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Ottar Feb 2015
flit
and
wind, with
curves that give
lift, feathered each
  articulation,
controlled

flight,
Flight,
free, every
wing beat,
day or night touches sky, they meet, winged bird, invisible air, neither care that they touched, nor let the other be aware,
they experienced the same indifference, natural
example of marriage dispensed,

wild example, simplest truth,
touch with care, knowing,
before you go your separate
ways, both,
need to
know, the
sky the bird
it is not a fling,
To feel the touch of wings.
Ottar Feb 2015
it is like a muddy avalanche,
surfing the surface, pulling from the deep,
boulder size nuggets, leaving cuts,
that blood, has to be stanched,
landside not a victory, rubble forms a heap,
at the bottom, where Earth puts

feet.
Gud velsigne deg og bevare deg
Ottar Feb 2015
No point in chasing me for my money,
It found a red tide, isn't that funny,
No point in chasing me for my time,
Spend it all doing prose and rhyme,

No point in getting into my flesh,
I might be confused and think it a test,
No point in cheering me up and on,
It might leave you feeling put upon,

No point in breaking down these unfeeling fortress walls,
You won't find me, getting lost by the sounds, the echoes, along halls,
No point in remembering
landmarks on my skin and the bend of my joints,
You won't know where I have gone,
which one of 360 degree compass points,

Experience the ocean,
Scent the wind,
and throw my ashes there,
for when you find me,

My arms open wide, my hands too,
were painting pictures on the sky,
of me and you,

It will be at the end of my journey,
Failures outnumber successes,
I gave up and gave in.
But for now, to journey...anyone want to keep me company, everyday will be, I hope a new and exciting adventure.
Ottar Feb 2015
always
poking
at the sky,
waiting for the signs,
to change,
crashed through a mile-
stone marker,
foolin' with life,
hands on the wheel of
what is broken down,
dark, dark, dark like area
fifty-one
grams are instant,
you might figure it out,
then again, whenever...

first heard of denver,
rhymes and reasons,
eagles and hawks,
music to my ears,
oh then came the tears,

Road Weary too early
in this Rotten World,
but rw came along,
and laughter filled
this heart,
to over flowing,
until tears
came from every laugh
and ... then...
only the tears.

A r m, there was no
harm, only a heart
for God,
step by step you
brought me closer,
if i stand,
brought
me to my knees,
understanding your love
for the Navajo
nation.

Too hard to be a bard,
all the waves that
sound like me
are hammered flat,
sharply.

Too soon.Wanted to grow
old with all of you
even though we share so little
phil-o-so-phically,
but here it is play
with words,
sun still rises
and watching flights
of birds and
dragonflies
make me pause;


from the shape of the sky
to a colour of the paint
that comes from the sun
in the clouds.

Then walking with ugly
toes with feet and
knees,
older than they should be,
seeing
people on the street,
who
love to hate,
hate to love,
each day is a wrestling
match in an atmospheric cage,
that puts ufc to shame,
seeing way more
than can be put on
parchment,
the will, be tried.

roof over my head
like a hat hanging
on an empty coat
hook
between the ribs
tearing at a heart
that refuses to
stop
beating while
being beat up by voices
that keep coming out
of the dark, dark, dark

shhhhhhhhh
whispers,
wisps
of hope
that knowing
as long as the
sounds of music
from many artists
find the ears
and,
able to feel,
lines of tears
and too
the laughter
echoes,
echoes in the
empty hallway
that swallows
red and white
and clear,
I live to write
another
day.
Take courage
to Play
the ukelele
if may I
by deSign.
12 poems in 2012, the other 760+ in 25 months, I had no other way to show You.
For helping me, for saying I matter,
you will never know
what you have been part of
thank you
200K reads
101 followers
A r m - a Rich Mullins, any and all of his music, "step by step", 'if I stand"  denver is John Denver, Rhymes and Reasons, Eagle and the Hawk, two very powerful songs in my teen years, RW is Robin Williams, made me laugh when well...strange what happens to you inside when people you look up to, successful people show their human side, makes you want to believe in yourself and what you can do, just a little bit more, better.
Makes it easy to believe that there is much more than meets the eye, in this world and especially every person.
Enough reading, do what you do best...write and read aloud
Thankyou for reading this if you made it this far, Thank you for all
of your
Poetry.
No Muses were injured, overworked or expected to get a tattoo with my name on it, during this poetic adventure.
Ottar Feb 2015
Tearing cellophane
                                 drops it, silver foil follows
C-stick lit, habit
No offense intended, in whole or in part, observations
Ottar Feb 2015
It was white, like snow, like linen sheets
Drying
             in
                  the
                         wind
It had silver buckles, like cutlery, that was only used
at Christmas
                       at Thanksgiving,
                                                   ­   but it was made to wear,
It had extra-long sleeves that tied in the back
for
       his
            own
                    protection,
Not from the rain drops
That tasted like tear drops
Not from the housekeepers
Barely five feet tall, a hundred pounds
if that at all...

With out his arms to salute,
He would not walk away,
He was a soldier, and this was now his Dress of the Day,
A good soldier was always
prepared to salute, now
he wasn't able.
Soldiers, PTSD, we have to do better, for them.
Ottar Feb 2015
The hard voices from soft people.
The soft rumble from hard vehicles.
Watered down by the rain.

Ruffled leaves, the dead remnant out of the horizontal, sticking.
The wind bends the barren tall trees out of vertical, time is ticking.
By.

Curled like a baby safe from harm,
He carry's his shoes up in his arms,

yet his short cropped hair and uncovered head
are soaked by the rain and he stops to give a shake,

after he points his finger and speaks to the apparition,
as drugs drift through his blood, and find his nerve
endings.

But his soaking socks wet from the sidewalk awash slap
in the the rain, are what attract the eye from across
the boulevard, one hund-
red one feet or more

away

it is plain,
he is having a bad day, which seems normal for him, for even the
telephone pole talks back, some insane day beginning.

To another long night.
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