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Ottar Jan 2015
Heart in place on the sleeve
                 No one asks if the man grieve
Walking eyes downcast, quickens pace  
    Leave not the days dust, on your face

             A voice echoes in his hollow head
The only rumbling, stomach hollow unfed
She always said, "sleeping or waking, lave"  
           Leave not the days dust, on your face

                        She left not wanting to leave
                                  Her loss tore his belief
Spectres tease as he walks and does chase
        Leave not the days dust, on your face

he knew she would not like his grief
the joy like dust washed from his face
Ottar Sep 2013
I know this will be the most hated words in print,
Only in the Northern Hemisphere, for a stint,
of two hundred sixty two days till summer, again
graces our shores, our winds measured warmth
there goes that Darrell guy, what a pain,
Fall is still nineteen days away and he is lighting the hearth.

Fan the flame,
Fan the flame,
what a shame,
paid the bill,
we got gas,
the natural kind,
The days the
are numbered
till your birthday
and mine, I'll be
fifty four in...so many days,
Christmas is only
1 1 5 jours
Hanukkah is
eighty seven and
is of course 8
days long
correct me if I am wrong
as the days
come and go,
I will know,
I have less
and less of
the days ahead
unless I live
to be as old as
108!
Ottar Jul 2013
Body heavy with fatigue,
Hours and hours of waking
wasting away the time.

Diluted life experiences,
only one sense or another
tested, tried, true?

Is that an anchor that holds
me in this place, and no one
to weigh it as it cannot be

lifted by one

such as I.

How dare I dream
of travels in this
vessel, poorly
maintained and
leaking sea water,
in and my dreams
sink further to
the deeps.

Leaving me,
leaving me,
to host barnacles, rife
with life like a reef,
my hope stolen by
a thief, a face that
hid behind two hands.
give me a second or
a minute to recognize
the crook, but spare
me an hour and I
will know who for certain
robbed me.



IT WAS TIME!


©DWE072013
Ottar Jul 2014
They fall like leaves,
and drift away, bouncing,
on curled crisp corners,
aged by the season,
the wind blows them,
not caring, no reason
where they land.

But they are not leaves,
nor are they believers,
they are in touch, not
with the Earth,
not with second birth,
some still think, they
need to earn their worth.

They are blood and flesh,
a thread knotted enmeshed,
in a society they don't want,
they are the uprising,
setting upon action
as there is a sunrising,
they have hopes, dreams, and mirth.

They want their day Canada,
they are willing to work smarter to prove it,
don't feed them the Desiderata,
say they have the heart and a future,
                                                                                         can you do that?
Ottar Apr 2013
It has happened here it has happened there,
Coast to coast,
Oh I am sure it has happened everywhere.

Boys trying to act like the men, nice toys, wanna keep 'em?,
Not only in Canada, eh?
Males smoking cigarettes, selfish stale, group identity.

Not one brain between all and any number of 'em.
Not enough evidence?
That however, does not make it their right, do YOU follow?

Free flowing liquor, reels them in, boys/men are guilty of this sin,
Hold your daughters, closer and your princesses close,
Seen and Unseen, depravity,  all in the name of a house,rave party.

There is no excuse, there is no reason, no ONE or more males,
Has this privilege, so I write
Stop, before you ruin her life, stop, before the media has a frenzy.

You may one day meet and marry,
the woman of your dreams,
will she have to be wary,
and are you what you seem?

DWE 2013-04-10
Media, Newspapers and News defend their reporting, 'bout time they get into the 20th century - this is where they go wrong - sensationalism = today's reporting = welcome to the coliseum (roman style)=with out blood, guts and gore, no one will buy a subscription. Grow up, you are looking a little bit aged.

Update YES, C'mon N.S. -make it right.
Ottar Mar 2015
the suns rays stray
bent in an array
no diffusing the display

few shy away from ultraviolet play

skin tones grow red,
hair lighter on the head,
start and finish colours bled,

the corpse moves again instead

The distance from point to point,
the distance from oil to anoint
the distance from toking that first joint,
  
end result was to be broken legs, if the male parent I did disappoint,

Think can become will, with stones of little steps,
A person of another country, is it possible to annex,
Dreamer, truth, no track record of success, the convex

Reflection of the sun, disperses all light
Leaves the fool in the dark
Pound sand,
tasting salty tears
no anger here, for tonight the son ... has faded
Ottar Mar 2013
You were golden and beyond riches,
you brought us peace, finally
you made your peace, sadly
then you were gone.

