The writings of Oddpoet » Poet

The Poet

Eddie Mount — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 05:37:22 +0000

Sirens sing the song of death
While rental cops lay cones down
Restricting traffic

They have come for me.

I am the Poet
The truth
My words are carved in the flesh of innocence
Scrawled in cheap urinals
Chiseled in the faded gray paint of shit holes
Of lonely tomorrows
I dry the tears of the hopeless
Scream with the homeless
I sing truth that humbles Gods
I am Prometheus, Sisyphus

I cut the throat of pompous laughter
And kill its first born
I eat the soul of dreadful normalcy
I walk the edge and conversed with madmen
My words reverberate in trash strewed alleys
My tread echoed in the halls of jails and mental institutions
Shared secrets with broken soulless junkies

I am truths
That freeze men’s souls
And the lies they swear by
The burning blade cutting tethered souls
Illuminating lightening

I am the Deviate fondling sacred sexuality
The serial killer covered in Blood
Sucking life from victims
With last breath cursing God
Whimpering
“Why me?”

I am the throneless king
The voiceless troubadour
The song no one will sing
I am the invisible chill
That fondles your spine
I am discomfort
The nightmare
The book no one will read
I am words no want wants to hear
I am …

Smile for the Devil

Eddie Mount — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 11:17:17 +0000

Ringed
Inside kaleidoscopic brimstone
A Hieronymus Bosch Vegas strip

Sans tourist

Smothering vapors of sulfuric mists
Tortures gasping breath

Ya wanna scream

“Mommy”

But

Mommy ain’t here

Fish faced generic pedestrians
whose idea of a good time
Is a home carpentry project
Approved by Norm himself

They sit behind reinforced
Plexiglas
In air conditioned
Save-way stores
Pleading
For discounts
And
The real deal

The demonic choir
Sing
Johnny Cash
With guitars
Made of human skulls
Stringed with the sinews
Of dead heroes

Big D
Enters
The circle

Wit a
Impeccably coiffured
Elvis Doo

I guess everybody
Loves
The king

“You staying Poet?”

“Don’t think so D
But thanks for
Asking”

“Ya know Your time is coming”

“Decided?

“Up or down?

“Think I might start
My own afterlife D

Big D
Gives me an Elvis
My Way flourish
Swirling his black sequined cape

Getting into that phony

Elvis karate stance.

“Sounds interesting Poet
You always did know how to style
If you need a hand
You know where to find me”

“Cool D”

And I rolled.

The Last Poet #3

Eddie Mount — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 10:04:35 +0000

My scream painted sin

Across the summer sky

The world

Wobbled on its axis

Paused

Held its breath

The trees trembled

Samson knelt before me

And prepared to die

“Scarred Man” he began

His lips quivering

“They came in the night”

“The Chorus and I drew sword”

“”She bade us hold”

“And left with them”

His hands twisted in rage and shame

Yes

He would die for her

I let him live

My breaths came in ragged gasps

Her voice

Suddenly

Came to me

As it had for three years now

And my eyes squeezed

In vain

To stem the tears

That washed my scarred face

She was alive!

I moved to my horse

Samson and other members of the Chorus

Eyes gleamed

And followed

Their blood lust

Palpable

I winced

Men who

Once coaxed

Beauty

And Life

From Dirt

Would become

What I have always been

The enemy had much

To answer for.

“Samson”

“Double the guard”

“And prepare to move”

It was as if I struck him

“But…”

I never gave orders twice

My horse wheeled

As I methodically approached the castle

My body was strewed with arrows

I couldn’t die

Until she told me

I could

The berserker was upon me

My sword screamed

And Sang

In the key of rage.

My blade glowed incandescent

Its white fire

Unquenchable

Blood hissed and splattered

My hated essence blazed

Who would dare touch her?

Those who stood before me

Died

The rest fled

Three witch word singers

Hurled arcane verse

At me

Just before there heads

Came to rest on the floor

I stormed the room that I knew held her

Five men died

Quickly

There

She was

The Last Poet and a Word Mage

Were engaged

In eldritch incantations

Her hands were bound

Impeding her

From verse flow

He was not

Nor could he ever

A match for her

I almost laughed.

But decided to kill him

Instead

The Word Mage eye’s widened

Hurled

Death verse at me

His words crumbled and howled

In useless fury

“I am already dead fool”

I flung the Word Mage out the window

And watched

As his body tumbled

Cursing

That I could not hurt him

More.

I gathered her in my arms

“You know

You really have to stop doing that”

She curled up in my arms

And the world was

Once again

Tolerable

Hope

Was

Alive

A bird sang

I am a Poet

Eddie Mount — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 19:30:58 +0000

I rage at the incompetence of my words
Another futile attempt to
Pierce the caul
That filters my dreams

Ripped from a woman’s womb
Not of a woman born
Seeking companionship
Finding only scorn

The obfuscations of Satanic spawn
The TV’s point of singularity
Into that black hole I’m drawn
Blinding me with banality

They killed Lenny Bruce
Disguised as overdose
They though they broke him
The Pharisees did boast
They died faceless, unknown
They are forgotten corpses
Devoid of flesh and bone
His words live on

I am a Poet
I dance
Between the crushing weight
Of conformity and chaos
I move to a rhythm and beat
That speaks to my unique vision

My songs are pain
Not joy
Of questions
Not knowledge
Of a broken heart
Not love

I am the pack less wolf
The outsider
You never see me
I hover on the edge of invisibility
I am the embarrassed pause
The faux pas
And the lost cause

I am a poet
I am what the world made me
And what I was meant to be

Child of Apollo

Eddie Mount — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 17:11:49 +0000

I met her.
A woman with a child’s eyes
Filled with wonder and questions.

She danced through the snow
Cold could not touch her.
Her heart burning passion.
Her soul a prism
Where she shaped dreams.

Others faltered.
Her steps were ordained.
A child of Apollo.
She was her own Muse.

She spoke to the world
In a language
That caused wonder.
Armed only with quill and ink
She changed worlds
Shaped hearts
Made tears obsolete.

Her words were like songs
Indelible
Unforgettable.
They vibrated in time to a universal clock
Ticking truth and beauty.

Poetry was her art
Her passion
The altar where she shed
Her life’s pain.

All were amazed.

But no one saw the sad girl
Behind the beauty
The words…

She was a child of Apollo.
Her steps were ordained.