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Ottar Dec 2014
Salt crystals, de-icing road spray, sand, that grit,
Crow minstrels, squirrels play, coyotes sprint
all
along
the
boulevard,
tear drops fall,
angry voices call,
a hand with rough knuckles and a L O V E tattoo
caresses a naked shoulder in tight jeans,
even though it is minus six
unless
the transport
trucks speed,
down the main
drag,
ups the wind chill,
the city of green spaces,
upturned faces shine with hope?
or looking for the the thirty plus
BMX rider with their dope,
'round here
a hit can be three things,
drug related,
gang related,
or another pedestrian
defenestrated
from a cross walk framed pane,
wrong place in time,
because the reaper
behind the wheel will
chill the reality of how
winter
kills
Ottar Dec 2014
Stars that shine, that
blot out the distant spaces
between,

city lights above the streets, that
send shadows to find the dark, that
hides the obscene,

my eyes dim, not from age, that
once found wonder and dreamt in colours of hope, that
have all turned to grey, that

Prove
I was
living in, that
land of make believe.

Where one good turn deserves another,
Where a positive attitude made a difference,
Where you can say and have it received, "Love ya brother"

Where a little light shines,
Wherein the dark hides and pines,
to be released
Where there is a life that balances the scale,
yet I go pale,

in
this reality
that I was only
living in that, land of
Make Believe

Not for children only,
but All to let them create,
you may not see your gifting
you have been sifting
through the muck shifting,
globs from hand to hand
like combat,

like conflict,
like words that
burn like acid
scent of rancid.


Not of the Living
Not of  the Land
Not able to Make
your self Believe
In You.

Sorry for the fuss,
my life is a muss,
get back to your reality,
guess that lesson is lost on me,
just
like
the land
that land
of make
                

                                                            ....­..believe.
Ottar Dec 2014
"Hit me"a violent gesture,
                  an act of pleasure,
a gambler's term,
A Seed of the Worm,
Wooden heart as well,
after all who is responsible for,
Hello's and goodbye's
Halo's and no-reply emails,
as it costs more at the pace of snail,
what do you pay, what fair market price,
for that part of you,
                                    that was preserved by sacrifice,
it has beauty no human eye has seen,
it is ageless,
                     but is it more than junk jewelry, worn
when you are worn out,
                    but what about the tom foolery, torn
in strips, down to your marrow, but
R e m e m b e r
He loves you and keeps His eye on the sparrow,
and if that don't mean Jack,
then we are back to you and to Him.
Oceans and Time, but no black pearl,
set sail, hit the open water, life is off your stern,
the bow may cut, where the wind blows...
there are the storms of life but,
"I know the master of the wind...."
Ottar Oct 2014
days or days of words,
leave me like a flock of birds
one by one.        find a place,
                        to come to rest,
and take me there, let me be,
but not alone,

i am so alone,
eyes observe with every breath,
every step, down streets filled,
my arms by my sides, hang tired
reaching for
the spectres,

relationships,
empty boats,
float by, no rope have i to throw,
nor harbour safe
or sage place to anchor, there be,
distractions like rocks, waiting for me,
YOU,

lay alike in wait, wish I, you would,
find me, for your softness,
would rip me bow to stern,
empty all the words i did yearn
to spill on paper, cover a screen,
with worlds,

in ink stained blood, of my own hand,
my write hand, type set for all to see,
when i am free,
and believe,

that dragonflies, win staring contests,
the story is important to tell, and will be read,
humbly God gifts us,
and we each in our turn,
not deserving or have earned,

finding, sharing, enough to care,
to give what you have,
trusting, rusting away,
from the inside out,

rain drops pelt the ground
from the sky make a sentence,
fill a cup with a paragraph,
throw myself to the ground,
soak them up as i roll around,
run inside and wring out
every drop on pages scattered
across the floor and watch
for words to appear, that
i will know what i am like,
                         really like,
so the lies i live will flee,
to the shadows and leave me,
so
you will
know that the one you love,
is a writer of stories,
a teller of tales,
not a scribe but a scribbler,
who places people and places,
and colours and conflict,
and lives and love
and cups of coffee black.

Thirty days hath November,
have i the will to write fifty
thousand and ninety-nine words,
from my heart,
from, my hands,
to tell a story.
Give God the glory,
i will, in thanks.
NaNoWriMo 2014 ------- --------- 12:01 AM 1 November 2014 to 11:59 PM 30 November 2014
Ottar Oct 2014
skip through my meddled,
alpine wash of flowers, watered-
down disarray of colours, smattered
on the rocks, that don't roll.

does the mind squander,
what the heart believes,
are there desires that deceive?
does the lone wanderer,
forever court disaster receive,
                                 a reprieve?

prostrate find me, let love unbind me,
unbind my tongue, my words, my speech,
is anything free anymore, anymore,
have i got you ravin' for more and
is it fuelled or fooled by passion
                      in what you believe,
                           it is right to write?

Anybody could slap these words around,
                 non-violently, and be better at it, see?
                  heart be brave while lunatics rant and rave
                      about right and wrong, challenge them
                        to make lyrics and put legalism in a song.

Tomorrow will be a bad day, I am not in a place to say why,
or how I know, I too often have let my emotion show,
in abject humility, I am an embarrassment to all who know me.
Sorrow will fill my hours, and my eyes, there is not enough space
around me to breath, suffocates my ability to communicate,
I cease to exist and lose all hope, dreams like steam evaporate.

The yellow brick road lies, if the truth be unrolled
rusty spike in the last railway tie,
childhood dreams scream of deceit,
even if you have had the best mother,
two boys could ever have.

while i skip down the aisles of
grocery stores and the tears of my
life seep from pores so small they
make up for them in numbers like
ninety-nine and the one,

am i a lonely sheep for the slaughter
or in want of a lonelier shepherd,
have i fallen with no will to get up,
then let me die...
what do you mean carefreely is not a word, it is actually two... assembled together this, one time only.  This is a dark place, next time bring your flash light.
Ottar Oct 2014
After each sunrise to sunset,
is a blink of a bright eye,

Before each moonrise to moonset
is a blink of a night eye,

each night that, there is no moon
                 to rise
                  or set
darkness buries deep, in dark hearts,
never has a day come without the sun,
                to rise
                 or set,
which would be, the darkest, darkness yet.

Do you
feel fear, rise
or do you know
about glory's light,
where is your hope, set
                                     yes, Glory's Light!
Ottar Oct 2014
a few minutes ago,
I wrote a poem like I have not before,
On my tablet with touch screen, touched
the wrong part now never to be seen, titled
A Lifetime,
no rock is small enough to crawl under,
no lightening bright enough to dull the thunder,
of You Fool!

Here is what I remember:

There were drops of tears,
like a waterfall, suddenly appeared,
decades to here,
wading it is clear, through Canadian geese crap,
may as well been typing with my ugly toes,
my fingers just deleted another rant,
with my failures, to just walk away,
from hope - less criticism equals math formulae,
matters not, the words would not win your time,
it would be better, a picture in pantomime,
on your doorstep, for what remains of A Lifetime.

Now sleep falls, please lightly,
take me deep, and not politely,
wrest from me, my will,
to stay far away, i beg, i pray,
meet me as i am.
This in no way resembles what I wrote, nor does it cheer me to try and imitate, tonight we sleep, for tomorrow we write again!
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