You were a pain, that was plain
you cost much and, it was a strain,
brought frowns and smiles,
you could run for miles and miles.

You were so timid but kind,
you were there to remind us,
that you needed no fuss, no muss,
just one(1) to care for, to unwind.

You were the patient one,
kids loved you and you were fun,
to dive bomb in your sleep,
wake up with a start and a leap.

You were gentle from the start,
you easily melted our hearts,
You were never lonely but in the end
we had to leave you when we went.

You, the black dog with an engine much
larger than yourself and a nose as such
would always find home, you  found the perfect
home away from home and brought joy there, I expect.

You were a rescue of a sort,  home was not, the spot
where you stayed anymore as she was gone and he
was on his own, you needed a family, a gift freely
given, we were richly blessed to accept you in our pack.
To Goldie(d), Nova(d), Laddie(d), Bow(d), Bridget(d), Gretchen(d) and Tikka the dogs of our lives.
      Sheltie,      Mixed,      Sheltie,     Boxer,     Mixed,        Mixed,             Wire Fox Terrier
Ottar Jun 2013
When your frenemies speak their minds
Trust the wrong people, you go blind,
Do not listen to what word they say
Turn them away at the doorway.

When the dark gathers closely in,
Dark voices condemn, you, your sin,  
Do not stop, take the time to pray
Turn them away at the doorway.

An innocent holds out their hand,
It's a call, that's all, no demand,
See that chaos, embrace it go play,
Run now with them through the doorway.

Those distractions abound, constant,
Get to your own place of balance
Let your stare, your silence have it's say
Turn them away at the doorway
First attempt at Kyrielle...
The Doorway to the Imagination,
       The Freedom to Imagine,
You deserve to write until you run
out of paper, run out of ink,
'member to have water to drink,
a pillow for your head,
and make time for play.
You can have a friend over!
(for a little while)
Ottar Apr 2014
can't hear the street noise,
windows closed by choice,
boyz'n girlz play with toys,

cars, trucks and motorcycles,
the boulevard rumbles in cycles,
but what if it were only bicycles,

oh let's not forget the transit buses,
without them there would be fussy,
folks unable get to work if it was sunny, and
                                                     dusty,
                                                 or slushy,
                                                 or muddy,

birds whistle, crows caw, some young
seagull already lost, calling out "spring has sprung"
and "can't find you", pack of coyotes howl, the young

whoop it up over a first ****,

an early morning ****,

not for the thrill of a new skill,
but to provide, as
in nature no one gets a free ride.
Ottar Jan 2014
Presented the ring, surprise,
                       look, at her eyes,
                     himself, surprisal!
One of those you tube videos on a marriage proposals very...cool
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.

ego-centric

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.


concentric

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,
sure

eccentric
Wander through this burning desire to write, nothing light or fluffy here.
Ottar Dec 2014
see the universe in your eyes,
open them dear heart,
open them and be surprised,

that your eyes have it,

let me close enough to see too,
be the free spirit you are,
let me close, to look in to those pools,

not talking about things out of,
reach or love or the unreal,
what we have, tiptoes on the surreal,

if I may if I might, hold your wings
just before you take flight,
to caress and see the depths of space,

the mystery you are that drinks me in,
deserve I, not this time not this place,
without you I may give up or not win,

that only happens if I quit,

from this close your lips move,
the sound is as foreign as a
language, I have never heard,

if your heart is broken, I will
hold it together with my hands,
if my heart is broken, it was

my choices that broke me

no longer do I think straight,
no longer can I concentrate,
my arms embrace the only,

part of you, ever close to me,
that shadow, at the edge of my
dream, has when our sleep-time

overlaps,

like a wave and a beach at high tide,
and the stars like eyes have it
watching, like me from far away,

and high above, of where I want to be.

The universe to call home.
Ottar Jan 2014
buzzing and landing,
         not demanding,
any attention at all,
            on the wall
rather be not visible,
life can be miserable,
       things can go boom
   while I'm in the room,
      if someone tries to flatten my face
stand back and just give me my place
                    on the wall
                    on the wall
                     that is all
I want,
is to hang out,
and hang off,
near the air as it
floats by, with treasured
                        aromas
                        to be tasted
                        at my leisure,
                        unless one of them
                        goes into a seizure
                        and begins to beat
                         space and time,
            some surreal pantomime,
missing me
strike one two three
           why are they not out?
Errol Flynn they are not,
caped crusader,
or
Darth Vader,
hero and villain,
in pursuit of a fly,
my oh my, such moves, such grace
all to flatten my face against a wall,
I am so glad, with such a mess, I was small.



