The writings of Oddpoet » wonder

Behind the Finery

oddpoet1 — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 19:21:43 +0000

Behind the finery it lies
Perfumed
Caked in makeup
Like a fat whore
Hiding pock marked skin
And razor scars
Carving its story
Across the face
In blood red font

Like a movie set
A facade
Where Beaver and Wally
Dance with broom sticks
Preparing
To woo the girl of their dreams
All the whilefangs glissen like fine ivory,
June Cleaver’s fangs
Glisten
Like fine ivory
Preparing school lunches
Layered in false promises
And unending night

On this stage
Actors
Stick figures
Cardboard cutouts
Speaking monosyllabic
Affirmations
To Baal
The ending
Always
Ordained

Why read the book?

Beauty is her name

oddpoet1 — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 16:13:35 +0000

Vaporized beauty she is
Impossible to hold
Encompassing
And all consuming
“Who can embrace the Sun?”

A Treasured gift she is
Hiding beneath coarse blankets
And vulgar tongues
“Who can sing her beauty?”

The Gem that shines amidst cheap trinkets
Making Angels bow and Devils cry
Madmen and Saints know her well
They paint her name across the sky
“Beauty is her name”

The world pauses when she speaks
Gods bow and heartbeats still
The seeds of this world…
Await her smile…

“Beauty is her name”

Rollin & Tumblin

oddpoet1 — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 23:57:16 +0000

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

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

Love ~a pictorial~

oddpoet1 — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 00:30:37 +0000

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…

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?

The Worm called Ouroborus

Eddie Mount — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 12:20:27 +0000

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?