Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019 · 204
Ottar Apr 2019
Not these prose that may bloom and become rhymes,
unreasonable times squared , how have i faired?,
Thanks for asking, work is taxing, the least,
Of my worries, is finding words,  flock!
"Bird by bird" where are the people that read,
without pillaging, without burning,  and
Purifying, some flash mob dance, rough draft,
This a loose assembly of words,

proof of  life, Though the Store was not minded,
Where are?,
the watchers, from
While, dipping my toe,
in a West Coast ocean, member
of the North of the 49th Parallel
Poets Brigade, Canadian, but not pure
Apr 2016 · 1.0k
What is that beating sound?
Ottar Apr 2016
J’ai Perdu Mon Couer

I kept all my childhood dreams
in the sweaty palms of my hands
and one after another they found a
regret and slipped

Jeg Mistett mitt hjerte

J’ai garde tous les rêves
dans la paume de mes mains
moites et l’un après l’autre ils
ont trouvé un regret et tranquillement
glissé ****.

I Lost My Heart

Jeg beholdt barndommen drommer
i  svett handflatene og etter hverandre
de fant anger go fled unna.

But that is not where I am.
I am a day dreamer
I am a dream chaser, all night long.
I am striding half empty
always to feel the joy, pouring
spilling over the edge of
my day into night. Running
down the sides of this vessel,
saturated with the pieces
of the dreams that stuck
to the sweat and in the pores
of these two hands of a man
that hide the child’s hands inside.

        De svarte skyene kjenner mitt navn
Yes, the black clouds know my name
        Les nuages noirs connaissent mon nom.

And I know the God that created this heart.
Je l’entends battre
Som Thors hammer
Using the keyboard to get the proper vowel and letter in language specific characters was hit and miss...sigh
Okay today was a translation poem, I could have tried Eng-Fr but I went Eng-Fr- Nor, and one line in one language lead into a verse of another, etc to you who are trained in translation, my apologies in advance, to those who are native to these languages, I hope I am close
if I am not shazbot nanu nanu
Ottar Apr 2016
I remember Reaching for your hand before we first kissed.

I remember Enjoying the warmth of our hands touching as did our lips.

I remember Measuring my words whispered in your ear, to take you beyond bliss.

I remember Every tasted breath, before we kissed.

I remember Minutes spent together, the blood pounding in my state of light headed

I remember Brown eyes drinking in my blue eyes, as we touched finger tips.

I remember Every tasted breath, before we kissed.

I remember Relishing the next time our hands would be closer than our lips.

I remember
the letter
you wrote
saying it was
better that
this was good-
bye, I was across
the country
and could
not test the
look in your
eyes, gone
cold. This
is very old.
First serious girlfriend thirty-seven years ago.

A B a A a b A B  rhyme scheme for the 8 lines
Apr 2016 · 729
She Kills Things
Ottar Apr 2016
She kills things.

"Roses are red, the violets are dead.”
She stopped, looked at her toes as she spoke.
Moving at full speed, Her hair flowed from her head .
The door suddenly ****** open, against the vase, which She broke.

Quickly, running, fast up the steps, to find Her granddad

She knew she was is in trouble, forgetting her grandparents warning.
Where the violets had been, there was a shimmering, growing lake.
She saw the garden, in full sun, that she watered that morning.
Bored, across the yard She skipped to count, how many would it take?

Surely done, it was playtime, strawberry stained lips, and no one around.

They left Her there to tidy up, shut off the water, and pick strawberries.
They put Her to work in the flower garden full of colour, and a few bees.
Grandpa said to Grandma, “that girl has a lot of cheek."
She said,"Roses have thorns, violets are weak”

She was the garden tempest.
Backwards story leads to poetry.
I may have missed this by a long ways, but I am glad I am no where near this spooky child.
Ottar Apr 2016
Her eyes matched her hair, and she watched me sit down there, at a small table.
There were two black tables small, with four chairs each, her eyes shut, she slept.
Her phone at her elbow, tension, burdened ****** features, i prayed.

