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Owen Alasdor Nov 2016
“A man naked is a man clothed,” the soothsayer yielded, “but a woman naked is a woman naked.” It was light out; the sun just barely reaching the tops of the mountains. “And that is beauty,” he continued. It seemed noticeable to Idia but as she looked around at the rest of her peoples the obvious seemed to be in the words of the slayer. She smiled upon the sky, glaring at the blooded sun. However, the sun was not the beauty she found in the sky. “It depends on who’s looking,” responded Idia as she looked at the crescent moon resting above the rising sun.
Owen Alasdor Jul 2016
no.
are poets real?
no.

is poetry religious?
yes.
is poetry real?
no.
Owen Alasdor Jul 2016
The couch holds no cushioning
Any longer.
It’s been tailored for my ***
That sinks into it
Day in and day out

Night after night
I conjure up past works
I try to throw them together
But it doesn’t.

It’s got me going again
Writing and learning
These poetics.
I’m gaining a voice
…. Unflattering
And disorganized
Yet, it is mine.

I’m done with this schooling
It’s time to educate myself.

But it’s easier said than done
While on a couch cushion
Across from a failing flame
Next to a torched bowl.

It’s been my fourth of July
Weekend
A weekend of solitude
With a touch of
These poetics.

I think it’s Thursday now,
or Wednesday.
I’ll be going outside
Blinding my eyes
From light.

Goodbye couch
‘ol buddy
‘ol pal
I’m sure it won’t be long.
Owen Alasdor Jul 2016
It makes me think,
the Egyptians were batshit.
Not that they were idiots.
There's always bits of hay
amongst the piles of needles.
Only just
Thinking.
Why did these naked cats
arrive in Egypt?
They look near human
... in the face, that is.
Well,
the alley cats.
The battle worn
society of cats.
Spartans.
The oppression they hail
down upon their unreachable
indoor
targets.
It's all just out of this
                ...
                    realm.
Owen Alasdor Jul 2016
I’ll slurr my poetikss
I’ll ruin my rhymess
I’ll even diminish Shakesspeeare to be
Achieving what is all thoughtfully mine.
Owen Alasdor Jul 2016
Im lost in thought
Forgotten in time
Endlessly searching
For an idea to arise

Thought after thought
Remembered in my my mind
Forever scribbling
Ideas that are all one of a kind.

Thoughts put to the test
And never allowed in
Once making their statements
Before falling down… again and again

I'm thinking of an answer
For a better outcome
Always thinking
That all these new ideas are dumb.

I'll go with the flow
When I get in the works
Of making a better life
For myself through my work.

Until then ill remain
Looking out a glass window
A window ive painted over
To think of the idea from an hour ago

The only problem is
The glass is quite colorful filling me with dread.
Painted with colors so compelling
That they will never leave my head.

Im lost in thought
Forgotten as a stint
Endlessly searching
For an idea to commit
Owen Alasdor Jul 2016
Top off my glass &
Spark my light so that maybe
I can sleep tonight.
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