©DWE012014
Ottar Sep 2013
The foggy embrace,
hid the face of the mountain
while the raindrops became
teardrops hidden from sight
running down in a hurry and
collected at the toe of the *****,
washing grains of sand and time,
away to the river, older than the
trees that held onto the fog forcing
the embrace without arms but
branches and needles pointing
skyward and leaving a
why word about the fog.


©DWE092013
Why hide the face of the mountain man,
when rain and tears are all across the land
and wind winds the way through the trees,
here the laughter, contagious mockery
a disease...
Ottar Feb 2015
the guy on the walk,
beside the road

stopped to gawk,
spoke to goad

every car that
drove by, every

person walking
past, as he spoke

they moved fast-
er to get past.

Or be caught
up in the fracas

with the man with
baggy pants, spoke

to fire hydrants,
and spoke to the

telephone poles,
in a language they

had never heard,
but now my house

is silent and closing
in it is time to go out

in to the chaos of  
the city streets

a fracas needs to
move his feet, and

feed his hunger
a blood thirsty disease

dietary fracas one
encounter at a time

three times daily
taken with water or rain.

Beware of the clown who
has not a painted face.
Ottar Feb 2015
hide and seek,
child's play, run away,
to stay, shhh, so still,
shadow absorbs,
all but the fun,
where night and
day matter not,
just get lost, in the game.

Then you will seek and find "home free"
Ottar Dec 2014
little cold, yet more wet,
the grass grows green,
the wet gets wetter and old,
can be mistaken for mould,
            that colour of green,
plants flourish,
self-nourish,
instead of self-medicate,
choose to,
meditate on written Word,
not the sounds of voices heard,
in those darkest corners,
of my grey matter,
on each compass point,
wherein stands a court jester,
and I pale against the green,
and I pale against the dark clouds,
and my failed umbrellas number in
                        the hundreds.

Yet the grass grows green on both
sides
of the rusting metal fences,
external signs that I am losing
my mind,
as each jester
takes a turn
for the worse giving
substance, and abuse
through the cut downs,
that the court
jesters use to, mock my sanity,
mock my vanity, mock my
words with my own voice,
and
the grass grows green and
the winds of change rush
and move the grass,
and draw the toxic sounds
out
.......and
away,
a safe distance I pray,
where the
acid can
do no
harm,
to the grass growing green.
Leaving me at peace and serene.
While the grass grows green.
Ottar Apr 2013
Blossoms fall like raindrops,
when the raindrops plummet
to the ground at the speed of
                                         gravity.

Bare branches
hold promise,
Buds barely visible,
green sparks delight all,
who see what a glimpse
of fresh spring,
renewal so...,
so...so needed,
leaves and flowers,
tentative openings
and offerings,
awaiting
to receive,
sunshine and
                             raindrops and
                                                         wind.

Till blossom petals
fall
covering the exposed earth
done
foster growth,
                          bring hope,
                                                 ignite enthusiasm.
                                                                                    See?
Ottar Apr 2013
Started as a DEBate, oh wait
Wasn't going so well, I could tell
Needed a mirACLE.  This debacle.

There was the brandishing of threats, overheated bets,
Words and gestures exchanged, faces promised to be,"rearranged"
Physical constraint, did taint the purity and value, we became estranged

Crime and punishment, was the lament
"capital", thought one side, with pride
MERCY was preferred, as a key word.

By the others, "Sisters and brothers of

Law 11",  the assignment was to DEBATE the lives and fate
of the criminal few who did the deed, do we accede?
It almost got out of control, peace took a hit on the atoll.

The teacher knew as animosity grew, there might about to
be a major crime which would mean to call out the law,
He called it "A draw" and "we'll let Parliament decide!"

In the end no one got hurt, save their pride, the teacher
himself said "it was a miracle, that the debate, did not
descend into a debacle".  But to this day, there are some,
not in our class or the court of public opinion, but where
it really matters, think that this scatters to the four winds
justice.


