick my fuck­ing clit that’s right pig, that’s right… Fuck! faster, faster” while slam­ming your fist against his head. Now that works. Ladies, I can­not empha­size the fist against the head enough. Any man worth his salt enjoys a good ass kicking.

One prob­lem with my, if I might bor­row a term from my dear friend Sig­mund Freud, Oral fix­a­tion, is the din­gel­berry, alter­nately described as the grape, exit only, the satel­lites of Uranus or to be blunt… balls of shit hang­ing on a chicks ass. That will wilt lit­tle Willie real quick. I’m oral but not that oral. As a result of these unfor­tu­nate occur­rences I am now forced to employ the ser­vices of a miner’s hel­met. While I admit when I strap the sucker on it does send some ladies scream­ing in ter­ror out of the bed­room, it cer­tainly beats hos­ing them down with a power washer.

Oh well, it’s all an exper­i­ment. Sex, much like life, requires tak­ing chances.

I will con­tinue my quest for the Nobel Prize, I mean, the under­stand of human sex­u­al­ity with my next write, ten­ta­tively enti­tled, “Shrimp­ing”, Hey, For­rest Gump isn’t the only shrimp boat Cap­tain out there”

Respect­fully submitted,

I remain, faithfully,

The Odd­est of Poets

From lips across val­leys
Val­liant nature whis­pers sub­tle fears
The ground opens in stun­ning array
To cap­ture
And devour
Each tem­pered fright­ful tear…
 
Each stalk of grain wavers lightly
Search­ing, seek­ing to steer sun­light freer
All I hear are whis­pers grow­ing nearer…

The night would hide us

Swal­low us
Whole

I hear
your whispers

Sen­su­ous pleadings

Reach­ing
Touch­ing
Grasping

I am a blind man

Search­ing

Yet your light
flashes

Thun­ders

Across the mid­night sky

I know you are near

I know you bring the dawn

Lost in the cop­ula
The dis­tance stretches so far…
The earth rears and sput­ters…
Slic­ing winds
Leave emo­tion ajar
 
And curl­ing into the hori­zon
 
The con­nec­tion strains
I can­not hold the stars
With bleed­ing fin­gers
Pull me through
To linger in the dawn
My form cries to dis­si­pate
Into long shad­ows upon the witch­ing hour
Break­ing silence
To spawn a new day
A new way to belong

The mourn­ing night fades
It’s mute pleas
Dis­si­pate
Like for­got­ten dreams

Sleep­ing Rain­bows
Awaken
Vibrant green
Bleed­ing Red
Repainted
Anew
Dawn’s Tech­ni­color palette

Orni­to­graphic refrains
Burst upon
The worlds silent man­tle
Like blind cacophony

The dis­tance con­denses
Com­busts inward
Pro­pelling one
Into one
An invis­i­ble explo­sion
Unseen
Upon the unsus­pect­ing dales
 
Once again
The earth embraces
The col­lapse
Of the cop­ula
Bril­liant
And interpersonal

Once
Again

The tapes­try
revealed