I left her, I walked out, found a man bent over, a humble posture
At peace, bent head covered, his tobacco stained fingers laced, prayerfully.
He was a blue jean Jesus, beard bore the same stains as his rough hewn hands.

I passed by briskly and did not look him in the eye, walked down the street.
The blonde pole dancer next caught my eye, she wore short shorts that bared her thigh.
Her habit called, the street she knew, "No Fear, Little Sleep, and Need of Prayer"
seventeen - syllables and Long Lines
Apr 2016 · 805
Chianti Chanty
Ottar Apr 2016
Battle royal for a bottle of red.
Up the ante, we're going for Chianti!

Grant me kindness, pour a splash on my fettered tongue.
Up the ante, we're going for a thousand cases of Chianti!

Hoist the mains'l, sea dogs, raise the anchor, or you be hung!
Up the ante, the Cap'n is in a wanton need of Chianti!

Another wine won't do?
Up the ante, we know where they harbour the Chianti-shhhh

Wind be fast, my thirst is deep, as the desert is dry!
Up the ante, we're not paying' for the Chianti we're takin"

The ship from stem to stern, you get to clean, when we return, alive!
Up the ante, it is worth all the cases of Chianti, below decks we can hold!

Up the ante, we're putting' out to sea, we have a nose for good Chianti!
For when the Cap'n retires he will drink and
sing this Chianti Chanty at a seaside shanty, all day!
Chanty...nuff said
Apr 2016 · 705
Running Rhythm
Ottar Apr 2016

Going out on run, in the full Sun
Helmet on my head, both hands on my... Rifle,

If you said "gun", drop and give your weapon 10 of your best pushups.
If this ain't fun, call you mom, call your dad, at mile ten they can pick you up.


Sound off ...
one,...  two,...  three,...  four,..  one,two,... three,four

I'll keep running when my legs turn to jelly
I'll finish this run, crawling on my belly

How far?
All the way!

You gonna quit??
No Way! Not today!!

Sound off ...
one,...  two,...  three,...  four,..  one,two,... three,four

one mile down nine to go!
just warming up on the road.


Don't let your rifle hit the ground,
When you need it most it might let you down.

Hold your rifle above your head
Yes sir, but I'd rather be dreaming in my bed

Sound off ...
one,...  two,...  three,...  four,..  one,two,... three,four


Are we there yet?
Closer than we were, you bet!
And this would go on intermittently during "forced marches", a forced march was usually at double time, or a some kind of run shuffle or run pace, often with helmet, rifle and web belt and all the accessories. This version, I cleaned and did a remix of a couple of cadence songs. Similar to a sea chanty because there was always an echo part for the troops/soldiers.
Militaries all over the world are renowned for their cadence songs, some units went to great lengths and much pride was put into these as boosting morale and the camaraderie was often the primary goal, that what ever you were going through you were not alone.
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...
Apr 2016 · 689
Wind Instrument
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"
Apr 2016 · 1.1k
UnSafe - A Sonnet
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.
Apr 2016 · 464
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
Apr 2016 · 415
Mind the Thorns
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
Apr 2016 · 1.5k
Family-first a tale-Twisted
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.
Apr 2016 · 731
How to Appreciate Music
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.
Apr 2016 · 490
Table Talk
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
Apr 2016 · 530
Find Me I Wait
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.
Apr 2016 · 722
Surreal Almanac
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
Apr 2016 · 386
Doubling Down
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 ****.
Apr 2016 · 620
Hospital San San
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
Apr 2016 · 712
Night Falls with Thunder
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.
Ottar Apr 2016
Their nails, click and clack on concrete and asphalt,
around the block away we go, traffic brings the wind
at face and fur, and sprinkles dust in our eyes.

