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Ottar Apr 2016
This will land like focaccia,
Like the careless 'forgot ya'!

And a man will stand while staring in, through the coffee shop window, going off glossolalia.

The ebullient cashier trainee
remembers every name and mixes up almost all the orders
for coffee,

Cars are lined up for the drive-
through, their voices sound like
didjeridoos, in the ears covered
by single cyborg clip-ons

headset taking orders.

The ****** iconoclast, Street person, bows to the ground, hat off his head, as he prays to the cigarette holes he made in the EXIT sign outside,

his hat remains empty, as each car that whips up the wind that tumbles the receipts tossed egregiously at him, like leaves in the Fall,

While the cruciverbalist sits in the corner in the only soft seat, finger pecking her keyboard while stares at the line and sips her chai tea,

lagniappe of chocolate stashed,

away in her voluptuous bag,  the beleaguered barista has cups lined up over the transcendental horizon,

and she can't wait for her break
so she can eat with Olio Nuovo
olive oil, and Selection Artisan
ged balsamic vinegar, she brought
to dip, her focaccia bread in,
which she forgot almost,
on the counter at home.
From a few days back, posting to HP IG an WordPress, takes more time away from poetry...
Ottar Apr 2016
"Glory be to God for dappled things,"
from this point on,  plucked thin heart strings,
broken hearted blues, smooth as whiskey, for IT burns and the heart has no memory,

Hug the person, not the day, be the tortise shell pattern, that stops the
ocean in its' tracks.
Sit on a curb in a distant place, counting bullet casings, as no one cares about how many tear drops
have fallen,

Swirl the red wine in the bowl of glass and watch the glass bleed back into the wine,
And stretch out on the pattern of shadows as sunset catches, resets, and  releases,

and yes you and your lonely spirit, search high and low for an identity, and want to read language poetry, so you can misunderstand the meaning and have an excuse,
but be a wind instrument, the world around you plays the notes, He wrote the song, sings along, and without you, there would be no music, at all
for those who need to meet you yet.
Prompt take a line first line or another and write a poem from there, wherever it takes you.
Gerard Manley Hopkins "Pied Beauty"
Ottar Apr 2016
Will it always only be a safe dream
like wandering in a bare wilderness,
game to robust predators, and wildness
clear choices call across the primal stream.

It was late Spring when we first did daydream
the fragrant flowers were dusting progress
Winter's meagre offer, a cold caress
the wildlife, sedate upon the grounds glean

of Fall's gathered rare jewelled leaf mountains,
among the valley's musk we would linger
peak with sounds, echoes loud voiced joy bringer
beyond Summer's pleasured column fountains,
wayward wine red chances, seasoned drinker
deep red and bottled up, loose danger pains.
So there was a man who watched life pass him by and as he could not be adventurous in deed, he was in word.
Ottar Apr 2016
Is this thing on...?
A blue planet walks up to a
microphone, to tell a joke
or read a spoken word poem.

But no one hears,
for IT is coughing and choking...

i am a steward,
stewards are, we all,
every breathing human
has this duty to, the Sphere
with at most, one atmosphere,
no replacement part, no spares
get filled with awe at the beauty
if it is the inspiration to do the duty,
save your woe, save the fear,

use your eyes to share with your soul,
the toll, that bidpedal greed heads have
charged the future wee ones, you tell them "this is
not the planet you are looking for"

but it is the Living, that this Planet is dying for.

This Earth-toned marble and this garbled poetry
is as much responsibility that this Steward can
handle responsibly, alone,

I don't want to be alone in this,
go see the sights, walk in bliss that...
the contract for cleaning the whole
Planet, is up for tender,

and we know, it will go to the lowest bidder,
and not the lowest
common denominator,
in this case one,
we have one Sun, one Moon,
it starts with One,...
my soap box broke
it is recycled stuff,
we have all heard or read this by now,
...sure this is a rant, not magical mystical poetry,
woefully thrown together, like climate change
and weather, and global warming,
what is the harm in
...that, we live in a volatile and dangerous place,
the peace we find,

always has a layer of manufactured dirt,
or made from plastic, and as for air, it needs
a 'do over', where most of you are sitting,
reading this, please care,
I am not able to do much alone.
Earthday Prompt
Ottar Apr 2016
Ages past I was once a prized rose,
prized by a Beastly prince
prized by a promise since
filled, prized by a Beauty who chose
a simple request to be brought a single rose.

Please let me stop, to catch my breath
look not upon my petals withered
my thorns still own a fine point tapered
the Beast would not forgive the Merchant's transgress -
ion, so I was privy to a ransom demand, He then Beast, obsessed

that Beauty was to come of her own free will
otherwise Beast would the merchant ****,
(and remember I still lay on the ground, stock still
  not wanting to incur the wrath or step of ill will)
either of a Beast, my Master, or the Merchant, and his own disasters

to have arrived a thorn's point, a life and death balance, no act
no wonder once it was all done, I aged slower than the rest
but for Beauty missed her family and the Beast was in fact

Still a beast,

some say I was put under glass, some say under a magical spell
I was possibly picked up by beauty and she was pricked by a wicked thorn under her skin and a tiny drop of that love's blood sustained
me, think what that type of love, could do for the Beastly,


read the story for yourself, take a dusty book off the shelf
learn and live the lesson for your self and share your love,
like Beauty proclaimed hers,
and the Beast received then became the Prince,
from ugly, and the families all, filled the great hall,
Beauty had a marriage Banquet, the next day
I saw it all from my place, now let me retire, I fade faster
and in the end The Prince, his Beauty lived happily ever after.

Mind the thorns when you lay me to rest.
Beauty and the Beast
Fictional account of the classic in pen
Ottar Apr 2016
beard-red explorers
pillaging-horror practitioners
tribal-family groups
insurgent-nomadic roots
trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans,
continuously-toilfully matters not the demands
women and men side by each
beastly-feasters no table safe
stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif
in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce
pagan-purveyors by rites
a blood-spilling bee
treasure trove crash n’carry
Thor had his hammer
every wave-rammer had an oar for every
pair of life-stained hands, the stains
were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others
blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers
and yet
discoverer’s children
wandering wet-wilderness
found a Stormy-Stop, a few
actually, and one be Newfoundland
may-haps they settled in peace.
Yup I am so proud of them, they made me who I am.
Inspiration Poetic Edda, did I tell you when my beard
grows it grows in red.
Ottar Apr 2016
Listen, until your eyes
glisten, until your heart
of stone cracks apart
so open, so you do more, than try to

That you have a love of music. Feelings.

Find songs from every genre,
grind out the beats and honour
the composers genius and form of math
fill the tub, light a candle, sit in a bubble bath.
(if you are a guy, bath bubbles are cool)

Watch your wine shimmer to the sonic waves
while you contemplate doing this again and again.

Towel tied, move your body to the beat that calls your name
Find as much music, acoustic from across the world, this globe
Grind away the time, watch life as your taste for notes unfolds
There is much to absorb, learn lyrics, take your time, no shame.

May you fill your home with sounds, summer, fall, winter and spring.

Turn the volume, let it vault to the sky so you hear,
the burning pain, in the artist’s vocals were clear
to share, from acoustic to symphonic beware not all might
be fair, for the sounds of ‘silence' they aggressively fight
instead of learn.

And you now, yearn to sing along while discovering
the perfect chord, the perfect key.
Music theory not my strong suite. As I love to sing along. Loudly.
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