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Oct 2013 · 642
Young Again
Ottar Oct 2013
time spent, not wasted,
      out of doors tasted
     some experiences priceless,
are better
away from anything wireless
on any sunny day,
a light breeze plays,
with the leaves,
all for one and one for all
it is a free-for-fall until ... you
take a wee one for a walk
in the woods, on a path,
over a bridge and along
a stream.

What a dreamy day it was,
the crunch of leaves under-
foot, the oooohs and aaaaahs,
and various descriptors,
in a language I long forgot,
that of a fifteen month old
pink coated naturalist,
who points with fingers
                   or her fist,
who squats down to
study the million leaves
in reach, looking for the
one that needs the most help
          or a kiss to feel better,
God, You sure make beautiful
weather and a passing grade on granddaughters!
(said with tongue and cheek as she can touch more leaves
than I can take away....)

Up hill and down, by the creek and away,
up by the hairy animals that make her say,
woof-woof in mockery as they guard
                                  the yard
with the chain ink fence
then finally we turn for home
where every pole and tree within
in reach has to be touched like
it has the magical powers of a garden gnome
(let me guess, you have never heard that before)

the wind and rush of traffic at our
back as we spent the walk, not wasting
any time, for she will never be
this
young again.                       Nor will I.
Oct 2013 · 253
Poetry (10W X 3)
Ottar Oct 2013
words pouring out like water,
do they taste like they sound, pure and clean,
                           not from me, and this screen,
         but from all of you who sure write lean poetry.
short and sweet,             'cuz
I will feel the heat
for this later as I
forgot ...
that I was
supposed to plan
my month of NaNoWriMo,
oh oh
Oct 2013 · 1.0k
The Staccato
Ottar Oct 2013
Falling, gaining mass and speed,
    Their need,
Return to the Earth from whence
     They came,
Their landing was not quiet, sounded
      Like a riot,
With the staccato tappity which caused
       My heart to race,
While I lay in my bed, pillow under my
       Head, where
Thoughts went rat-a-tat-tat staccato
       Keeping me awake
This rapid concerto was not restful,
        Yet I seemed,
To make it through the night with my
         Eyes closed
But woke tired, to find my toes a tapping
        Staccato, perhaps
           All night


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 312
May we never, no (amended)
Ottar Oct 2013
watch the sun rise, shield or shade your eyes,
                                                           ­            it will be eleven thirty
on the East Coast when this yield will fade to cries,
for just a little over twelve hours
ago some one, yes one, lost hope and to get even with
a score, in a battle with his inner dark place, maybe the
rent was due, maybe she had let him live with them or
was about to ask him to leave,
maybe, maybe he never asked for help or none was
offered, maybe he lost his jobs because of his temper,
or maybe he was a man and did not know how to
ask for help or maybe he snapped, or maybe he
was going nowhere and the family who let him
now wanted to him stay,
or go away, we may never know,
or may we never, no, never leave families in such a place,
where the wreckage happens
                                              and cost them all, the innocents,
their lives.
For one family in NYC who now only live in the memories of other children and teachers,
and those nearby that neighbourhood,  the husband was at work, while the cousin who was staying there, broke down, unable to control what was seething inside.
Oct 2013 · 385
Meditation on Physics
Ottar Oct 2013
sit still as the leaves fall from the trees
did you listen for the noise on landing
                                     and the breeze
gravity is such a force when a leaf falls
                          of course it accelerates
                          at nine point eight m/s/s
Newton said it first,
                               Einstein had it right,
watching the leaves free fall within sight
                                                           ­      man is the pinnacle of God's creation,
        physics gives reason, for our delight.


©DWE102013
m/s/s = metres per second per second = an expression of acceleration
Oct 2013 · 258
But ... after
Ottar Oct 2013
the cracks of sound come with fire,
startles the dog and raises the ire
of the owner of at least this dog
but fear not I will not follow the
noise to where you live and play
well not tomorrow or today,

but the day after, that all may change



©DWE102013
Ottar Oct 2013
I had a 750 Suzuki Katana, gray machine
learned like a young man 350, then 650 then that 750cc of course
in the mid eighties, paid cash but then my mom expected the worst,
I was in the army, I said Army, military single man
I could handle the motorbike well enough,
I knew my limits,
too slow one day
on a sharp parking lot turn
and I earned a
cracked signal light casing,
too early in the
season an April Easter trek
home, turned
around in Manning Park,
near that summit,
snow and ice made it dicey
and the police wanted me to prove I had
chains and snow tires for this late season
fall of snow is
all, so I turned and went back to the base,
too much competitive spirit one day
and I thread the needle between a moving
car and a parked car, well how to say this,
with the driver's door opened wide,
in that instant I passed by at thirty miles an hour
my Life Cycle almost stopped,
my thoughts were driven to,
maybe I should go back to
bicycles, instead...
but I won the race
back to the base
and both the admiration
and admonition of my peers
whom I beat.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 431
Ten thousand hours
Ottar Oct 2013
Ten years at a thousand hours each,
                        and I am a Master,
                        of what I have achieved,
am I an Artisan,
who has designed much and created much beauty but never seen the same in others,
                                                     am I a published Writer,
                                                     who has only imagined lives instead of lived them,
                                                           ­             am I a Journeyman,
                                                     ­                   who has not traveled beyond a skill set,
                      

all, late and
too realize,
no one person can do it all alone, as much as each thinks they have done.
For every Master
Artisan
           Writer
                    and Journeyman
who has gone on before, has given to you of themselves
what you thought you possessed alone.


©DWE102013
Tried to say this a different way from an earlier poem
Oct 2013 · 1.8k
Aging dogs, and loyalty
Ottar Oct 2013
every move that is made, she must shadow,
her place in the pack
is to guard the back
                                 of the Alpha,
it matters not her insides are older
than she is, she is loyal, she 'tis,
until
she can
be no more,
true to the bond,
that is beyond,
                        the human.