Then, we get to the quieter side streets, shadows
deep as the Sun is low, but on the rise, rabbit
shapes look like grass clumps, lumps of brown
that hop quickly away and into the long sharp blades
of grass without a scream.

Small birds, flit and flap their wings, tempting a
game of "chase me" away from the nest into the
brambles, but both dogs are on leashes, and can't
go further, than their collars will let them.

Daily, street people , begin to move if they hard bed-
ded down for the night, the hospital gets ready for the
change in shifts, coffee shops open their locks , to
pour artificial sunshine into cups, if you don't like
it black, add milk or cream.

I need a vacation right now.
Surprise ending
Apr 2016 · 391
Divided Highway
Ottar Apr 2016
Dear Life
The Continual Condition,
Alive at the Center, and
Into the Wild,
On the Road,
Double Lives

Tortured Wonders
No Other Book
My Name is Art and I Am,
Bicycle Diaries,
The Book of Myself,

The Book Thief
and 7 Minutes With God.
Titles from my shelf - spine book poetry, see here's the thing, do not ask if I have read every one of these or the many others, my answer would make both of us cry
Apr 2016 · 1.1k
Tritina for Two Gardeners
Ottar Apr 2016
The grounds echo sounds of gardeners grooming.
The blue sky canvas and a wash of clouds,
hang lightly, dressing up the place for show.

Pruned branches and piled neat cut grasses show,
uneven sweat stained shirts, on grooming
gardeners, hoped on winds below the clouds.

The vaulted layer heightens heat, no clouds
move, the breeze blows no reprieve, a no show
by day's end, the gardeners need grooming,

without clouds, a shower shows good grooming.
Tritina ABC, CAB, BCA and final including all three
Apr 2016 · 334
On returning ... Say Hello.
Ottar Apr 2016
Feel like the soldier boy who went away,
left his mom and dad and the family dog,
in the drive way,

left his friends, left his school, hair cut real
short, when long hair was cool, left his girl,
you all, know how that went

got a letter but it was to Dear John...
even though lips held kisses and promises
after she finished grade twelve too.

he left the mountains, he left the river,
if he was lazy, now, he would have to giver!
get his heels together,
and learn that respect was earned,

respect the
rank and uniform,
the man
needs to earn
the respect of the

he knew no quit, and he came home
when he could and sometimes he
travelled far,

sometimes when getting home
was not possible he lay on his bed,
and left the room and in his head,
he made it home,
for the weekend.

the dog died, his dad left,
chaos turned a world upside down,
but he still made it home,

much water has flowed down the Columbia since that day,

my life is still busy, left the army
not enough years to build a pension,
but I will rattle of verses from the
sublime to the perverse,

I will poke with words, to let you
know I feel, and some pieces I write
the tears will fill my eyes and
the sounds won't be right,
and my heart will pound,

I will walk down these all too
familiar roads, the 'sunsets' and
'love' verses all look familiar,
maybe each time I go away I
will try to stay longer, and
maybe one day, I will retire here
among the poems done and
antiquated, among the ones
rolling raucously in my mind,
waiting for those birth pangs.

waiting for their turn to be read aloud,
waiting to make my mom real proud,
waiting to publish

waiting for someone to say...Hello.
I make typos, I make errors, E stands for Elverum, trying to get a name change to Editor, so any East coast insomniacs still up?  The sun just set out
Jan 2016 · 438
Tripping in the Fog
Ottar Jan 2016
Feet that even in broad daylight
find obstacles besides decades
old pieces of brightly hued Lego,

So a walk across the bush on
trails that animals know from
generations of wear and tear,

