The writings of Oddpoet

Poetry that bleeds, screams and never sleeps

The cake lies musty and stale
The bal­loons dry rot­ted and cracked
Their col­ors faded
The air that would give them life
Has moved on

And Clint died

The clock nods
And says
“Just to remind ya dude“
Another year lays parcels
Into my pack

Oh the weight

But what of Love?
Cheap and tawdry
A bar stool whore
Eying advan­tage
Plun­der­ing
A Viking rap­ing with gut­tural screams
The Poet can sing of it
I had my fill of it

And Clint died

Mem­o­ries set the table of dreams
Prepar­ing a feast
Beg­ging for party favors
Dressed in Sun­day fin­ery
Hid­ing the thread worn elbows
And the yel­low­ing white
Of faded innocence

No one will show
I never do
And mem­ory will shed tears
And slowly fade
Dis­solve
Dis­persed into the wind tun­nel of time’s inex­orable march
Towards…
Some­thing…
Some place…
Its last words always

“But what of Love?”

I smile
Let the Poet sing its glory
I had my fill of it

Besides

Clint is dead

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

An old friend of mine Moon­dreamer finally con­sented to throw some words down here. He is what I call a real pansy ass. Rest assured he would laugh at that char­ac­ter­i­za­tion and call me an Attila the Hun wanna be. Oh well, here is Pansy ass’s con­tri­bu­tion.



Would you drink from this plain chal­ice I offer?
Nei­ther jewel encrusted
Nor lay­ered in pre­cious metal
Did not Guin­e­vere taste from it?
Arwen?
I do not come as men­di­cant
I come as one who would know you

Would you drink?
Would you know me?
Peel the lay­ers
Of false­ness
Into my heart?

I wish to taste you
Savor your essence
This world can no longer con­tain my hunger
My desire
My will

One night
While the Gods sleep
And the world sus­pends it’s tor­tu­ous path
Yet can it be?
Can the uni­verse sus­tain such passion?

Yet One night…
One night…
I would stop the stars
Still the beat­ing of false heart
Cause song­birds to rise as one
And sing a sym­phony
That com­pels the world
To lis­ten…
Pro­claim to the world.
That beauty’s heart still beats
In you

JUST ONE NIGHT!
I would lay prone
And take the pain
That bathes you
And the par­ti­cles that define us
Will rearrange
Differently

Would you have me stand out­side your closed door?
Locked against the bore­dom of this world?
Yet
It can­not be
This world does not reward a true heart
And…



The stars will weep
Their light less bright
This world will stop
And feel an emptiness

And the songs of this world



Will sigh…

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

There he was
Cold and Dead
Eyes open
As if
Even in death
He would seek to pierce the veil
The unknow­able



Oh brave soul!



Regal he was
As if he would Chal­lenge the Gods them­selves in com­bat
Pro­claim­ing to the world even Death can­not dim my flame



Lying there
Once Lord of the air
Sul­tan of the sky
Arc­ing and danc­ing upon cur­rents of divine magic
Yet
Soon to be swept up by Sara­cens – Cretins–
A for­got­ten car­cass
Whose bones lit­ter this for­get­table world



They are Inca­pable of know­ing the power you once wielded



A wick snuffed in its rag­ing glory
A blos­som rav­aged by winter’s cold truth
Dying with embers flar­ing
In bit­ter rebel­lion you would scream
“I was Lord of the Air!”



if I be a true man
I would anoint you in pre­cious oils
And cloth your death in sim­mer­ing gold attire
Lead pro­ces­sions pro­claim­ing
“The Lord of the Air has expired”
Wouldst now the sky be so bar­ren?



Alas the world tum­bles and the die rolls
Such is how pre­cious hearts are stilled
Ignominy claims us all as her own



How heaven and hell dance
And demand cadence from its play­ers
How the mighty
Are thus laid so low



Rot in the Street
Lord of the Sky
Is It is only I
Who would sing thy glory



When the reaper calls…
Who would speak such words for me?

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…

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 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

I climbed a tree.

Think­ing

I could see something

New

Some­thing no one has ever seen.

Before

Scraped

Bleed­ing

Sway­ing



Pre­car­i­ous death

Peers through arched eyebrow

Non com­mit­tal

Death don’t give a fuck

We all on his to do list.



I climbed a tree

And saw

The deadly same

The pierc­ing wail of conformity

The heart rend­ing cry
of the incom­plete heart



I will get up

Tomor­row

And

Know

I will climb the tree.



What else can I do?