©DWE102013
Ottar Oct 2013
she was blonde but now brunette,
her guy in the States dumped her
  with force with a divorce,
he hopes to become a citizen of the USA,
being married to a Canadian girl got in the way
what an inconvenient truth and full of dismay,
something about a Presidential Pardon, for those
from a certain central america country,
the tears were real as she reeled in the wake
of his void promises to appear here,
you know love is just another word,
until you prove yourself worthy of her affections,
not a set of misdirection of your affectations,
that tells all,
with out a touch,
and at first blush,
your love was an
illusion, it was all a
trick, you
...
there was no
promise from
the land of liberty,
no love without
conditions, only admonitions
that it has to be about
you, and will you call
her back when it does
not go through?
With her age and her beauty,
I hope she grabs dignity and
feigns a hearing disorder,
and if you ever try to cross
the border...make sure your
headed south.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 360
Three hours
Ottar Oct 2013
there are those, three hours ahead or more,
and those, who are three hours behind plus more
and those three hours, make a difference to me, time
zones, clocks ticking passing time while you sleep on a Friday
night, or eat your dinner with great delight both without me, to
keep you company and bring laughter, to aid digestion and amuse,
rather than confuse, the dinner guests, at the behest of
my peers, eat your food while it is hot,
get your rest or sleep while I write.


©DWE102013
Maui to East Coast and beyond
8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8 -yes it is code, but... BANG!!, they got me before I could...
Oct 2013 · 649
12:17
Ottar Oct 2013
street walked on every day,
traffic in four lanes go both ways,
is there a place of peace and rest
or is tweeking happily
at a city bus stop of glass and silver grey
the best we can expect, with a cop and partner
                                       at a bus stop nearby, dealing with an angry young man but
she is dressed in camoflage she has more moves than a basketball
team while her man, her protector, garbed in matching clothes,
holds his head before it implodes, again
while she undulates and bends her spine,
and each vertebrae releases the next
      while her face remains perplexed.

                                             Just as is, mine. as it is only 12:17, just after noon.

Take the world at face value, the mist hangs heavy,
there is no sunshine on this misty grey day,
the mist is so heavy feels like rain anyway,
how did she get here with him,
betcha the bus driver won't let them on again,
so my mind wanders
                                 where in their lives did decisions and choices bring them to this point,
and why with all my missteps and listening to those voices in my head that I end up anointed
with a job that pays,
with a wife that stays, by my side,
with kids that give back to society,
with a grand-daughter who says "hi"
to everyone under the sun, under the mist,
while I under my breath,
I heave sighs, and "why Lord, whys?"
and a place I can vent AND A PLACE I CAN VENT,
when there is nothing I can to do help them
but pray.



©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 801
Unfair
Ottar Oct 2013
I know I won't be shot for writing poetry,
even if i was on the walkway or side street,
ok?
I know you who read will react with speed,
but none of the actions will make me bleed
13?
replica resulted in repugnant use of force,
they were experienced police of course
ak
he was returning it to a friend,
guess he was at the wrong end
47
so in a country wear the right to bear arms is protected,
so in a state that is self-proclaimed progressive,
we have an innocent fall,
not trip or stumble,
he caught bullets as they tumbled
into him.

I am confused that people with real guns that cause real harm,
walk in and the killing begins,
a kid a child about to be a man, had the admiration of his peers,
life torn, 'cause someone did not want to get close, and be sure,                                                            ­        

maybe he had an ipod or phone with ear buds, had his hoodie up
more like he did not think that "stop" was meant to be the end
for him, unlike the bullets, that put holes in
his dreams and the hopes...of a future.

I am harsh I admit it,
but nothing no nothing is harsher than
losing your child,
for any reason,
it is wrong,
but this,
              but this speaks of sorrow a whole life long
a void



a n     empty                                                           space
that will be filled with only tears
as they hold onto one another
instead of, their son or brother.  

Thoughts and prayers to all, yes, even them


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 1.2k
the perfect day
Ottar Oct 2013
rise refreshed, walk the dog, after splashing water on my face,
breathe the air in and out before to many cars are about,
feed the beast and pick up my muse to read for as long as...
                                                           ­                                    i can,
drink dark brew, after a lemon water, warm not cool
have breakfeast, an egg, half a bagel and a whole grapefruit,
with brown sugar, butter and walnuts, broiled just so there
is a slight crunch to that glaze, with each bite.

then off to my favourite  bookstore in some part of the world
or near by, hope i can get the leer jet, to pass the time by
to get where Munro's is waiting.

then stay have brunch at some hotel or other five star place,
and fly back for early after noon and listen to itunes,
as I sip my green smoothie as the traffic motors by
making mockery of ocean waves as I read the book and rave
about my purchase. is that your beer or mine?

then dinner would be a winner, some veggie or meat dish
like ratatouille or nachos ground beef and cheese with green
onions, olives and tomatoes and please pass the guacamole.

have a glass of wine or two, red would be better considering the
chill in the weather at the end of the sunny fall day, might have
a hot desert or not, then to walk my dog, not to trot, as we
both are not as young as we used to be, maybe I never was.

well then i will wash up while showering
then to bed and write it all down as who knows,
when it will happen again, perfection is rare as
pure air, then read for an little bit,

dim the lights and see how easily

my head rests on my pillow, as i drift on some
translucent sea of blue,  still comfortably fitting
her hand with mine, as it has been all day.



©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 429
1667
Ottar Oct 2013
Not the year, but still a number
After thirty days feel numb...er,
sixteen sixty seven,
average words in one day,
times
thirty days, a month of
writing
November,
National
in other words
NaNoWriMo,
cousin of
Na PoWri Mo, in April
twins
of different mothers of intervention.