In the sun and day light is all
right but, now a full and
shrouded moon makes me

dance like a

buffoon tripping in the fog,
a buffoon miming a new age
dance straining for a single
blink of approval, from the

one eye high in the sky, for the

thunder of applause would
be preceded by a flash of
lightning and I was the
tallest fool in my field,

tripping in the fog, and the full of the moon.
Jan 2016 · 325
Bring Me Sunday
Ottar Jan 2016
Attitude, brings what it's worth
Birth, brings new and bold to explore and learn from old
Life, brings no warnings
Pain, brings by association
Pleasure, brings what I give
                                   short lived,
Work, brings early mornings
Night, oh brings a dark heart over head
Mercy, bring me Sunday
This List is Endless!!
Jan 2016 · 293
"Listen...After Reading"
Ottar Jan 2016
Nothing has changed,
not the weather, it will
be rainy for days, is the
ground crying for water
in a dry voice, I listen
and all I hear should
be silence, or earth
being rasped by
parched Earth,
but the cars and
planes are too
noisy and loud, the
weight of their wheels
on road water, sounds
like ocean waves and
the planes over head
whistle like artillery
shells, we are at war.
Jan 2016 · 438
Boulevard Constants
Ottar Jan 2016
Treads like fingers leave
prints on wet surfaces
in snow, rain or Spring,

Footprints take striding shortcuts in Summer,
to beat the heat, across the asphalt black Earth-
top and broken white striped runner,

Sounds like layers of
whispers get trapped
in the branches of trees
until the leaves Fall,

Wings, cup to spill and milk the most out of
cluttered cacophony and coldest Winter air,
silent above it all, my constant boulevard,
my search is for wings.
Jan 2016 · 444
Ottar Jan 2016
who'd have the salt to
pour over a wound,
cleansing the edges
and the in between but,
I am thinking tears would
have been more gentle
and still clean these wounds,

but there is that hover,
of a possessive lover,
standing over the para-
lyzed form, docile and with
a mixed bag of contorted
postures, and your phone/
camera takes pictures
and videos just like a drone

from above,

it hovers,
in my worst dreams,
we are lovers and i scream,
not in passion or ******,
but you began twisting
and plucking all
your perfectly placed tacks,

I guess, at this juncture,
that book on acupuncture
was worth the weight,
in flesh,
and still you hover as
I stream consciousness
on my mattress that feels
like a dry rocky creek bed,
and over my four poster bed
a black crow hovers
and the beak resembles
your nose, so please as
I sleep let me wake with
my ugly toes, and my covers
intact and no lover hovering in my
room, and no betrothal to Groom.
A farcical romance, a nightmare, a grim reaper of rhymes
Jan 2016 · 386
The Rehearsal
Ottar Jan 2016
Each step a chaotic stride,
takes years of practice,
that rhythm,
Changes as we grow into our frames
takes miles of movement,
that motion,
Walking become faster and to running,
arms pumping, lungs bursting
oh what fun,
To taste the effort, stay the course
getting faster, longer lasting
nuances hidden,
Improvements that only you notice
slowly, until one day, it is plain,
your finesse,

goes beyond running.
Until your hamstring rebels, and etc.
Jan 2016 · 386
Stained Glass
Ottar Jan 2016
It is the morning after that sticks so clearly,
Red wine patterns that make shapes on glass wearily,


A different pattern every night, and by morning,
Stained glass shapes and faces, a blunt warning,

for your heart,

This is not the path of emptiness for you and a future,
A rich life is more than a taste and a glass cut suture,

for all,

Write what you will and throw your words, as swill, before swine,
Take your experiences weave them all into fabric, an honest design,


As Truth, like a freight train, sounding a horn at every life it crosses,
Heavy on the tracks and aging trestles, creosote preserves the losses,

Oh God,

Watch the steps, let the light shine not by the slavery moon and a
bottle bent to a telescope purpose,
Guard the heart, when it is vulnerable and share after share, they
all know you care for the sober,

let nothing usurp us.
For several friends and family who have been dry for a short time and a long time.  For my dad who never learned.  I have been away too long from HP.
Oct 2015 · 466
Falling...then Landing
Ottar Oct 2015
It is not the stripping
of what the day wore

