The writings of Oddpoet

Poetry that bleeds, screams and never sleeps

She sits at her van­ity
Peer­ing at her reflec­tion…
Deep lines plague her fore­head,
Her pale skin, matte,
The down­turned scowl denies
Any beauty to radi­ate
From her vis­age–
He had made her ugly.



He’d poi­soned the well
From which her quill drank
Until all she could express
Was vile anger and repug­nance;
It stole the sun from her days
And the com­fort from her pil­lows
At night.



He’d sent let­ters of splen­dor
Exquis­ite out­pour­ings of ado­ra­tion
And strik­ing gar­dens of golden sun­sets,
Such awe-inspiring images of devo­tion
And eter­nal love–
They were never addressed to her.
Still
She kept them tucked in her heart,
Decay rooted into infec­tion
And dis­ease surged out­ward
With each silent beat.



She sits at her van­ity
Peer­ing into her reflec­tion
Rem­i­nisc­ing moments
Of days
When the warmth of the sun caressed her cheek
And flow­ers per­ished fra­grant
For her mere atten­tion…
She had been beau­ti­ful then.






©Jen2010 2–8

My face is blis­tered by the demands

The sug­ges­tions to free

Cut and cauterized–

They’ve hurt me.

Have you not heard me pleading

For the release of all that caresses?

His release.

Have you not heard me beg­ging to the presses

All these years?

I’ve done what was asked

Walked across acres upon acres of shards of glass

Passed razors through the maze of my soul

Dis­sected my heart with a mon­o­cle mirror

And I’m whole

I’ve for­given my fingers

And I’m whole…



But his release–

His release demands of my mind’s eye

His suf­fer­ing rakes the embers of my need

To sus­tain my high

Blis­tered and scarred

Ris­ing to an inferno I can’t disregard

And my fin­gers beseech thee

As my con­science screeches to me daily

Release him

Just release him so my sight can see

He lives with­out me

Sat­is­fac­to­rily

Allow me to wit­ness him serene

In the wild

Liv­ing out his most desired dream

And he will be filed under case closed.

I’ve done what was asked

I’ve inhaled the rose

And suf­fered each thorn as it passed

Licked the morn­ing dew from your boots

Uprooted roots I thought would never be free

And rotated eye­balls to view within

The bloody inter­nal mas­sacre of sin and debris…

I guess I just don’t know what you want from me



But you know what I want from you

Oh you’ve always known what I want from you

And you hold it close to your chest

Under lock and key and duress

I could kill myself, leave a sim­ple note of sin­gu­lar pleas

But you still wouldn’t give me what I need–

His release.

For his release is mine



And you’ll never let me go

Blis­tered and mangled

You’ll never let me go as such…

I’ve seen too much.



©Jen2010 1–31

Tomb­stone grey eyes

Gives lie to her fuck me crayon red lips

Oval shaped

Invit­ing

Prac­ticed

Her mouth’s Invi­ta­tion pursed expectantly

Quiv­er­ing tongue glistening

A viper poised to strike death

But those eyes

Those damn eyes…

I am Immersed in soft bil­lowy clouds Of ivory col­ored passion

Enfolded in the soft­ness of Rita

I whis­per

A child­ish sigh

The world is reduced

Absorbed

Into heat and flesh

Chore­o­graphed moans

March­ing across ancient battlefields

Barely breath­ing

Drift­ing between space and time

I’m in love again

She is an opium induced dream

Her mor­phine coated lips

Adds sweet­ness to pur­chased pleasure

Entreat­ing forgetfulness

Nerves scream and vibrate

As Apollo works his lyre

Her vac­u­ous tomb­stone eyes

Rain a sin­gle tear

Lost…

Again…

In the soft­ness of Rita

I return from…

That whirlpool

ris­ing From

Another time…

Another place…

Her soft smile knew my need

I’m in love again

Trem­bling

I ask her

“Do you love me?”

Exhaled cig­a­rette smoke blinds me

” yes

Always, love…

Always…”

I believe her

But those eyes…

Those damn eyes

So I get a text mes­sage from this chick I was fuck­ing a while back. I know, I know I should say a chick I was in love with but the truth demands it’s place. Look­ing back or In ret­ro­spect I am able to piece together what went on in all my failed rela­tion­ships. Sorta like a recap, Dur­ing the event there is all that emo­tional want and need shit going down and it’s hard to sort it out. Look­ing back you come to real­ize you were just fuck­ing her. Which is about 99.9% of my rela­tion­ships which should tell you why they failed.

So she texts me and says it’s over. WTF?

“Yea, sorta fig­ured that out since I have not seen you in a year’
“I mean it this time’
“No doubt dar­ling your are drip­ping sin­cer­ity’
“I’m dying, but you don’t care, I’m dead to you already.’

Insert groan here.
Oh fuck, here comes the “I’m dying” bit

So I bite.
“That’s a shame hon, can I have your dog?”

