The writings of Oddpoet

Poetry that bleeds, screams and never sleeps

It no longer fits
Hang­ing loose on my skele­tal frame
The glit­ter­ing embossory
faded
like dime store trinkets

It no longer warms
Nor suc­cors
Against the vagaries of this world
Thread­bare
Worn
Patched

Your eyes
Lost their depth
Mere glass beads
Com­mon place and dull
No longer will cre­ation be birthed in them

Your soul lost its mys­tery
Gone are the many sojourns
Along mys­ti­cal paths

Replaced by super­mar­ket aisles
With jaded Huck­sters hawk­ing wares

Gone is the music
The sym­phonies, the Mozartic choir
The songbird’s celes­tial accom­pa­ni­ment
That always fol­lowed your dance
All I hear
Is a dis­solute wind
Mourn­ing
Cold
Desolate

I am left in this hol­lowed hall
As Winter’s chill envelops all
I am left with this Man­tle
Thread­bare
Worn
Patched

Can you hear her?

Beauty abused
Love unrequited

Her quill dipped in pas­sion fire
Lilt­ing
Set­ting the world in flames
Brighter than day
Darker than the silent moon

Paper can not con­tain her words
They cry and immo­late
And ask why?

Black­ened ash screams across the cry­ing breeze
her words froth­ing on a beach of grav­i­ta­tional singularity

Paint­ing for­lorn beauty
The cir­cle seek­ing com­ple­tion with elu­sive Tangent.

Know!

I will be there
In the dark­ness of your night
When all is gone

Rea­son abandoned

The wind …

Will always whis­per her name

She had the sweet­est smile
But eyes that seen too many dark places
And when she decided to play with the world
Her mind was sharp
Like a glis­ten­ing razor
Pulled out of Richard Speck’s pocket
Blood stained and thirsty
Scream­ing for vengeance
Always at that mill
Grind­ing
Hon­ing
whet­ting
Her hatred for this world

But it was the bro­ken clock she car­ried
Around her neck which
Hunched her back
Like Qua­si­modo
Like Atlas shoul­der­ing the bur­den of this world
It sprouted springs and gears
The tou­sled hair of some deranged Medusa
Waver­ing in mad rhythm to her tor­tured steps

But the wood was cared for
Pol­ished and shone
Not giv­ing reflec­tion
But absorb­ing all
A black hole
Where only night lived

She would smile and touch it con­stantly
it’s hands frozen
In ric­tus
The stiff­ened reach of a long dead God
The clock was per­pet­u­ally 9:47
It was when her love left the world
When her life creased to be
She said
Love would come back
And it would start tick­ing again
Oth­ers would laugh at her
And roll their eyes to the sky
Not I

She was far too young
To push a shop­ping cart
Filled with the tat­tered refuse
Of other people’s lives
of her own

Yet day in and day out
She rolled wear­ing
treads in the streets
Like a Roman legion off to some
Dis­tant con­quest.
Only she knew that destination

I do not see her any­more
No one ever cares
A pal­try few
Really care…
Per­chance
She found a new land
Where her eyes match her smile
Where life does not assault her so…

And
I hope
That clock starts tick­ing
Again…

Death sil­hou­ettes

Dance melan­choly minuets

Accrued dust scatters

Face­less vio­lins sigh

Mourn­ers do not bother to take up the chant

Smooth­ing wrin­kled skirts and check­ing fin­ger­nail length

Bored and dis­tracted with parched eyes inca­pable of tears

Sounds wither and die

Vibra­tions stilled and uncaring

Set­tle in for the long sleep

Wind becomes breeze and breeze…

Lies motion­less upon the mound

It’s cold’s time

Calm­ing the whine of mean­ing and loss

Thoughts crum­ble and descend upon the sleep­ing earth

Lying beside por­tent shards of strange magik

It all goes away

Whirling down sweet silence

Leave me alone

Don’t wake me…

The end rests
Lan­guid and del­i­cate
A sin­gle dan­de­lion seed
Estranged from the puff
Blown by rebel­lion
Or per­haps just nature’s course
To impreg­nate the ground
With more sun­shiny weeds



The end
It rests on my fer­tile mind
I cry for the clouds to unleash
A tor­ren­tial wrath
Imbed the seed to grow roots
But my mind remains arid
The wind stirs lightly
The dan­de­lion seed rests
Lan­guid and del­i­cate