It is not, that no one
thing can be done, if
one sleeps more

it is the mind
won't shut down
and startles awake

a physical earthquake which
shocks the shuttered eyes open
and a mouth gasping for air to
pay off the lungs or the heart

will beat loudly all parties close at hand as the
head explodes, once...
and again.
Something from my IG @elverum51
Oct 2015 · 672
Under Lying Pain
Ottar Oct 2015
for the plain
boredom hurts
watching grass grow to become clouds

nagging nerves
poke, poke, poke
never give it a rest in peace
will it hurt the next time, or be gone away

invisible even
under scrutiny
lying in wait
pain that moves like moss gathering

building like thunder
striking like lightening

Aug 2015 · 473
Road Weary Life
Ottar Aug 2015
The streets aren't empty,
the asphalt bare and broken,
last night's late night lost,
wandered pushing shopping carts
Always Uphill,
or drove vehicles in an altered state
to spite the spate of heavy handed
darkness, that has fallen,

dripping with tears and fallen stars.

the carts they push
bear their baggage
recent and ancient
traditions, of if
you find it is yours,
if it fits in the cart
it is yours,
if no one else
takes it from
it is yours...

it is all yours
the ticks of the clock that talk,
while running silent while running digital,

the cars that drive are
great big bubbles of
inattention, what comes,
goes, arriving as it leaves,
like bad grammar,
everyone notices, but dare not correct,
for the mage of road rage, casts
a spell of ill-temper,
shot by bullets for this temper,
on a hot August afternoon.

Looking forward to see if September Sundays, will be sombre or sobering...
chaotic fatigue fills the coffee shop,
aromas that hang in the air, need
someone to undo the noose, soon
Aug 2015 · 520
Ottar Aug 2015
straight lines
rigid forms
point and shoot,

does it show,
the tree running hard
getting nowhere,
reach with naked branches,
oh give me naked
branches, grabbing handfuls
of air and tossing,
***** of air, in the face of
all the other trees,
and none leaves their rooted
ruts, shallow graves,
until a root taps,
deep and discovers...
more to dirt,
like life,
roots crawl, further,
tree, scratch and scrawl
verse, on the short history,
of the existence of
something limbed
and rooted, now
blown down,
as it grabbed
too much wind
too much life
too little
too few
story, yet
Fall guy
Aug 2015 · 522
The "Entric" Collection
Ottar Aug 2015
the night is quiet,
a blanket dark and heavy,
muffling all sonic sound rings,
almost a surreal peace that brings,
don't even know what a heart is
supposed to sound like, heaving
sighs, tears make no sounds as
they spill from the corner not
the center of closed eyes.


drop the pebble, dare ya
drop the stone, splash ya
drop the boulder, douse ya
they all find the bottom
for a sure footing
              not putting
out more than they displace,
nothing human about their ways,
they don't even know what is drowning.


a flame
hues hunger
to change, to look
more fierce as fuel
force an unleashed force
nature's Berserker, a wildfire,
the wind prophesized over
the conflagration, for-
getting itself and got
involved, until the
fire makes its' own
melded, melting
resistance in the
the way as the
sum feeds upon
itself, yet the
fire is,

Wander through this burning desire to write, nothing light or fluffy here.
Jul 2015 · 478
The Grey Age
Ottar Jul 2015
the dog she frolics like a lamb,
open mouth
smile ear to ear,
the dry grass pokes her pads,
her nose scents the air,

she chases me, there is joy,
in both our hearts,

grey blur glides by
my legs, without looking back,
her years have not slowed
her down, her ears pulled
back with her speed,

she chases me, fierce heart,
fire brand spirit sprinting,

she runs circles, does laps

she tucks her haunches under
and she silently thunders
by lightening fast,
pure joy despite her chaotic past,

oh in my dreams, she will live
forever, and despite what
some say spiritually,
the will in me says she will
wait for me on the far side
of the Rainbow Bridge