Abandon me to my room,
let me bleed words to my doom,
a story of fantasy,
don't have to leave the country,                          
to escape from my mundane,
                               crypt of chaos,
it may be the death of me,
but not until I write
fifty thousand plus words, see?

Nov 1 2013 to Nov 30 2013
NaPoWri Mo, National Poetry Writing Month a poem a day or more.
Objective of NaNoWriMo, sign up and write 50,000 words in a month...you gotta try it
This will be my third year and the other two I have been a WINNER - any one who gets
over 50,000 is a winner - check it out NaNoWriMo.org, see what they are all about...
Oct 2013 · 1.0k
Dynamic Duo
Ottar Oct 2013
I

He grimaced while flexing forth,
the Hulk he was channeling, going North,
blonde crew cut, making a spectacle while
                                       wearing glasses
he wore a black tank, with no sleeves,
while the wind teased the leaves with a breeze,
and they fallsaulted (somer is over)
                             across the concrete at his feet,
                             it was all about him on the street,

                                       his handler, his care giver,
                                       watched with a shiver as
                                      as she had him and two
                                      others to deliver to their
                                      destination on foot, crime
fighting would delay the journey
                                                    and she was not sure who would
                end up on the gurney if it all went awry.  

                                              II

Short time later, as they passed by, gone, the other part of the duo
                                                             ­                                            arrived
she walked with swagger, in heels and no stumbles or missed steps,
                                                          ­                                       not quite a stagger,
dressed in black with jet-black hair, she was part ninja,  
part tim-bit monster,
or at least her appetite was,
the box of forty sat on her shoulder and she was delighted
by eating
them one at at time, her confident stride and petite feet,
stuck in almost stiletto heels acting,
very intuitive, see how she feels,
that kind of hero, because if she had to from fifty paces,
she could take out your eye with a honey crueler tim-bit
don't be fooled by
her ambivalent smile, and toss of her hair, those spoke of
caution and beware, as she stuffed another in there,
where she smiled while her eyes twinkled, kept moving her feet,
                   I think she spotted me from fifty paces,
                               away and from my second story window,
                                                it was curtains for me, I closed my eyes and braced for impact,
                                                         ­                                                           which never came,
                                                           ­                                                         as to her shame,
                                                          ­                                                          see even heroes
                                                          ­                                                          don't share
                                                           ­                                                         all the time.


No more heroes walked by that day,
crime rates were down and children were
                                      able to play
                        and be safe, so as my final thought
                      from my view on the second floor,
                          never under estimate anyone,
for real or in fun, and their capacity to bring joy, even without sharing.



©DWE102013
Tim-bit -a Tim Horton's donut center you know, what causes a donut hole...this was not intended to insult; any food franchises, male or female real life super heroes, or PDBH (Public Displays of Being Human), I am not in whole or in part, affiliate the Tim Horton's nor do benefit from mentioning their business name or products
Ottar Oct 2013
blame the crows
perched in rows
of branches
black suit for a foggy mourning,
the mist so thick it holds in the "caw!",
and they all answer the echo,
but they work at breaking branches
down to twigs, to carry away to their
nest, it is the best
investment in their home.

Yet they drop and leave a few and these land
just past the sidewalk
where the edge is lava rock,
catching twigs in the rusty red colour that
is more rust then red in the fog, these hold
down all sorts of rejects, cigarette but and bits
of paper, those twigs from trees, worked by crows
and silken threads with drops of misty dew.

What a fine thread,
for a fine woven web,
there and there and there
my they are every where,
what kind of spider or
arachnid, weaves a home,
a spider web
without a lid or cover,
with twigs, lava rock
all around, surrounded by other junk,
I would get, I could get,
close to have a peek,
but what if a spider
were to bound from
beneath the web, and lava rock brandishing a sharp twig?



©DWE102013
Ottar Oct 2013
do they really feel the way
                            they say
                            they do
when they say "I love you"
                            lovers words
                            lovers eyes,
soulful gaze expecting you,
         while respecting you,
                              to undo inhibitions,
turn
the
place
into
a zoo,
unfettered, no be still, my beating heart,
      this may be too much, walk the fence
without falling into the wild monkey
cage with pillows and four poster dreams,
walk the line, be sure to be dressed in black,
oh caught in a fantasy NO!, escape to reality,
      where there is trust and safety in a monogamous relationship.


©DWE102013
Threw Johnny Cash under the bus.  Para phrase Queen
Oct 2013 · 1.3k
Shameless Promotion
Ottar Oct 2013
They are young, they have passion, we love'em out here,
they are on a tour, country wide, BC pride, their name,
Good For Grapes!  They are more than Indie, they are
the Sons and Daughter, Mumford never had, but they
did not lose out musically, they have their own unique identity,
they rock and they sing,
and even make shiny with some brass!  Did I say
their name already, Good For Grapes!

Musical future,
dissolving sutures,
to what music now
may hold for you,
Look for the "Man on the Page" and then
let yourself go! Listen! Enjoy...
Kingston tonight and London tomorrow check their FB page and you'll see where they will be.
I receive nor expect to receive or derive or anticipate any benefit as a result of this poeme
Ottar Oct 2013
somebody rang out the sky of it's blue,
leaving
the water heavy gray mist, to mope among the
trees, the brush, the cars, the people, the
streets with buildings and light poles until
the Sun,
surfaces,
highlighting the ***** dishwater hanging about
and no bubbles
to lighten the somber mood of the day.

oh but, this mist has moved up to fog status,
the soup you walk through, drive through
breathing in the
odor of all that has passed this way and left
behind what the fog has bitten out of them,
or they paid as a toll, so the fog doesn't
demand it all.

