Ottar

Ottar Feb 2015

I am not meant to be, where I yam, what I yam
Unless life like spinach, is meant to be canned,
A failure by all reports, I have no retort,

Not one, n o response, my previous successes
lead me to believe, that "what have you done
lately" does not deceive, fills the beast, technology,

That leads me to my breaking point,
Rogue wave, out of the deep blue see,
If I were a martyr, that might be true,

But I am nothing more, than a man
with a love for words and I play with
sounds, really adore what they do;

with my mind,
with my heart,
preventing stagnation,
of my imagination.

Ah, the breaking point
not the tip of a coast,
where land ends,
and bends open water
to new possibilities.

We all have at least one
In our life, in our career, in our day
Weakness, faint of heart,... No Way,

Even the oceans, and their waves,
As those waves come to shore,
On breakwater's and beaches

Break! but do not dull the ocean's roar.

How many breaking points have happened to you?
unfinished, the waves of doubt, keep coming, like my blog
like twitter, like Instagram, like Word press, likes...

#poet #writer #humancondition #platform #loverofsounds #thisplaceisnotmyhome

Ottar Feb 2015

Angel fell

If it takes what time I have
Left, to kiss every scar, hop-
ing only, to make them bet-
ter, let me do that in a
sunny place where rays
of heat that wash over
you, fall

From the heaven's
that, you too, fell from.

#healing

Ottar Feb 2015

all the February flowers have fallen to skeptics

Pointed
green breaking
ground, with no noise,
A blade
disguised as a leaf
commands choic-
est rays, from the February sun,
the chill is
colder inside these walls,
than on the streets.

Bubble wrap
only does so much,
for the dreams enclosed
for their own protection,
but the grass the gardener aerated
flowered from bulbs long fogotten
and he mowed them down
unsure if flowers,
that bloom in February, grow enough to own,

space and purchase their hold,
for Spring to bring summer's fall.

#doubt #procrastination #skeptics #decisiontime #hopedashed

Ottar Feb 2015

Learning to love the sound of voice

the way the teeth get out of the way of the tongue,
the sounds come from the throat and below,
maybe it starts at a big toe?

the sinus chamber is more plus than
minus, adding to the echo that only
you hear, no fear built in reverb!

read the long and the small,
stories, poetry and all aloud,
hear that voice, it is yours,

BE PROUD!

play with your voice, become a vocal
acrobat by choice, assembled a vocal
ensemble with your chords,
all the poems and words, you horde,

for reading
when with
your light
alone at night
you read a million words
to learn to love the sound
of your voice, shaping
words, adding emotion
to a two dimensional framework
and making it a verbal ballet!

Light sounding ...

#soundsgood #forfunofit

Ottar Feb 2015

Fortunes

(Audaci Favet Fortuna)
sum
  are
     won,
sum
   are
                    earned,
         some are,
funny, some
                  are burned
and the smoke is moved
heaven-
                                       ward, with open hopeful hands,
cupping the wind,
                           like wings...
                                                         Sending the
                                                      remnant wishes
home giving
feet to dreams.
                                                    Sums lost, some cost
                                   lives of the unfortunate,
inhale the wisp on the wind,
   to guide, a way from the ashes,
and hot coals heaped on the heads of the guilty, inspiration from any source better not back an unlucky horse, a trifecta;
      there is no handle on reality, there is no night dreams that succeed once exposed to the light of day traitor trials, and you think that once
you get on your knees to pray you will be stuck and stay that way, you your voice to the heavens, will be invisible smoke, a clear cold thermo-          cline,
that there is no help there; but you'd be wrong; the choice you chose before you burnt your fortunes, fortune which favours the bold, a silent tattoo, not a noise until the needle hits a nerve.

Ramble and a in-laws family motto

#concretepoetry #upinsmoke

Ottar Feb 2015

you

you're the young poet with old poetry;
            the old poet with youthful energy,
            the poet all aspire to reflect to be,
you're the poetry found under every rock,
over-
turned
amongst the gritty hard packed dirt of life,
and wet earthen scent, that hold secrets and
the tangled tiny trail of invisible insects steps,
walked on,
*******-
tight, a rope
of guttaral sounds, leaves your fingertips,
sure to express, hurt to joy, of unuttered pains,
that some shrug off as skin thickening lacquer
poured on hot, caught with your guard
down
and
bare
blue sky with a ball of molten ***** flesh pounding in a chest
the discarded remnant, that lost a voice as those around, wore deaf ears
the sensuous flesh that shivered at the touch of perfect sounds
breathed along your curves with warmth that lifted condensations'
crescendo
to fill the
sky, fingers
and hands
balling clouds
like sheets on
your bed
you're the poetry that will save the Earth and the people in it,
             the poetry that will burn when slammed back fast,
             the poet which carves word layers of life, off your thick skin,
             the poet who writes new words on again, translucent,
you're not the one we have been waiting for,
you have been here all along...twelve...ohh...one

No individual poet was the inspiration for this, no poet was made an example of, nor is this a job description, pure enjoyment of writing from both the dark(ness) and (en)lightened sides of my brain.

#maybeariddle

Ottar Feb 2015

Walking Jay

Feet* and paired Wings,
Today that is what, so brings
US
To this, where cha-ching,
The rights to which cling,
LIKE
Static, we gave our mothers,
When Sisters and Brothers,
BIG
Like houses fell with furry on
Us, with sibling rivalry, luvin'
LARGE
Hands saying stop, pointing
To the crosswalk, anointing
SAFE
Places to cross the roadway,
Rather than be a walking jay,
TICK-
Ed and ticketed, by some loud
Constable, unstable and proud,
THAT
with you now, a notch on his belt,
Quota made for the month, melts
YOUR
Resolve to have a good day, red
Cheeks on display, like those dead
MEMORIES,
Of how your Brother or Sister always
Won the battle of wills, and turn away,
SHUNNING
Your existence to even compete,
Participation failure so complete,
BECAUSE
They were younger, too true,
And bigger, better than you.
...Walking Jay

Look both ways in life before crossing anyone.

#surreal