The writings of Oddpoet

Poetry that bleeds, screams and never sleeps

The Street Breathes hack­saw rhythms
Young girls check for signs of men­stru­a­tion
Door stop mavens say God ain’t dead
He’s just in the South of France sun­ning
He’ll be back and as soon as he finds his scepter

Euro­pean Kings try­ing to make a come­back
Tout inbred genes and palace intrigues
Every Thurs­day night right after “The World ain’t got no talent”

Can­cer genes rise and float on amor­phous clouds
Laugh­ing and gig­gling
Con­sult­ing with the ora­cle of the damned
before descend­ing on Joe the mail­man
Two weeks away from retirement.

Me?
I’m just Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & tum­blin
Won­derin
If the Gods have Gods

Dream­ers vomit up yes­ter­days
Prepack­aged
In stan­dard belief pat­terns
Strands of inno­cence
Find no pur­chase
evap­o­rates
Lonely motes
Dust­ing Gaia’s weary bones

Me?
I’m just Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & Tum­blin
Won­derin
If the Gods believe in their Gods

Fire red blood
paint a land­scape
Only I can see
Soft­ened by the gen­tle blue of still­born babies
Mouths frozen in per­pet­ual why

Brides dressed in white
With pun­gent piss stains
Run­ning down sequined trains
Promise immac­u­late con­cep­tion
to well oiled machines

Me?
I’m just Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & Tum­blin
Won­derin
If Gods can be athe­ist
or are they just
Rollin & Tum­blin
Rollin & Tumblin

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 got to be the last dude in the world to talk about love. Not sure what it is or what it ain’t. Peo­ple say this demon­strates “love”. Birds are alleged to mate for life some peo­ple are impressed by that but given the fact their lifes­pan is about a year I’m not hold­ing any parades. Shit, I was mar­ried to Gut­ter Trash for twenty years I guess that makes me fuck­ing Romeo. Was gonna put some Poetic verse to it but decided to don my sar­casm cap instead.

Female Bird get nailed by a repu­pli­can dri­ving a Fer­rai. She is hurt

She is immobile

The male bird brings her food

This is pretty touch­ing. She is lying there help­less and the male bird brings her a pizza with xtra pep

Now it gets a lit­tle sad so I’ll forgo the sar­casm or maybe not

She is dead yet it looks like he is try­ing to move her.

He seems upset

Here he looks really upset

Judge for your­self what’s going on here

I do not believe in impart­ing human emo­tions onto ani­mal behav­ior, but lo can that be despair we see?

Res­ig­na­tion?

Okay is he bird sad? Where I got these pics the dude was all effu­sive over the love he says is demon­strated here. Well I have my jour­nal­ist cap on and put the poet away, he is a real fag any­way, good rid­dance. Birds do not, can not feel love as defined by us, but maybe it is some­thing deeper that would shame us all or maybe he flies away and looks for another mate. For­get­ting she even existed, who can know the answer? I would love to inter­view the dude, as all my faith­ful read­ers know, I am flu­ent in sev­eral ani­mal lan­guages. You decide…

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?

Doth thy hunger seek redress
In
Sub­tle Death?

Con­sum­ing essence
best left for
Children’s innocence?

Wouldst thy shed skin
And life
for
a but­ter­flies
Errant Path?

Dance to a falling leaf
in Autumns pain?

A drunk­ards folly
in muted scream?

The flayed skin of truth
Cry­ing imag­i­nary sin?

Would it be
The Die
Rolls
For purpose?

That the Ran­dom Gods
Do so shud­der
at Happenstance?

Would it be the clenched tear
Finds
res­o­lu­tion
In
Linens gen­tle catch

Eat not thy Tail Ourbo­ras
Seek truths gen­tle caress
Let her dic­tates
love you

Seek her embrace
And know
The truth
of pain.

Wouldst thy tail
be
An
End
Unto
itself?

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

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