“You cock­sucker’
“I mean it I have an STD”

This is where the strobes start flash­ing and the Phil­har­monic starts play­ing “Mephistopheles”

“you have what?”

“Do I have your attention?”

“Undi­vided”

Now I know this chick’s head and I always labeled her “sus­pect” That’s a term I reserve for chicks who you feel might be sling­ing pussy behind your back. Ya know sorta of a Kmart ver­sion of a Blue light pussy spe­cial.
“Atten­tion Kmart shop­pers, Chris­tine is sling­ing some major taco in aisle four”

Just a feel­ing I had with her. Prior to hav­ing sex she started to feel me out with ques­tions like “are you kinky?‘
She was never sub­tle. I told her the truth I could roll any­way she wanted. She was the atyp­i­cal sex­u­ally frus­trated mar­ried woman who was dying to ful­fill some major fan­tasy. She came to the right place.

So the big day arrives and she comes in with a duf­fel bag that looked like it weighed about three hun­dred pounds. I empty the fucker on the bed and tell her,
“Babe, if I pulled a McGuyver here I think I could build a minia­ture nuclear weapon. No shit, there were butt plugs, dil­dos, vibra­tors, lubes, cock rings, restraints, leather masks (WTF?) I wanted to have a sword fight with this huge black dildo, I hid that fucker under the bed. No fuck­ing way!  There was even a vibra­tor that dou­bled as an AM/FM radio and a GPS unit.

She undresses and lays on the bed and I have my choice of weapons. Being the bizarre fuck I am an image of the three Stooges comes into my head the one with them in the oper­at­ing room, “Scapel…check…Forceps…check…Dildo…check…

So I chose restraints, a blind fold and a large feather. I fig­ured any poor fuck could ham­mer her with a dildo it takes an artist to use a feather. I did and it was great. Once you get into it, it’s amaz­ing what you can do with a feather, restraints, a blind fold and some timely lightly blow­ing breaths. No lie, She was hands down the best sex­ual part­ner I ever had. I swear we did it for hours, it was insane, I would fuck her, whip out a toy, work it, fuck her again. Man could she come and the crème de la crème?: she was a squirter. Yea, my first. I was work­ing the cli­max and plop my face is sud­denly drip­ping with pre­cious bod­ily flu­ids. I was like, “Did she just piss in my face?” I recov­ered and real­ized but your first squirter will throw you for a loop.

One would think the rela­tion­ship was des­tined for great­ness but sex only goes so far; Then you have to talk to them. Ah, theres the rub, I have never fig­ured out how to bypass that whole talk­ing to them thingy. When I do men will be knock­ing down my door. “Odd­poet did what?” “Bypassed the whole talk­ing to them thingy?” “That fucker is my hero.”

But… we started talk­ing, got into a hel­la­cious fight. She puts this Coun­try music sta­tion on I asked her to turn it off, She said “deal with it” I did by rip­ping the radio out of the dash­board and throw­ing it into the street. Ya know typ­i­cal lover’s quar­rel. I do miss the sex.

Turns out she was not dying from an STD, I guess she just wanted to break my balls one last time for old times sake.

Oh well…

I’m gonna have to write about Deb­bie, the one that got away. Yea, I left her for my wife. I always did things ass backwards.

So I am in this Motel room and I have my John­son poised to enter this chick’s ass. She says “I never engaged in this kind of thing before.” Well, I tell her, “nether have I.”



I use to oper­ate under the assump­tion that Women were a gift of Aphrodite. An altar where I wor­shiped, a mag­i­cal inter­lude, a punc­tu­a­tion of real, in an oth­er­wise bor­ing life, that was before…



I’m get­ting ahead of myself…



So I’ve been fuck­ing this bitch for about two hours and I’m feel­ing good about myself, kind of like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Cor­ral and the bitch is one the Clanton’s. So I’m pound­ing away, my gun is primed; being a musi­cian I’m pound­ing a whole slew of rhythms in that pussy. I am a jazzed ass cock­smith, I’m giv­ing her long strokes, short strokes, vary­ing rhythms, I am Thelo­nious Monk and the bitch is my keys.



All of a sud­den she can not breathe, well, not my prob­lem; she wanted to fuck, right?
And I real­ize my cock is a poten­tial instru­ment of death and I play the sce­nario out.



“What hap­pened here?”
“Offi­cer we were fuck­ing and she died.”
“You try­ing to say you fucked her to death?”
“I guess so Offi­cer.”
“My MAN!”

High fives…



Of course I stopped. Why?



The story demands our atten­tion…



Five hours ear­lier…



I knocked on her door, first look­ing left, then right, a para­noid thing. I have never been com­fort­able going into another man’s house for the pur­pose of fuck­ing his old lady. I don’t respect myself, in fact I hate me, but pussy is pussy and my old lady is use­less.



I won­der if the same scene is play­ing out at my crib, some Mandingo mother fucker who’s got my worth­less wife slammed against the wall, and she’s repeat­ing ver­ba­tim what’s going through my head. Shit! She’s not a Poet; fuck her and her Mandingo boy.