Moments fused with hours
And time crashed
Against the shore of sen­tience
Vague­ness flashes
Thoughts whirl
Run away
Laugh­ing
Chal­leng­ing
The mote in God’s eye



The begin­ning…
I became…
Chaos fled
Fused Tachyons
Blazed
Scream­ing through the newly birthed light
I become many things
A par­ti­cle in the pri­mor­dial soup
A sin­gle cell
Need­ing mem­ory
To fill the void
Fus­ing
While incom­ple­tion raged
Become…Become…
The voice insis­tent
Demand­ing
Pulling pain
Out of beau­ties ori­fices



The end drained
The pla­centa of birth
Claw­ing for release
Upon the pure sands
Untouched by mankind
Fer­tile soil washed away
From neces­sity
Unnat­ural in the wail­ing cry
To be…
Accepted into the region
Unfit for any king or queen



Weeds grew
Bold and erect
Sup­ping upon the light
And dew as sweat upon the brow
Nature grew unpromised
And auda­cious in peel­ing the lids
From eyes refus­ing to see
The puff–
Blood­ied and alive–
There beyond obsti­nacy
In the face
Of time
In all its abhor­rence…



Then…
The music appeared
At first shy and unsteady
Yet insis­tent…
Demand­ing all take part
All share the essence of their being
Unique instru­ments… unique voices
In that choir all liv­ing things took their places
Like notes fused to alabaster parch­ment



The seed which was now more than a seed
More than what it ever could be
On its own moved to a strange grandeur
A feel­ing, a cer­tainty
That it was eter­nal
That its voice was needed
In that con­stel­la­tion of sound



The music would not stop
Could not stop
It held all things to its cadence

The music played…
And all life danced and swayed
To its rhythm



And it was…



Beau­ti­ful…

She sits at her van­ity
Peer­ing at her reflec­tion…
Deep lines plague her fore­head,
Her pale skin, matte,
The down­turned scowl denies
Any beauty to radi­ate
From her vis­age–
He had made her ugly.



He’d poi­soned the well
From which her quill drank
Until all she could express
Was vile anger and repug­nance;
It stole the sun from her days
And the com­fort from her pil­lows
At night.



He’d sent let­ters of splen­dor
Exquis­ite out­pour­ings of ado­ra­tion
And strik­ing gar­dens of golden sun­sets,
Such awe-inspiring images of devo­tion
And eter­nal love–
They were never addressed to her.
Still
She kept them tucked in her heart,
Decay rooted into infec­tion
And dis­ease surged out­ward
With each silent beat.



She sits at her van­ity
Peer­ing into her reflec­tion
Rem­i­nisc­ing moments
Of days
When the warmth of the sun caressed her cheek
And flow­ers per­ished fra­grant
For her mere atten­tion…
She had been beau­ti­ful then.






©Jen2010 2–8

She holds all in dis­dain
Cold and shin­ing
So hard
like steel
Like ice
Unable to dim



The light she has become
Fixed upon the cold black night
She owns the can­vas



The Night



She shuns the stars
Untouch­able she is
And the stars weep
Ice crys­tals
That shines their pain



Her pain



I’m in love with the moon
Though my arms can not
Reach that far
Can not touch
Her
Strain as I might



Regal she is
Don­ning that lonely robe



She shines



Alone

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

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

Pale and brood­ing Golgotha

Built upon Aphrodite’s with­ered flesh

Her ancient bones seek­ing succor

Scorned, sup­planted in eter­nal rest

Loom­ing shad­ows pla­cate evil

Mes­sianic rum­blings chal­lenged death

Painted bosoms swell with passion

In orgas­mic shud­dered breath

Oh Gol­go­tha no light can pierce thy soul

Yet glo­ried in remembrance

Mak­ing maimed sin­ners whole

Oh Aphrodite in dream­less sleep you rage

Pri­apic Phallics engorged in adoration

Gather dust of a bygone age

Weary wan­der­ers wear­ing heartache

Their song a dam­aged howl

Pal­lid faces fash­ion tears

Hid­den by a sim­ple cowl

Gol­go­tha

No light can pierce thy veil

Death and mys­tery
Weaves the cloak you wear

Gen­tle Aphrodite

Is for­got­ten

Which is more than she can bear

She cries

Beauty fades

She cries

Beauty