DWE 2013-04-03
Circa 1976-77
Ottar Aug 2013
all things green are not created equal,
what brings mean hearts a revival,
the green that some die for,
the green the mint strives for,

there are no green initiatives, only a green economy
there is no interest, that will starve the old, their bank
cupboards bare, soon they will eat their own flesh.

they ayes may have it everywhere so be aware, watch your step there
the green that binds our hands,
binds our feet, binds our minds,
bind us together in defeat.

this may sound like a call but really it is one voice with a bad echo,
bouncing off the walls of misappropriation and missed understandings

stewardship is taking care of what was given, (not earned)
he who made stewards of us is going to call (out our names)
to find what we did with the Terra entrusted with us (what a rush)

embracing the wrong green blinds us as it binds us to a rocky
spire, that double edge blade hacking at the legs of God's footstool.
the light talk about saving a planet, ****** Janet, what fool's
we have been, we blame colour blindness for corporate greed,
oh the
green that bind us
to every wrong to which we own,
will now cost us the best spot closest to the throne.
reading allot of green lately, spin doctors are having their way with the celestial virginal idea
seniors that have investments are having to spend the capital portion (flesh) just to survive, due
to artificially suppressed interest rates, but remember I am not an economist (and the people said
that is obvious)
Ottar Mar 2014
She curls,
her curly fur curls,
round her soft,
and she is oft
found sleepng, on her bed,
                         on any bed,
the grey sweater, knit for her,
she wears,
it is her color, matches her fur,
brightens her eyes,
belly breathing,
small movement without
a care,
she is aware of every sound,
when she is curled soft and round.
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
freely
eternity.
My dog today. Old but not too old, yet.
Ottar Aug 2013
The clustered, green orbs, glow with juice and lighted sun,
The leaves wave in the gentle breeze "welcome" to all, have fun,
But seasons ripe for theft and thieves,
Who would steal into these nights,
          to remove the juiciest of these,
Bacchus treasures and treats with perfected age,
                  the hope of pouring a glass
                  of crystal clear bliss
                  could be gone, amiss,
by some who would crush the cherished taste,
and end this seasons harvest in empty sadness;
empty vine, oh the shame, the crime
of stealing grapes that belong to another's claim!

We have found the answer to our dilemma,
"Worry not dear friend, i will be there for you my eyes
are ever so watchful, and my bright white wing span will
cause even the hardiest mischief maker to turn away,
while my tail will beat and chase them
from
your grounds, God's vineyards
your bounty
this and every day,
until you pick your crop at its best
but I have only one humble request,
That you save the juiciest single grape for me
king of the Dragons, that fly."


©DWE082013
inspiration provided by photo
provided by Scott Olson
I would let you ALL go to my FB page and see the inspirational photo but I don't think you (pl) would fit,
so I might change my photo on HP or I might not, I have a few challenges, Look me up on FB and I will have it on my timeline, if I am so able, your humble servant, DWE
Ottar Apr 2015
twenty four hours
in a day,
seven on sleep,
just wastes away

and three on
making and eating
food,
good work day done
chunks by eating at
least seven point five

warning warning not
enough time!!!!!!!

ninety minutes leashed
to dog walks
                               and walks too work plus from
clean up, chores,
put away, chores,
dust bunnies  come
from some miles
around, another hour down

warning warning second level, time is at lowest levels

shaving, showering and sitting silently contemplating
personal time appreciation, if you know what I mean,
is at least an hour

before i start my day i read some and do the same before
bed when my pillow hits my head
another hour has slipped through my fingers
and my hand taps
my chest to find the rhythm of my heart beat,  

Time's a running out!  Time is!


there are three hours
every day that
i don't know
how they are
spent, maybe working,
maybe in pleasure,
could be driving
in traffic not
rushing for an
hour, to my
great displeasure, could
be shopping or
dropping to my
knees, looking for
lost things like
keys, or a
watch or a
dog toy, OR

the hours
of my day dispensed
by chaotic
prescription to give me
fits because
it never all fits
in even
if I rush and
hurry, blush
and worry, crush the
day and
live in a dream
a story
of the perfect day
which is
a poem for another
time as
I have run out......................................................again.
Do you feel frantic just reading it, did it give you chaotic spasms, and want to look away, then I succeeded
Ottar Jul 2013
do not watch news, it won't make you a better person
it is not like a marriage to be made better or worse on,
unsure how to spend your day, other than electronics array,
lying on your bed with pillow comfort under your head to stay,
or sitting in a chair with simple ease remembering to breathe,
or floating on the ocean on a tube, not minding what is beneath.


