The writings of Oddpoet » Poetry

Happy Birthday

oddpoet1 — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 07:53:20 +0000

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

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

The Chalice

Moondreamer — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 17:33:03 +0000

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…

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

Lord of the Sky

Eddie Mount — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 13:35:06 +0000

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?

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…

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…

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

I climbed a tree

Eddie Mount — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 10:42:28 +0000

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?