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

A city hides in shadow



I am

Won­der­ing why I’m uncon­cerned as

Well man­i­cured hands con­duct heart attacks

and coax malig­nant can­cers with poly­phonic rage

Witches wear­ing beauty’s face

On pen­cil legs and stick fig­ured arms

Coo lovely words behind sneer­ing lips

In the hall­way Insect feet chit­ter across tile floors

Click­ing and hissing

Paus­ing

Click­ing and hissing

Skele­tal hands screech slowly down cob­webbed dusty windows

Accom­pa­nied by cowled mourn­ing doves moan­ing dirges

Shad­ows echo down aban­doned hallways

Blood drips slowly down the walls

Form­ing words that…

Sor­cer­ers prepare

Gig­gling like school­boys read­ing fuck mag­a­zines

Macabre whis­pers from man­hole covers

Woo delighted chil­dren with ice cream and dark­ened carousel rides

Puls­ing eerie light

Green as fresh death

The night is punc­tu­ated by screams

Drown­ing amid angry wind and stu­dious ignoring

Every­where

Forced smiles and the stench of fear

Souls are caged in skulls

Skulls are sewn into the bod­ies of torn heroes

Mounted on stakes

Eye­lids and lips removed

Lid­less eyes smile and stare per­pet­u­ally at anyone

Who would challenge

A city in shadow

Hid­ing from itself

As if the beats of my heart were unique.
As if I were a star in a long dead con­stel­la­tion
To be res­ur­rected by sad eyes

Lay­ers of false hope strew the stage
Genet­i­cally pre­dis­po­si­tioned to save the gene
I am more than that fuckers!

Climb they implore
Can you not see the light?
I can not be blinded by false hope

Their pen­ciled stick fig­ured God
Would embrace me
Like some chick’s cheap fuck toy

Would you cheapen insan­ity?
Make it a crawl­ing insect
Search­ing for death?

I stare at the world
In a ring made of cheap dreams
It ain’t good enough

I go deeper into the maze
The path is down
Not up

I am the last magi­cian
But I ply no tricks
I just dig

Deeper

Deeper

Malt Shop Blues ~Bro­ken Word Piece~

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

A group demon­strat­ing in front of the United Nations protest­ing the geno­cide in Dar­fur was set upon today by a group of angry New York shop­pers eager to get into the Christ­mas spirit.  Dis­grun­tled bar­gain hunter Christina Spencer angrily said, “I’m sick of this shit, Wal Mart  has a two hour spe­cial half priced sale which I will miss because of these pathetic fucks…  It’s Christ­mas for Christ’s sake. Hey we all have prob­lems, this year alone I spent two thou­sand dol­lars on lit­tle Susie’s bal­let lessons.”  To empha­size her peeve she kicked a young Dar­furian Child in the head crack­ing it’s skull like a fuck­ing eggplant.

Pen­ta­gon offi­cials announced they fucked up again in their eight year pur­suit of 911 mas­ter­mind Osama Bin Laden.  Award win­ning jour­nal­ist Odd­poet revealed that Bid laden was not in North Waziris­tan but actu­ally work­ing as an ani­ma­tor for the Walt Dis­ney Com­pany.  When pressed Pen­ta­gon big­wig Gates admit­ted that Bin Laden pen­chant for chang­ing one let­ter in his named befud­dled the Pentagon’s brain thrust.  The plug wear­ing Gates said, “It’s really not our fault we were look­ing for Osama Bin Laden and he was work­ing as Osama Ban Laden, You have to admire him, he is a crafty son of a bitch.”  The pen­ta­gon wun­derkind went on to state that he believed Bin Laden had out­side assis­tance and prob­a­bly four or five for­eign nations were involved in the nefar­i­ous scheme.  He urged all Amer­i­cans to remain sus­pi­cious and terrified.

Sci­en­tist announced they had noth­ing really to announce.  They did say the quest of cures for chil­dren leukemia, can­cer, aids, global warm­ing were con­tin­u­ing at a snail’s pace.  “But on the bright side we dis­cov­ered after inten­sive research that when you rip a lab rat’s ears off they make a really cool screech­ing sound.”

A group rep­re­sent­ing the “Real hor­ror writ­ers of Amer­ica” urged a boy­cott of the phony Vam­pire movie “New Moon”  It’s an out­rage, you have 13 year old chicks fin­ger­ing their sludge pods over some cute vam­pire who don’t even suck blood.  What the fuck?  He pre­dicted dire con­se­quences on the con­tin­ued fag­i­fi­ca­tion of Amer­i­can youths.  “Let’s face it a vam­pire is sup­pose to tear your throat out and they never fuck, sheeze”

The National Orga­ni­za­tion of Woman’s news con­fer­ence announc­ing the group’s leg­isla­tive ini­tia­tives urg­ing the “cas­tra­tion of all males” was dis­rupted by the icon­o­clas­tic Odd­poet.  While over­turn­ing tables and toss­ing dil­dos at the “les­bian fucks”, Odd­poet announced his own agenda. He planned to “cold­cock any chick who pisses him off” to demon­strate He turned and dropped a female reporter who got too close.  In the mêlée that fol­lowed Odd­poet was remon­strated by an asso­ci­ated who screamed, “she was not a les­bian Odd­poet, she was a pretty cool nympho­ma­niac who would fuck any man who looked her way or bought her a cup of cof­fee.” the never remorse­ful bard said, “Fuck the bitch, they’re all dykes in train­ing”   As he was being led away to a wait­ing police wagon he urged all les­bians to con­tinue mak­ing “Dyke flicks”, and that “he was still a sucker for girls going down on each other.”

In related news, Odd­poet planned to pub­lish from prison his con­tro­ver­sial annual Yule­tide extrav­a­ganza, “very cool sui­cide let­ters.” The gang raped devi­ate stated that he had the “utmost respect for any­one who up and offed them­selves.” The Amer­i­can Busi­ness alliance rejected the post and urged any­one in the depths of despair to hold off on killing them­selves till after the hol­i­days.  That “the con­sumer dri­ven Amer­i­can econ­omy needed every present bought and paid for by afore­men­tioned ema­ci­ated Amer­i­can poverty stricken con­sumer, It’s no time to be selfish”

And every word of it is true…

Blind light­ning snakes invis­i­ble against the coal black night
Macabre laugh­ter drowns out the pleas of the Poets
The death rat­tle of inno­cence masks the Bard’s song
The empty stom­achs of the hun­gry
Roared in thun­der­ous accusation

The uni­verse was engulfed in shad­ows
The Moon doused its radi­ance
Light died painfully
Its screams sucked down
At the point of singularity

Hun­gry ani­mals devour the strong
While the meek became chaff for the scythe
The preacher man wrung his hands
And cursed God
Love became rape
Can­ni­bal­ism replaced altruism

The Few
Hud­dled in the cold sheen of despair
And lis­tened to the dying screams which haunted their dark­ness
They heard the approach of vicious evil
.And clutched each other
Curs­ing the skin that sep­a­rated their essence

On This day
When the Light Died
And Dark­ness prevailed

They pre­pared to Die