The writings of Oddpoet
I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

Archive for February 5th, 2010

Silent Death Within The Tomb~para

Fri ,05/02/2010

There are so many suf­fo­cat­ing images
On the sec­ond story
That they jump for their lives
Like glo­ries on fire
Flam­ing the sky
With the back­drop clouds
To liven the enter­tain­ment
For eyes dry
And clouded over by judg­ment
And for the tries dimin­ished
At the wake of shrouds
Revealed.



Images that wit­ness their own death
Forced still­births
For the sake of held breath
And the mea­sur­ing of penis girth
Of mere babes
Sealed upon impact
To be mem­o­ries
Held tight as momen­tary fact
And glim­mer­ings of what could have been
Of what can­not defend itself
As real­ity…
Too late
Just another casu­alty
Of feel­ing black­ened
By the great pharaohs
Elated
Berated again.



They were
But can­not be proven
Again as uncer­tain
Cre­mated for blurt­ing the words
Into the vol­cano of the sun…
What was begun
Was heard
Then spun
Into a thou­sand shat­tered webs
Weep­ing
And keep­ing track­ing of each tear
Sleep­ing on the edge of the pil­low…
Each creep­ing sil­hou­ette
Dis­solves
Upon the light of day.



There’s noth­ing left wide open
And noth­ing left
With more to say or groom…
The will cuts the
Umbil­i­cal
As death screams silence
To echo
Within the pyramid’s tomb
As a bereft womb.



©Jen2010 2–5


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Genocide~Para

Fri ,05/02/2010

Courage was cul­ti­vated
Sold and inno­vated
Into plas­ti­cized records…
Bold to be seen
In the sec­tored regions
Unseen by the legions of prof­its
And scam­mers seek­ing mal­lets
And ham­mers to self-destruct…



What the fuck do you see?
Fil­tered on the jum­botron
To relieve
To recon­struct
The mal­ady of shag car­pet
In the fields of Dar­fur
To bet the ears of corn
On the purse
Of the igno­rant and the for­lorn
Plas­ti­cize…
What’s worse and what’s more
Than cries
Of mal­ice and New York whores
Sad­dled with AK47s
And chal­iced with the cups
Of over­seas geno­cide
And heaven’s doors



To see…
To kill the sight that bleeds
And bumps the world wide
Span of knees…
Fucked
Plas­ti­cized
Geno­cide induced lies
That flies from the lips
Closed
To those open with
Ter­ror­ized cries



Dis­tance grap­ples for the wrung
Caught and flung
By the omnipo­tent source…



Get out of bed, whores…
There’s work to be done
Work that slum­bers
On notions never begun.



So many notions never begun…



©Jen2010 2–5


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Posted in Guest Poet, Poetry | 2 Comments »

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