and we then run, her nose
leads the way, to play
and a day, to discover
My dog today. Old but not too old, yet.
Ottar Jul 2015
abuse of substance,
abuse of space
bully's don't change their stripes,
maybe just their names,
makes 'em feel surrounded,
by those of like mind,
like having relations, with oneself,

the jungle used to be the jungle,
then concrete became the jungle,
because someone somewhere
needed trees removed to flush the tigers out,
then there is the internet jungle
where one on a bent thinks they are a tiger
when they are really a dead stick
from a tree of evil rotting, while doting, licking
cleaning their own, ego,

oh please don't assault my senses with your defences,
no need to prove that copy and paste, makes you a word smith,
and imitation, may be a form of flattery, no need to flatter me
I am a nobody, who has a love for language, and
sees through bully ****, go back to the chicken coop and cluck,
yourself, ....

clematis scale up
flowers look grey and pointed
go boom to bloom colour

Access to knowledge is a dangerous thing
it is readily available and some don't think
they need to learn, to change, admit they were
a bully when they were young or bullied and
lastly anonymity in this day and age is a lie ;  )
What has happened since I been gone?
Jun 2015 · 807
Gardening, Gardeners
Ottar Jun 2015
grasses brown up nice,
this time of year, Sun slices,
through the spaces of
branches and the love-
ly leaves, shadow seekers,
and sun bathers wait on,
the changing dark shape,
to place their bodies and at
by the end of the day
such justifies the means,
while buckets of water
empty and fill and liquid
pill fertilizer, is a miser
of plant health, wealth
and chaotic growth,
you can't control your
eating or time,
so why should a ****,
heed the call to stop,
why should a plant,
slow down instead,
cant toward the Sun
you worship or hide
your hide from, and
your dog or cat, just
lays about the place,
licks your nose or face,
serve wine over ice and
take a couple of ice cubes
from a heart, that there
is never a chance of thaw,
at the temperature of dry
ice and dry eyes that will
not shed tears, will not
shuck fears, like oysters,
on the life that is a beach,
rip tides,
confide and confounded,
leave the corpse in the sand
until the waves have pounded
knowledge of gardening and
gardens of life, go on live
beyond the strife, soften the
take on ****(s).
I guess a month is a hiatus, nope, been doing IG, not even thinking about HP, surprises coming within six y'all.
May 2015 · 305
Eyes Open
Ottar May 2015
see the atmosphere breath,
by waving back at the branches
of trees, you could use the
ocean tips and curls,
if you did not have any of your own
waves, of joy, of love, of sadness, of ecstasy,
of longing, of be -
those eyes
the eyes of the wind, of the hard life lessons,

find them, without a fight.
on my IG as well, with a picture...
May 2015 · 1.2k
The Pistachio
Ottar May 2015
where both left
and right
form the bowl,
pale cream or pink
seductive space
a slight break in
a seamless join,
catch your teeth
on to break
resistance and
free the
shy but
meaty pearl,
exercise with
a muscular finesse,
salty taste,
kernel shape,
wanting more,
Pistachios are addictive
This may even be ...
May 2015 · 460
They Grow Up
Ottar May 2015
all your problems in life grow up,
maybe not to overwhelm,
but to look you in the eye,
don't blink,
don't bat an eye lash,
steel yourself, because no one else can,
your inner workings
so small and so young
at one time,
the grow up and take a stand
they are your spine,
they are your heart,
they are your mind,
these are not the fleshy parts,
they are the
physical manifestations of your soul,
and it wants to roll.  About time.
May 2015 · 386
Of Peace and Of Muses
Ottar May 2015
come walk below the blue, and white clouded sky,
let the web of our fingers touching answer, why....

lets make new soulful meaning to that old word called love,
lets open the cage of hearts and let loose, let fly the dove.