until someday the water table will get excited
again and let the droplets fall,
and fog becomes mist then nothing at all,
and returns the blue to the patch of sky,
which I spy with my little eye.
Ottar Oct 2013
watch words, words watched for,
for watching words, is not a chore,
if your paid to watch, not the shore,
or the land or the sky or a radar screen,
or even reruns of Ben Vereen,
toe tapping, his way across the stage,
but you Need Some Attention paid,
so you watch words to earn a wage,
internet, email, and cell phone ALL
technology to watch what words will work without that wascal wabbit wunning off at the mouth,
where words pop out as fast as
pills
pop in
so No Substance Abuse is noticeable...

this poem has been interrupted beeeep pppppp!  * crackle
I would tell you what it all means, but I might end up disappearing
Oct 2013 · 589
maybe I missed 'the mark'
Ottar Oct 2013
how to write poetry?
And rea(d), And rea(d),
Observe beauty,
write the life you see,
with honest integrity,
Vulnerability with
the woe in me,
out in the open,
Typing,
Writing,
Sketching,
Etching,
Carving NOT,
a niche,
Every word
written here,
is a piece of me,
the letters and words and sounds
are not tattoos,
but decorated, ornamented me,
piercings
and truth be told,
Let me know if
I am on the Button.

Veneer with oils and salt saline,
surface warming to a sheen,
Sun also rises too break the
morning,
fabric shapes change
like billows stoking a fire,
until the fuel is spent,
the grip seems to not let go,
to join the day,
stay euphoria stay,
slowly fading away,
Sun still rising into a cloudless sky,
parting,
is to greet the day,
richer for the moments of play.

©DWE102013
or did I miss the mark
Oct 2013 · 975
457 days
Ottar Oct 2013
good night little one,
you have been busy today,
good dreams little one,
you have laughed and played,
good rest little one,
you know you are loved,
the words you say
speak for themselves,
your laughter is so clean and clear
I want to hear you laugh some more,
read on with me until with your
own voice, you can make the sounds
and we then will rejoice together,
grow little one grow for you,
warrior princess fought an old
foe that needed to be vanquished,
and you soothed the savage beast
(grandpa(foe) and his dog(beast) )
rest for the evening after you have
partook at the supper feast,
for tomorrow,
you will have more growing to do, than today
you will understand the world one day sooner,
and we will
                   read,
                   and play ball,
                   oh I can't list them all,
                   we will build and drop towers right where they stand
and all will love you more,
as your hopes and dreams and possibilities
will wait out side your door,
discovery to your left
and awe to your right
cuteness factor ten,
lamp of learning
              burning bright.
Now shhhh, goodnight.


©DWE102013
for granddaughters every where
Ottar Oct 2013
a group who has a cult following
sings about hiding for
solitude
they dedicate nothing to the poet
who did, as they know it
in hiding
but it was inspired by the same CB
I must say a big wowski to
Charles Bukowski
don't think it would happen here
no chance without distraction
little peace, much action
guessing if I became an angry man
ranted, raved and demanded
this type of peace
that would be a living conundrum
or a poet raging as an oxymoron
please leave the ***** alone
and
give
peace
and
quiet
a
chance
meeting
with words that escape
at the first sign of distress
as they undress my day
and see vicariously the
disrepair, oh you don't care...
Okay
I'll go.

To my hidey hole,
to write my pre-verse
in hyperbole ,
"how to get lost"
         and what it cost me,
let the silence be
deafening,
no man may be a
poet unto himself
(forgive me I forget myself)



©DWE102013
Thanks to Pearl Jam for the inspiration "In Hiding", among other not so well known tunes
Ottar Oct 2013
Hours pass,
so does memory,
and I can safely say,
you have all heard,
the question, like this
hey you live in the Big Apple
back in 1989 I met these four
guys, nice guys from Jersey on
the train going through
that real big train station,
do you know'em?
if I could remember their names, I bet you would recognize'em.
OR hey you live in Ontario,
I was in the army and I had this
friend he is six foot seven, nick named Too Tall,
you can't miss'em, blonde hair, blue eyes,
he was posted at CFB London last time I heard,
his first name is John, do you know 'em?
I spell his last name if you think it will help?
And in 89 when I got out of the Army, needed
to clear my head, took my wife and son,
for a walk way down south, on the good old
Appalachian Trail, met this guy along the
way, he was famous, I guess, trying out
boots and socks for some company with
Wing in the name, and some colour like Red,
he signed his name on some of their ads,
I, for the life of me can't remember his name,
do you know'em?
there I go again,
watch as I wax and wane,
trying weave my
minor misadventures,
like some debenture,
into story lines,
not to sell a bill of goods
fully true, see?

It is late somewhere in the world,
I have said too much tonight and hurled,
back in time and found memories with grime
and grit, and spit to clean my hands to
get a better grip, on who I am.
but better who I am with want, to be...
and what is your story?


©DWE102013
Did you see the typo in the title?
Oct 2013 · 698
Amaze Us, please
Ottar Oct 2013
the magic of science,
the faith in a miracle,
words lead us astray,
sounds ring true,
but from whose lips,
whose ears do hear,
the feather light weight
of truth,
the whispers of mistrust
that lie
heavy and pieces
make a maze
(instead of amaze us)
  so that layer
   upon layer
    must be told
     and behold,
       to enfold the
        nugget of untruth,

but wait,                              no wait..

when that first
sliver of light
breaks the horizon
to reveal,
a new day,
the weather,
the East
and
a love's heart.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 490
His name was Peter
Ottar Oct 2013
he almost died when his car built with his hands and time,
                                                          a­nd some of his money,
rolled over and over and over more times than mortals can
                                                             ­ survive the shock of the stop,
after the pounding of every three sixty and hit finally a rocky, outcrop.

