The writings of Oddpoet » beauty

The Mantle

oddpoet1 — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 07:59:32 +0000

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

The Wind whispers her name

Eddie Mount — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 13:34:53 +0000

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

The Crazy Lady and the Broken Clock

Eddie Mount — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 17:06:22 +0000

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…

Don’t Wake me…

oddpoet1 — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 16:14:35 +0000

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 ~Para/Oddpoet Collab~

oddpoet1 — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 01:55:28 +0000

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…

Her Reflection~para

Para — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 18:25:14 +0000

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

In Love with the Moon

oddpoet1 — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 17:58:49 +0000

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

The Softness of Rita

Eddie Mount — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 16:57:56 +0000

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

oddpoet1 — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 19:02:35 +0000

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

Golgotha

Eddie Mount — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 02:02:56 +0000

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