Of peace.
Of Muses.

lets take naiveté, be it our undoing, and roll with it in the dirt,
come take ours shirts off and heal the scars that once hurt,

lets find a healing sun, laugh have fun, leave the world in its' place,
pull the heads of the tall grass, bring our lips to touch the other's face.

In the distance.
Our only resistance.

For we will never touch, except with words.
how empty and hurtful, if they are not kind and land like birds.
Ottar May 2015
sky so true blue,
no ego or eagle, take flight in you,
not tonight, on cue
everything now to their nest, fly!,
night birds begin
to hoot havoc before the moon
hits their eyes and
they glow as a disguise makes them as bright
as distant stars.
May 2015 · 692
The Closest Encounter
Ottar May 2015
mother bear
three cubs in tow,
wonder I, where
not sure, where to go,

nature's hers, to run,
these feet are mine
bright day with sun-
shining, oh so fine,

gave her room, gave her space
my friend met her face to face,
at the bank of the creek, turned,
ran hard until his lungs burned,

not able to yell,
couldn't tell
if he made it to drive away
yet I heard, the quad saved the day,

Both man and grizzly are alive,
Bear runs the forest, that man drives
works out
there with
a shotgun by
his side, buried
his pride.
Nature's ways and mean
May 2015 · 858
"Code Name Dysthymia"
Ottar May 2015
hold up a mirror,
say what you said
cracks, in the furor,
when there was three
of you and one of me,
you came at me from
all sides and not one
of them was "on my" side,
world is wide
ocean is deep,
you have too much pride
you are a known creep,
you are all over the details
sink to a new low,
say hello to the great whales,
as they are sounding to
be louder than you
oh let me sink into that
deep blue, I will play
chess all the way to the
bottom, and when I land
it will be lunar, see,
it will be telling, sea,
because the bottom of
the ocean, the sea, the gulf, the lake, the puddle,
already know, my weakness, my muddle,
they are looking for yours,
I warned them you were here,
"Code Name Dysthymia, dear."
It is supposed to be short term, this sack *****, lets the tears out and the water in....

the three, me myself and I, they gang up ... at times.
May 2015 · 363
I've Never Been to Never
Ottar May 2015
The rich sadness, that
is a silent smile shining,
white in the daylight,

half a world apart, heart to heart

when two realize, in that
they will never be pining,
for another, in the twilight,

A place called Never.
may the fourth of hope, be with you all.
Ottar May 2015
And in the end I will wander and squander my final moments selfish
I will grab from some past notion to choose motion by walking
   Thru pain and sorrow will convince me that tomorrow is enough
      Terminal diagnosis will drive me from the world spouting profane
Words down the street, into the woods, clothing optional
regrets hold on all the deeds left undone
save for knowing my roots laid bare
the maelstrom inside will rain tears
start speaking sounds of darkness,
from lips garbed white
hear the words
if I...
thirteen lines/words
down to
you go
slow read both
might read up might read down might take two three times go round and round
Apr 2015 · 464
A Critique A Review
Ottar Apr 2015
How do you do?
I am here for you.

Simple for me to say,
I am a container of dismay

After Thursday.

What is good poetry,
what is a good poet,
(s)he is a teller of stories in verse,
s(he) makes music out of sounds,
(s)he explores tension and boundaries,
s(he) undresses your sensibilities,
(s)he has a heart tapped into broken vessels,
s(he) can cry while in the midst of a write,
(s)he writes poetry for others, almost always from the self
s(he) can write love with a thousand different metaphors,
           but chooses not so to do.
(s)he loves language, maybe more than self, has as many
      books as dust on the shelf.
s(he) is a quiet observer, with no remorse for putting into
          words what the sky says to the child, what the man
          hears from the Earth, what a woman knows about
           birth and the pains of life as well, that no man would
          survive and too the wisdom found as one walks along
          the garden path.
(s)he knows that poetry is readily available, simply by being
     vulnerable and sometimes obtuse.
Next page