But my friend lived, more bumps and bruises than could be counted,
by his girl friend. Years later though,

south wind blew overnight with ten more centimeters, of light white powder,
                         when two died the slide came down after the copter left,
                                                        hig­h in the mountains with no cleft,
to hug or find, safe passage as the snow cascaded faster than his car
                               ever did, driving him into, through the trees, far
he rolled over and over and over, the mass of white powder pushed
                                                                ­                      and pounded
                                                         ­                        until all was still,
and he was one of two held tight in the frozen grasp too long until
                                                   they found him,
                                                        eigh­t others
were safe that day, as he told them how to do it the right way,
he went first,
then the number two, and that was all it took for the monstrous white
wall to become larger and harder than a rocky outcrop,
                         the only thing that ever made him stop.



©DWE102013
for P M, it will be 30 years this 29 Dec since that avalanche, you still finding powder? be safe, friend
Oct 2013 · 563
Rust Stains
Ottar Oct 2013
sign that says stop
intersect forebode,
to wait until clear,
the air,
the fear,
the sky,
eyes, of those tears,
but what if becomes
cannot stop,
throwing pieces
off like they don't
belong and won't
stick around long
enough to be
reattached to rusted
vestige that used to
be human,
now rust stains
down the face,
empty carcass
after the fracas,
of living like there
was no tomorrow,
came
true.


©DWE102013
Ottar Oct 2013
two hours
more is less,
than I want
to spend,

waiting for
this Day, to
end so I,
offend not.


©DWE102013
best toys ever, words...

(10W X 2)
Ottar Oct 2013
jets sound like thunder as they float and lumber in for the asphalt by the sea,
their wake, vibrates the hydro lines, with only a gentle shake and shimmy,
not heard over the traffic that speeds up and down the boulevard lanes,
cars, oblivious to the aircraft overhead, and they go north and south again,
i sit on my balcony to see lights that show the shape of wing, nose and tail
i watch the wires silhouette high above, needy to feel their dance of pain,
and the millions of volts will brighten up this awfully gloomy tale.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 596
But the dream...
Ottar Oct 2013
blue skies overhead,
sunsets red,
bodes well,
for my  -----day,
I don't look my age,
I don't feel my age,
She says I don't act my age,
but she isn't smiling
when she knows
"tomorrow is only a day away"
and it is my -----day,
age is giving in
as I catch up,
years blend memories,
and they are not soothing
                    or smoothies
either,
but
but,
the best is yet to be,
where my dreams be-
come reality, that is
not on TV, and words
and stories and poetry
will flow,
and hopefully not
smell like it is from
the toxic waste from
years of unrequited
                  dreams,
tainted with the
paint of only black and white,
and the sun sets are red
with fair weather ahead,
hoist the mains'll
and let the seas and the
wind,
be entrusted with safe
journey of this slightly
rusted hull,
and don't mind the barnacles,
they are small ones after all.
Yea, but the dream, ... "thar she blows"


©DWE102013
Thank you Annie = "Tomorrow, Tomorrow"
Moby **** and other ocean stories/whaling adventures
Ottar Oct 2013
relentless, incremental,
running away,
play ...,
grains of sand measure
both the stars in the universe,
and the stars in the universe
measure descendants and...
all of this is weighed against, what?

some where today a man flew home,
some where today a woman will open this,
with intention to read, with soft eyes and
a warm heart, and more savvy than that word
knows it has, by definition.
some where  a man puts his hand in a river
and comes out with words, not water

there will be many babies
                              maybe born in zones of conflict,
than my country has people behind bars as convicts,
which some people would take as   a    good   thing,
                                                          ­                bring
peace to the conflict zone,
as for the convicts they are on their own, what current
wisdom would and just as quickly ask, but who is gonna pay,
for all this insanity;
no wars,
no jails,
next you'll tell us there is no shortage of whales,
                                                         ­                 but what of their song
why has a choir turned into three whale voices singing a quartet piece?
why do we measure space and dig into the earth, you know the Earth,
no I am not going to do the obvious thing and rhyme it with a birth,
settle lightly like falling leaves when you sleep,
don't keep your fingers texting to go deep,
into the technological pool of this age,
mock whale noises,
news cast without real news, what a blast,
stand real still and sense where the wind blows
stepping outside, your castle walls and open the windows,
is more productive than hitting the refresh button,
oh don't worry, I am no hurry to start a conspiracy with this,
I'm not in the know what is for show, a closet conspiracy theorist,
anything goes,
anything goes,
I can converse on any topic as long as you say the words, I'll move my lips,
and you make the sounds, it will be the result of a well oiled machine,
trying to save the planet from the very pinnacle of creation
that caused the fall
man...kind.

You say to me, it has to be this way,
" Cause you say it best when you say nothing at all"


©DWE102013
sure I call it hip-hop because that is how I move at my age, some mornings.
Ronan keating for final line from "When you say nothing at all"
Allison Krause has sung it too.  Other artists as well but written by Paul Overstreet & Don Schlitz
Air Supply did "Making Love out of Nothing at all"
Oct 2013 · 825
Walk Alone
Ottar Oct 2013
the three quarter crush crunches
                              under foot,
till you leave the man made route
                       step from sun to shade,
of the forest, inside a park, inside a city
                        to see inside of me,
what do the shadows stir, was that a
                        movement that blur?
or is my deepest insides pooling fear
                 when I walk alone out here,
it is then the beauty escapes me, some
                traffic noise nearby masks
the peace that could be mine, walking
                further to find rotten logs,
in my thoughts, so if I just sit a while,
                  let the green needles, inject
me with a sense of humility and blindness
                  evergreen, ever clean, silence,
now pristine, I have walked deeply to
                 the place there is no sound,
except that which is so close to surround
                 me in its entirety, and I feel
that the onion layers of tears will peel,
                   leave me stronger to go back
into the world uncluttered, save for the pack
                   of sensations I take with me
no fear, no darkness, no sadness just be free,
                   with bird whistles echoing instead
of the thoughts that can only hold the despair in me,
                  I like my forest walk and would rather
listen to the birds and nature talk to one another.
                 Than the self-doubt poisoning my stream.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 726
I am such a turkey
Ottar Oct 2013
promised them not to do this tonight,
                                                        ­     please pass the potatoes, my they are light and fluffy,
promised them not to be so distracted,
                                                             they said if I keep going, it will be redacted,
asked them if they meant the turkey or the stuffing,
                                                       ­                            they said is that your feathers you are fluffing?
asked them where is the cream corn and the gravy,
                                                                ­                 "stop typing and we will pass them maybe"
thanked them for their generosity,
                                                     ­  they said they "hadn't seen an appetite with such ferocity."

