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Ottar Apr 2016
When our family still dined in one sitting, together,
"dollars to donuts" subject of school came up, as did weather,

and then back to the topic of school and those
homework assignments, but saying "Bob Elliot "grows

like  ****"" got mom and dad talking about clothes
and shopping south of the border woes

in Spokane, though my dad worked at Hudson Bay
and my mom toiled at Woolworth's, earned her pay,

they wanted "bang for buck" and would not allow
"good money go after bad *******" here and now

with the Canadian dollar almost at par,
and gas was cheaper for our old car,

"South of the 49th" just then,

the phone would ring and one of our friends would ask
if we could go out and play until dark, mom would take us to task

and say as we went out the door, with a slam "best be inside
"before the cows came home"" we were already three strides

from the door though (we didn't live on a farm
and only animal was our pet was a dog, Goldie,) what was the harm

as the sun was staying up later
the homework would be done once daylight was long faded,

and we would get to our beds "as snug as bug in a rug"
the importance of breaking bread together with limited interruptions and intentional communications only with those immediately seated around the TABLE is "fighting a losing battle," I am one to TALK
Ottar Apr 2016
Challenge: write a poem using at least 10 dictionary terms

no wood carver
marks or remarks
here, no sinking
prose with nautical
terms, no rhymes
that use ropes to climb mountains higher,
these are all and only dreams to me
I will use as it
uses me, a
poetic dictionary.
Please starting read out loud, naked in front of a mirror, what follows after, now!

Oulipo, acronym,
there are no slim
chances at Norms,
Shall we play a game,
with words and no one
gets hurt.

And the peace of
Pastoral settings
Over shadowed
love, I mean Love,
by your chief complaint.

I am but a man, thick
and thin, who touches
only Sentence Sounds
with his tongue.

But you wait on your
Heroic Couplet,
And find me not the qualified culprit.

Pick your poets then, go back way back when,
some Poets are Fugitives, short lived in Nashville,
Harlem had a Renaissance,
inclusive, read South to North, and I read and I read sustained by the Sestina,
some red wine, oh did I spill, let me cleanup while you mouth the Prose and let me, tempt you, to Rhyme, as I **** your toes.

I am a Poet after all, and the Echo verse proves me perverse in the unseemly way I overtly finish seams, a long lines that follow curves of hips and softnes of inflection, still the distance between Poetry and bliss is obscene. Please let me Muse you...?
I wait.
had a little media/ tech problem earlier, but it was solved.
Ottar Apr 2016
moon beams read all the stories to the children at night as they
went to bed, not sleepy

the Underjordiske were everywhere they could cause a fray, always
acting out and creepy

and lost people from far away have stories to tell
but eyes, echo against safe canyon walls, they are lost too,

And the Earth gives a beautiful sigh out my window, and the branches and leaves say "again, do it again, do"

I let my self drift on the Columbia River, an inner tube swollen with the air from the smelter on the steep banks of that place called home

and here the clear and cold night snaps me out of my reverie
for just a moment, I see the gloaming

the dream, I had as a child climbing mountains all,
ones that scratched the belly of the sky

from there I would see all the longboats there that ever floated
on any ocean or any bay with sails on mast high, flags to fly

and the bright lit ones would be the funeral pyres
lighting the way to the Rainbow Bridge,
"Odin, Ve, can you hear me?"

big dreams that don't fit in small houses and needles
from the street won't pick locks but pierce lives, lost souls of the sea

and my past is a lover that lets me sleep at the foot
of her bed, curled up on a cushion of Dogwood flowers,

every morning to wake up in a different alley and walk just long
enough to see that I am lost, powerless

but i fear that this is savagely wrong
and there is no music in here to sooth the beast  

standing so close to border of reality that I
hear all the illegal crossings scream, West to East

and Belugas gently drop
into the deep part of the
of the River Fraser where I wait, they leave
me her letter and take the bait
and she said "she didn't think
I would mind if she found someone
else, as the distance and time was further
than she first thought", and the tears...
filled that flow since, and through time


at my feet helmets, two, both an ancient one, a new
one, i light the letter divided in half light the paper on fire
my great great great grandfather says as he
turns away saying "there is no shade in the shadow of the cross"
Okay, eat the mushroom and you will understand.
Really it is a happy poem, from my happy place.
"there is no shade in the shadow of the cross" - graffiti
Ottar Apr 2016
Doubling Down

Two sides to every story,
life would be what, without worry?

The grass is always greener here
rainfall is a fact not a fear,

Go ahead, leap the
barb-wire fence,
getting hung up a consequence,

and now the rambling starts
with a pounding of hearts,
wishes on lips, arms flailing
any thoughts are alienating,

natural hand holds flesh covered,
the head pounds ideas on hover,

when burnout takes you out, all life becomes toil,
clothes too tight, strip and run into the night, roil

in the street, of a different city,
they don't know, they offer one pity,

so much anger, tears bleed,
strongest muscle has no need

to speak of the gamble,
this affair a dreamt ramble.
Like the dish ran away, looking for the spoon. But ****.
Ottar Apr 2016
Zen grasses spring from the brown blades of Winter
Dirt dark, young trees harbour the empty spaces,
Full heavy wet clouds to lift, drop crowds of rain,
Falling drops land where grasses spring, a hint there.
Parking lot watchmen, patrol the dark places,
People get help with injury and disease,
Cars, people and water collect, but it's plain
Zen grasses hold rolling rain drops, offer Peace
Found it a challenge....
Ottar Apr 2016
You will get lost in the big city
you WILL, too hard, you WON'T, too much
the secret to a long life is keep breathing and a pulse pounding
you will seek riches and find pity
you will find a garden of riches yet turn it too mulch
you will marry an attentive spouse if you don't mind the hounding

the secrets of the moment are lost in the blink of both eyes,
the secret of receiving is an open palm
if you touch the swollen belly of a bull, and you find ardor
you can find beauty everywhere do not despise the disguise
a secret a flock of birds leaves behind is calm ( bird **** is a secretion not a secret)
the secret to great wealth is found offshore

you will go places reading without, leaving your seat
here is to laughter
hope you smiled
well at least tell me you didn't cry
Ottar Apr 2016
all day the weather men play at meteorology
it is about the science of change, a morphology,
where weather patterns are now living
things and their habits are hard at clue giving,
the rain drops that are fired from cannons aimed at Earth,
make the sound of soldiers charging for everything its worth,


after the storm as night falls with thunder
and lightning flashes, steals and plunders
the shadows that ,soaked the trees, fell in pieces they dove from the sky
and those loudest of wet pellets that pop, and ricochet off metal stovepipe

and the wind lashes out and drags wet fingers on every window pane
and why, why
do I now crave the sound of popcorn hoping the melted butter will keep me sane!
Spring 2016 just had its "first storm" I saw lightning and felt the thunder.
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