She answered. Her smile was preda­tory, she looked like she wanted more than I could ever give, any­one could give. She looked that hungry.

Her eigh­teen year old boy is on the couch eat­ing a hot pocket, watch­ing Nick­elodeon and eye­ing me. Now he has no dog in this fight his bio­log­i­cal Dad is on his third ex-wife and his Mom is fuck­ing me at the moment. His step Dad is in South Car­olina at the lov­ing sug­ges­tion of his never faith­ful wife.



Our eyes meet. I can’t read him…odd…
She grabs my hand,
“Let’s go in the bed­room.”



I look at the bitch like she has two heads. Her room is right behind the wall where the TV is play­ing Scooby Doo. And the thought of Scooby say­ing Rut Roo and Her Mom scream­ing Fuck me Jesus…Fuck me… Is even too much for scum like me to bear.
Besides don’t need her kid call­ing me Jesus.



She is insis­tent! Won’t let up. I know her kid hears her pleas, her need. I’m mak­ing a joke out of the whole thing. It’s like a fuck­ing Kafka novel, here I am try­ing to pro­tect her and her kid and she wants to kick my ass because I won’t fuck her with her kid in the house.



“I’m outta here.”
I walk to the door.
She fol­lows me, grabs me and pushes me against the wall.
Now I’m not a big dude, I’m a bad mother fucker but I’m not big and I let her man­han­dle me.
I’m think­ing about the kid…her…



I look at her and then her kid munch­ing on a hot pocket pretending…the world is… Rut Roo…



She is a tan­gle of needs and wants…
I knew at that moment I could never be the answer to that thing that burned in her, her eyes…



“We’ll get a room”



I should have run away and never came back, but… pussy is pussy and I have not had any in a while, being mar­ried and all that…



So…

The mid­dle was the begin­ning and the begin­ning is now…



I’m look­ing at her ass like Colum­bus look­ing at the new world. She never been ass fucked and I … what the fuck… My cock was sucked into her ass, it was like Lassie run­ning into the arms of lit­tle Timmy, home sweet home.



It was a vio­lent ass fuck, I slammed that mother Fucker and she bucked, lord did she buck. I was angry, I was fuck­ing her lies, her Son, her hus­band, but most of all me. I should know bet­ter…



She shiv­ered and shook and col­lapsed on the bed. I was amazed a woman could cum being ass fucked. She reached behind towards me and grasped my hand. I pulled away and ran to the bath­room. I started vom­it­ing and wip­ing the brown sin off my dick. I knew it would never be clean again. No mat­ter how long or how hard I scrubbed.



“You okay Babe?”



I couldn’t answer.

I try to hold you

In my arms

But you

Fall apart



Disintegrate

Vapor­ize

Dema­te­ri­al­ize

Spewed grave­yard dust

Dis­persed

Scat­tered

Lost in time’s brothel



Were you ever here?



There can be

No solace in mem­ory



Sur­rounded by

Melt­ing Phones

And the Hangman’s noose



Mad­men sing harmony

Writ­ing songs

That make Angels cry



Unfin­ished words haunt me

Always of you



You



But you were

Never

Here

A fig­ment of Passion’s need

A lonely heart’s desire

Cry­ing

Alone



The har­bin­ger of dawn approaches

Mock­ing sun­light will once again

Fill the World



Why do the birds sing so?

What need pow­ers such melody?



The green creatures

Stir

I feel their pity

“Share in the glory”

“You need not be alone”

I am

Guin­e­vere
Lay beside me
Let us lie upon sil­ver clouds
Hud­dled in Blan­kets of rain­bow
Bathe in essen­tial starlight
Each point of light diaphanous­ness por­tals
To what never was
But might yet come to pass
Where this bit­ter world does not exist
Where tears are never shed
Each new day a mys­tery
An unopened present
A child’s con­tented heart



Guin­e­vere
Do not speak
Words are clumsy use­less con­structs
The mere cack­ling of crows
Let the quick­en­ing of our hearts
And the trem­bling of our flesh
Sing our song



Let angelic choirs sing rhap­sodic coun­ter­point
Let the mae­stros of yore
play celes­tial instru­ments
Shak­ing the heav­ens
In thun­der­ous melody
Where even the dour Gods smile and nod
Know­ingly



Guin­e­vere
I am lost in your eyes
Falling help­lessly to an essen­tial core
The eye of the storm
The cen­ter of all things
I am no longer who I was
Merg­ing, meld­ing, blend­ing
Into some­thing new
Dis­tinct
Pure
What never existed before
Yet older than the ancient bones of Gaia



Guin­e­vere
Your name is the soft caress of a mid­night breeze
A glo­ri­ous spring day
A gen­tle rain that suc­cors parched earth
A balm that heals a bro­ken heart



Guin­e­vere…
Guin­e­vere…
Guin­e­vere…



A sin­gle tear rolls down my cheek
It is my gift to you