thankful that I am full and tasted some of it all, did not have to cook, only child mind and clean,
up after,

they said, if I "try to write a poem again during a family celebration," with irritation, my "serving
                                                        ­                                                                 ­     will be lean"
thankful that they do not know that I really will eat anything even if it is just white meat...



©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 2.0k
A journey
Ottar Oct 2013
have ten thousand hours come and gone,
                 master?
can time go faster??
have feet taken ten thousand strides or walked
              ten thousand missteps?
                                  no regrets
is there ten times one thousand miles of ink
           in these dusty notebooks?
       constant flipping pages with
                           darting looks at each page seeking to add it all up.

read ten thousand books
to write one story, surreal ratio
live a thousand days time ten
doing one thing very well
with out your head to swell
and you will be a master,
not by your own admission
     not of your own volition
only to begin your mission
to give back what you have
                          learned, that a talent is a gift only, once it is given freely away while shared.

©DWE102013
but it starts with one
Ottar Oct 2013
step away,
to watch,
the sway,
the notch,
in your gun belt,
as you
pull the
trigger, quicker
the more liquor,
you imbibe,
become a tribe,
of misbegotten,
choices,
and the voices,
cheering
you on
to spawn,
a new life
form,
usually only found in a dorm at university known liverless unconscionable -
"capacity
to drink
alcohol
unknown"


©DWE102013
military indoctrination as well, and many other situations
does it up the cost of education?
Oct 2013 · 545
The under the underbrush
Ottar Oct 2013
green, on the forest floor, moves
bit map shades, stay low, fool the eye,
as if the trees have roots to prove,
that all the while they were in touch
with the ground
with the ground,
the moss crawls as spores fly free,
ferns cover all with dignity,
Devils Club, only found in the lowest
of spots, taller than most men, with broad leaves
and thorns that leave nasty, red dots,
and a needle and void that fills with...
                  pushing them out, quite a fuss,
                  and some pain.

Same pain by a slightly different name,
Oplopanax horridus, or the Devils Walking Stick
has broad leaves above your head shade from the
sun and thorns on every surface
that break and stick and bury as you hurry
and brush by, slip on a mossy log and your
hand jets out for support, your face
                            contorts
to the magnitude of pain as it is plain,
these needles will stick in you and you
don't belong under the under brush.

©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 2.2k
OUCH
Ottar Oct 2013
cut paper, paper cut
cut file folder, file folder cut
cut tin, tin cut
red lines leak
stains.
thin pain
touches nerves,
sharp as knives,
blotting all
else out,
until you shout OUCH

pressure the wound
to stop the flow
too,
from your mouth
the words heard
a better found
on a boat full of sailors
crabbing or whalers
and as you bob
in out and get your
sea legs under you
you will remember
self-administered first aid too!

©DWE102013
okay...moving on
Oct 2013 · 360
Poet Tree
Ottar Oct 2013
Poetry is about lovers and love,...

                                                       ­                                                       What about peace, and doves?

Okay, those things too can be included, I guess,

                                                         ­                              Well then you must consider, I digress, God.

What, why?

                                                               ­                                     The Lover of our souls, o my o my,

Alright, if I have this right, my friend, Praetor,
with your military and knowledge of law,
you believe in a God other than Caesar?
                                                         ­                     Caesar is the god to Romans, but no man is
                                                              ­                   god unto himself, no man, therefore no Roman
                                                           ­                         can know all, so there has to be a God,
                                                            ­                          we don't know and to remain a mystery
                                                         ­                                 this God must be the most powerful of
                                                              ­                              all time...and the most powerful among
                                                                ­                             us falls in love at least once, so this God
                                                             ­                                  must wield love like the most highly
                                                          ­                                      trained warrior, so...

Love plus Time plus the mystery equal God?
                                                            ­                          great equation                                                                        ­                                                                 ­                              
                                                                ­                   That should do it, now leave me while I wait
                                                                ­                      on him... or is it Him, or... just leave me to
                                                              ­                          my meditation.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 540
On the mean streets
Ottar Oct 2013
the caw, was  heard,
it was a crow, the bird,
black in daylight,
shredding with the
pointed beak and skill,
probably road ****,
or a left over side of fries,
in a paper brown bag
with arches, golden,
the risk of being in
the roadway was worth,
the treasure and the squabble
with his or her crow friends
and one attention deficit gull,
                             he was dull,
and slower than the others,
he was white among his black
feathered brothers, sisters
they are smart
these crows as
they knows them
cars that pass just, so
close keep the curb in
reach and don't go
beyond the line,
while the gull of the sea,
would walk on the out
side of the circle nearer
to traffic and cars swiftly,
rush by, the crows kept
moving pushing the gull
toward the road way,
he had stepped over the line
assumed they were friends,
they all knew he would get
it in the end, the front end
of a rusty tow truck.

