The writings of Oddpoet » Dreams

The Knight’s Maiden~Para~

Para — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 20:20:01 +0000

My bed is calling my name
In various languages
Visual delights of softness
Accost my ears
And flesh
Biting the sights of supple wonder

I am tired

I am lost in the promise
Of candlelight flames
Dancing across vehement intrusion
Behind my eyes
Burning away reluctance
The lack of acceptance
For here
I dream freely

Satin sheets
Wrap warmth about the room
Singing songs
To stop time
For all eternity
The air is sweet
As sweet as the dew
Licked from heavenly sleeping bodies

Shallow breath
Stirs rhyme with its rhythm
Echoes through golden corridors of sleep
Perfect chambers embrace
The petals scattered softly
At my feet
I step on none
In my ascent into the paradox

Light breezes soothe
Yet ne’er to capture attention
Only a mere wisp
Of chestnut locks fallen across the eye
Of yearning
Can cause disturbance
Disrupt the glance into forever

I beg of dreams
To find me
Plead at the feet of wandering
To turn back
And brush petals across my lips
To temper the alarm

I lie silent

©Jen2010 6–27

Blood Write

oddpoet1 — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 11:54:28 +0000

I’m sick of it all
Flowery verse
Cheap prose
Shallow meanderings
Playing with my cock
Blowing loads on paper
Saying Van Gogh was here
It all runs together
Like maggoty meat in the trough
Feeding the mass mannequin market

I’m the Poet
With my head up my ass
Examining
My colon
My intestines
Reporting to the world
Something
Ain’t quite right in me ville

I need poetry that bleeds
That makes me uncomfortable
That has an edge
That cuts me
If I get too close

Poetry
That grabs me by the throat
And tells me
YOU GONNA DIE MOTHER FUCKER!

Dangerous poetry
Poetry that guts me
That is banned in schools
Poetry you can’t read
In polite company
Poetry that gets me arrested
Sent to prison
That will rape me with broom handles
Flay my skin
Till there there is nothing
But the words

Poetry that rages
Assaults me
Rips the pillow out of my hand
That drags me from under the bed
That tells me
YOU CAN’T HIDE MOTHER FUCKER

Poetry that speaks of love
Not in rhymed couplets
Nor wistful sighs
But shakes the fabric of time
Shatters the foundation of the Earth
Causes the Planets
To break free of their orbit
Stops the heart
With its pain and loss
Poetry that changes me forever
That allows me to finally live
If only for a second

I need poetry
That I can’t read
But only feel
Ink intermingled
With blood
With tears
With shit and piss
With sweat
That vibrates off the page
And becomes the North Star

I need Poetry that bleeds
I need Poetry
That
Fucking
Bleeds

I am Madness

Eddie Mount — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 18:50:52 +0000

Her blood screamed contrast to the polished white porcelain
Begging for meaning
As it swirled and sloshed
And descended down to where?
If that all that is left to me?
Diluted blood on some incomprehensible journey
with the faint pique of Lifebuoy stinging my senses

They killed her
Stabbed her with lying knifes
Shot her dead with scented candles
Fried her brain in love potions
Flayed her skin with flagrant promises
Buried her in maggots and puke larvae

They believe they know me

Can you know the stopped heart?
I have no need for power ties
Nor is my smile painted
Like a performance piece for a 3% wage increase
I have no use for laughter
I am the shadow that disquiets their dreams

They can never comprehend
That I DON’T NEED

I am invisible in the light
Yet blaze like painted pain in moonlight’s caress

I will fuck their God
And bring down heaven
I will blot the Sun
And rape angels with the devil’s cock

I am madness
And I’m coming…

The Little Girl on the Shelf

Eddie Mount — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 19:13:54 +0000

She stands alone
Forlorn and abandoned
A dust gathering trinket
Peeping between Timmy’s Cum Lade Graduation Tassels
And a faded yellow picture of Grandma
Back when she had teeth
They talk from time to time
Something about failed memory
And abandoned dreams

Mostly she walks alone
Traveling along dusty Mahogany shelves
Over torn doilies
Past the circus elephant with the broken trunk
With the mute girl fused to the tableau
Loneliness opens her mouth and spoke
The elephant never answered
All he did was cry
Over what
No one could say

She decide to visit her friend
The beer stein from Heisenberg
He stood all proud despite the broken handle
And the chipped and faded colors
Of his once regal cloak

Oh the stories he could tell
Of parties and celebrations
Of weekly dustings and lemon scented wood polishes
Of pride, prominence and wonder
She left him to his memories

Dappled sunlight danced along the worn surfaces
Orchestrating the play of shadows
Upon that stage the heartrending scene played
The pageant of the lonely and the abandoned

Just the other day
Darnell the Dolphin from Sea World fell
And lay broken on the floor for days
His cries of pain ignored
Finally swept up with a mumbled curse
And deposited into the yellow plastic graveyard
The place too many of her broken friends have gone

She retook her place on the shelf
And her countenance froze one again into form
And dreamed of a better tomorrow…

She dreamed…

The Ground Upon Which Riots Flare~para

Para — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 18:43:49 +0000

My words and thoughts are sought
On the matter
But blocked
Dismantled by the universal cock
Of the mad hatter…

Block it.
Seal the darkness from the light
Of the latter.
Light always has a way of penetration
Forcing its way into the degeneration
Of white on black
That lacks nothing more
Than the substance of color.

It calms
It claims virtual reality of valor
In the sub-sequential duality
Of twin peaks
Winking at the sun above the mist of cloud.

They want me dead
And so do I…
Aloud…
But you just can’t let the grip slack
No matter what turns black
And what falls to frost bite.

Desperation isn’t a pretty color
At nightviolent
Somewhere between the ultra violent
And infra-readiness…

I won’t live on the edge of your ribbon
As less
As adornment
Or sediment dried
By blazing sunlight and terminal winds
As forlorn spent
On Sunday afternoons.

I am every color of the rainbow
And the moon
Muted to monochrome too soon
By the whimsy thrown
And tied at the ends of braids…
I’m not here to pretty the parades
Of black and white charades.

I won’t stay
To witness your decay.
I won’t stay
To witness my monsoon of tears…
Not tomorrow or today.
You could claim your fears
But they knew you wouldn’t…
There’s so much more
That means so much more to you
That you couldn’t.

I’ll refrain from weaving chains
That grew
Around the circumstance
Meant to only drain you
And the color from the worth of dance
And it wanes…
Consequential panes
Of mirrored glass…

You turned me into you:

Chaotic and lost
In Wonderland alas…
Where the only way out
Is through
This
Pass.

Unfortunate to be left with only
Through.

©Jen2010 2–6

Coursing
Understanding
Only nullifies
Thermal heated electro-magnetism
Of topical heroic egotism regurgitated
So I dream ethereal…

No use for dreams

Eddie Mount — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 11:54:10 +0000

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.

I Remember…

Eddie Mount — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 19:21:10 +0000

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