Road **** to share, poor gull
don't stare, just be quick,
and beak it
while it is still fresh.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 746
Contours
Ottar Oct 2013
Peaks rise at either end of the stretched terrain,
Ten sisters' peaks at one end and at the other,
                                                     oh brother,
                                    the tallest peak, alone
the weather changes often as the winds have blown            
down to the hills and undulations shadow the flaws
                                    in the lay of this land, and law
of gravity and time has passed, the weather has marked
with erosion,
cracks of past drought, as well
waste deposits,
surface oil so close to the lone pristine summit,
all there to see when you look down from it,
the whole length from any point of view,
small bushes and one clump of golden brush,
surrounds a valley too,
ah but today is a good day and the light is shining though,
beyond the lone peak there is a prized forest where all the
                                                                trees are numbered.

This forest has deep roots and hide much below the surface.
Some other forest weren't so lucky and suffered blow down
by what some say was a rogue wind.

Robust hills lead to a plain, which can be seen from the lone
peak, the brush and valley, have paired twin ridges running
away and all the way to the foothills of the Ten Sisters' peaks.

Some rocky knobby outcroppings chop the length of the
beautiful ridges almost by half. You may walk this place many times
but you will never really know, this land.

There are deep rumblings and grumblings in the empty caverns
below the surface, on that plain
you can hear life giving liquids rush in buried
passage ways if you listen very quietly.  And there is rumored to
be a not so dormant volcano, with hot
red magma, pumping and thump-thumping in a chambers no so far
from the lone peak under those robust hills.  But oh so old.


©DWE102013
seems almost like, I have been there before, seems familiar...
Ottar Oct 2013
There is an apartment that looks over the river,
people tried to cross,
           so much loss,
    the fish had teeth,
they unleashed hate,
surreal,
wild men with wild dogs roamed the banks,
the river swept the people away, but didn't move
someone parted the water one day, in many places
there were tear stained disbelieving faces
                              then one day,
many other people came to play,
they left their apartments over-looking the river,
they came from near and far, they were determined,
they brought machines and cranes and sledge hammers,
they pounded on the river and chipped at the
concrete,
with re-bar
ribs, human muscle tore it down,
machines
built it in place
and the faces
of different men broke the river, they changed
the course,
of history,
the apartment is empty
and fallen, the country is full, humanity flows
through the new
geography, memories
have not been lost
or forgotten, but the choice
emptied the river,
healing began and
sure, real people
helped
to let life flow again
East and West meet (9 Nov)1989 - 1990 (13 June) -my dates might be out depending on source
Ottar Oct 2013
the cars that wash
down the boulevard,
take the wave sounds
with them, leaving
low tide markers,
deaf to the rush
of those metal wave
makers, some street
walker, wobbles on
high heels, and
weaves while waving
wandering from grass
to curb, wanting a
lift, cause life is a beach,
and all she can see for
miles is sand castles,
empty of their dreams,
empty like her,
wanting more than
sand dollars and the
stings of the jellyfish.


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 336
Dream Small
Ottar Oct 2013
tree branches
        dance to the mysterious strains
              of the wind while the rain
                                                drains
         ­                                                  away all the small boats
                                             holding wee folk crossing moats
                                                           ­                                      to the castles in our dreams.


©DWE102013
Ottar Oct 2013
there were seasons when all was restful,
every change was seen with a smile,
like some secret shared between me and God,
and so appreciated, with awe.

there was a summer when all was warm,
the embers in the fire pit, cracked and popped,
they floated high and for a brief moment,
joined the stars above our heads.

there were weeks when all went well,
purpose was found and fulfilled,
activities were sought and enjoyed,
school was a time of learning and
yearning to explore.

Then, I woke up.



©DWE102013
Ottar Oct 2013
Years ago When I Was A Child, a fragrance of
summer was on the hot air and winters white,
frosty and snowy hid the toes of your boots when you slid.
I was studious and sedate, except at play
when I became a wild,
part of a dog pile,
                            of other wild kids at play.

Limbs tangled and the weight of friendship,
was worth more than the ore and gold pulled
from the mine, then purified by smelting.
  
We could run, explore and hide
on our favourite mountainside,
change alliances,
pick teams,
fun was the factor
winning was the dream,
with some rivalry,
we did not need to
worry,
or hurry, it wasn't
about
car bombs in our markets, temples and churches,
we did not need to look alone through the rubble
that was once our humble home,
we needed to watch out
for poison ivy, poison oak and rusty nails
we did not need to look out
for mines that no one mapped,
in a war which neither side
cared for those
               whose future they have changed irrevocably.
                                                   And not for the better.

At night a train might disturb my sleep,
not a poorly dropped bomb intended for
the enemy camp, not on the edge of a village,
where the hole swallowed dreams and futures and spit out death,
we played kick the can, hide and go seek
where running, not hopping on one foot,
was the deal,
where seeing, was important with both
eyes, in the dark.

We did not blow out our ankle, unless we tripped
on a curb, unlike some children, blow off a lower
limb at the knee, because they tripped a wire, which
tripped a switch, of a metal canister in the dirt
which once was a playground, before became
a forgotten battlefield.  And a playground once again,
                                       after it was for a time a cemetery.
A mass grave.

This was supposed to be about play,
Play, what if every child who could play
stopped until all children were able.

You can pray for peace,
you can play for peace,
but can you play to stop wars.
Adults play at making peace,
as long as their interests (cha-ching)
are met, again and again,
then maybe the children's children's
children can play, if they remember how,
thank God
children
are resilient
and play is a
natural consequence of fun.
So run along children and
play
stay safe
and away from where your brothers... play no more.




©DWE102013
sadly death and destruction and mutilation is a man-made consequence of war
free writing, so play can be free
Ottar Oct 2013
People walk. they drive, talk is cheap
                                                  like some Red Wine by the gallon my dad bought, often
                 he was not a nice man to most, what they could not change, they overlooked.
Overnight when the sun rises things,
                                                         ­ will have changed as much as they stay the, same,
            it will rain somewhere, and as many tear drops will fall from eyes of those with
            broken hearts, and those eyes if you looked in them, you would never forget, ever.

Ever sit there on the dewy grass at night or in some Adirondack,
                                     chair, actually in the Adirondacks, and just want to shrink and be small
                                     enough to disappear and travel at the speed of light, with out getting
                                     tangled, under the stars, in string theory.
  
Totally impossible you think and that may be where all of our problems start, we dwell on the
                            impossible when the possible is one small step away from you until you get so
                                   close, the impossible becomes I'm possible, I'm possible, repeat and repeat.

Riches, little can be so varied, there are some common ones, money, jewelry, stock portfolio,
                         there are so many tangible and all most intangible, love, joy, goodness, kindness,
                         gratitude, notice no mention of war, violence, death enough of that out there, they
                         are devalued right now, yes, yes they are yes.    

Y*ou are the best advocate of change I ever met, start with a *small, stay close to your heart and close to home, write poetry, take care of yourself and when you find the ONE, take care of each other, there is power in right relationships, now if you have found the ONE, teach your children too, end your day with a laugh and smile, but be alone as little as you need to, teach peace.
Have had a rough year,
or two would rather cry
                 mop up tears
with a sponge type words
that peel the skin off,
          go ahead scoff,
that put my memories
permanently visible,
                      edible,
lacking the confidence
I once had, soldier
trained, now drained,
struggle with
physical tough stuff,
but I go and I go,
mental stuff,
never felt so stupid
in all my days,
then,
then,
I get a call,
speaker is
sick and a Forum has
to change
the program,
and they want to use
POETRY
with
depression
and stigma,
and include
one of mine, read on hellopoetry,
the tears fall with
happy smiles on each
all the while I doubt every
key stroke, cursive line,
illegible, and like dsythymic me
the words and letters, don't look right.

But that call, even if what
I wrote helps just one to
get beyond, whatever...
places they have been
and are unable to go
there when they least
are ready, remember. like an eddy,
"I know someone who" needed
to get a random phone call,
and say "yes please use what
I wrote as that is why I wrote it"
I guess I am treading on that
slippery ***** called arrogance,
but my heart still beats and my
hat still fits and I look in the
mirror and say, "time for bed"
peace pax shalom paix


©DWE102013
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
I looked back
Ottar Oct 2013
Young men fit for battle,
too young for war but paddled
with swagger down the Skeena.

A week on the water, lakes and rivers,
bodies of water that take if you giver,
but this one this day promised what it delivered.

A vortex, canoes lined up to paddle hard,
as the hole in the middle would drag a canoe,
to the depths, to the depths, without release.

One canoe and wait then another then one more,
three were through, number four went round
and round the eddy they held steady as five went
past, then they, four escaped the mighty swirl without
cheer.

Six was with the whirl, they paddled hard as
they were drawn near the rocks and cliff,
a broken paddle, and they limped away, clear
of the gulf.

Seven went and were hell bent, to get through,
all experienced paddlers too, what success,
number eight held four of us, weighted low down
with only three paddlers too, round we went and
then again, nine passed us and cleared the danger,
seven came back to encourage and be near...

What happened was what they feared the whirlpool
dragged us closer, we weren't dizzy, but tired of
rounding the same bend, breaking waves but not enough,
tiring out as we were pulled in again, round and in again.

We needed to split the curve cut the outside wave
and across the break, near the rocks and in the wake
of the river wash and the base of the cliff,
we had to all paddle hard and when and if
we broke free we would join our brothers guilt free,
if we did not
we would have
been a story on
a page of some
deaths to drowning
while at a cadet camp.

the boat's bow broke the waves one two and three,
missed the rocks, the cliff, almost free, voices raised,
an angry fight to live and have done battle with no loss,
we were finally free three companions and me, tossed
by the fourth wave, and I looked back into the hole
of the maelstrom, I looked back lesson learned,
passion for life, a must you have to yearn
for life otherwise, for love, point your bow,
dig your paddle in
and look back no more.

There is more rough water ahead.


©DWE102013
Whirlpool was a surprise to our leaders too, they told us after, it was an 8 foot vortex and the whole thing was 40 feet across...I can still see some of the fearful expressions on the other 16 year old faces.
Oct 2013 · 646
She knows no quit
Ottar Oct 2013
walk a route familiar you can close your eyes,
circular routes are better there are less surprises,
some say "life is circular",
some say "spend it perpendicular,
as once your horizontal, your dead."

Now what was this about,
you ask yourself, "no doubt?"
Doubt, no, more like certainty,
the dog walks the route and
knows each sign post, bush and
tree root.

She just stops to freshen them,
walks it dark of night or before
the light of day, and she never
gets lost, she nose the route
with a hand at the end
of a three foot leash.

The quirks she has about her
self-imposed back scratches,
the way she puts her paws on
two legs as if to say,with a wink
"I have a joke to tell, it is kinda
of doggy humour, I'll tell you
when we
get OUTSIDE."

she rests heavier these days, must be fall
and limps from time to time, from hard play
she is getting old too fast, but you don't see
it in her pace or
in her bright eyes
or her furry face.

She not a dog to sound the alarm,
will bark for the door bell,
at twenty two pounds
she will not take down an attacker,
there is heart,
there is spirit,
if there was a
fight, with an
outsider, inside
her home, I know
she would join the
fray,
as she knows no quit.


©DWE102013
"I pity the foo" says Mr T
Oct 2013 · 1.0k
For home
Ottar Oct 2013
The ball of fur flying across the road,
Barely made it and stubbed a foot and toe,
As the car did not know, never slowed,
Into the bush the juvenile raccoon rolled.

The bumper and glare of headlights in the dark,
Blinded my dog so she did not pull or bark,
I saw it all unfold, told my dog to "walk"
It was after the spot we passed, she went crazy as a lark.

Nose to the ground, like a terrier on a scent,
Told she was late the raccoon had went,
No worse for wear, probably still running hell bent
For home.
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