©DWE072013
It
is not
what
you
do
but
what
you
do
not
Ottar Oct 2013
the writing was on the wall, no real fuss,
it was like a quiet ocean between us,
dried up after a summers intense heat,
this country is so large, amazing we did meet,

in a small town,
in a cadet corps,
fast friends,
spring time,
was it to be love,  

I left for the army, and she was to finish school,
letters and words of our days and nights
the ink filled the pages of our thoughts and emotions,
perfume on her pages was a magic potion,
drawing me in, keeping me close, in the end was I a fool?

There was a day, months after I had left,
my dog had died, my mom said they had found
the dog under, the neighbours tree, I cried
my voice cracking on the phone, blamed the
connection
and distance, so far from home.

I dragged my upset and a tissue, back to my room,
where waited a letter, it was on my bed and I was
alone, I smelled the fragrance and saw the cursive
hand, opened IT after all nothing could be worse...

In a few short pages she did explain,
that long distance relationships were
a pain, and though I might come home
by plane, it was plain to her that she was
not right for me or rather as she put it,
could I not see, she had fallen out of love
with me.

That relationship ended and I cried more tears,
I think my naivete was preyed upon by fears,
that I would never find another quite like her,
and wonder what would've happened if ever?
and was she my soul mate who ripped into me
with angry words of hate, that I had left her
for a career.

Such is a soldier's life, she was not meant to
be this army man's wife, or betrothed,
nineteen I felt going on sixteen once more,
and it all started with two words,
Dear Darrell, the first time in all her
letters she had started with my name,
she had much to say my tears stained the pages,
and she signed it Goodbye Chantelle

I may have wrote
back, an angry
mess that I was
in, but I knew it
mattered not, it
was over in
September of 1978.


©DWE102013

I am thankful there was no Facebook in those days...
1978, surprisingly fell in love with someone other than the above, in 1984, and next year it will be 29 years together and 28 married.
Ottar Apr 2013
“The starlight, the night lights that brightly shine,
  The Light, one of His designs,
will one day be as bright as the day-star near,
so hug close child when you have fear.”
I will protect you and not disappear,
Together, we will not disappear.      

“The moonlight, the guiding light that travels around,
  this Home, seen with our eyes,
  will one day appear as still as a mountain white,
  so hold close all that is a memory dear.”

“The sunlight, the daylight that heats and lights,
  The Sunshine, felt by faces lifted up,
  will one day be as no other has seen before,
  so hand in hand bring loved ones near.”

“The Son’s Light, that brings the eternal flame,
   He Forgiveness, that brings no shame,
  will one day be known all around in every heart,
  so reach up, accept them both with cheer.”  

“The Light, the light that shines brightly near
  is closer than the key to your heart dear,
  Feel, let not love go without a tear,
  Look to the horizon,
  watch troubles quickly disappear.

DW Elverum November 2011,
From a NaNoWriMo novel I wrote and is now going through the first full edit (yup and for those who know I was a "winner" in 2011 and 2012)  For the rest of you it means I made the 50,000 word count in 30 days.
Ottar Feb 2015
always
poking
at the sky,
waiting for the signs,
to change,
crashed through a mile-
stone marker,
foolin' with life,
hands on the wheel of
what is broken down,
dark, dark, dark like area
fifty-one
grams are instant,
you might figure it out,
then again, whenever...

first heard of denver,
rhymes and reasons,
eagles and hawks,
music to my ears,
oh then came the tears,

Road Weary too early
in this Rotten World,
but rw came along,
and laughter filled
this heart,
to over flowing,
until tears
came from every laugh
and ... then...
only the tears.

A r m, there was no
harm, only a heart
for God,
step by step you
brought me closer,
if i stand,
brought
me to my knees,
understanding your love
for the Navajo
nation.

Too hard to be a bard,
all the waves that
sound like me
are hammered flat,
sharply.

Too soon.Wanted to grow
old with all of you
even though we share so little
phil-o-so-phically,
but here it is play
with words,
sun still rises
and watching flights
of birds and
dragonflies
make me pause;


from the shape of the sky
to a colour of the paint
that comes from the sun
in the clouds.

Then walking with ugly
toes with feet and
knees,
older than they should be,
seeing
people on the street,
who
love to hate,
hate to love,
each day is a wrestling
match in an atmospheric cage,
that puts ufc to shame,
seeing way more
than can be put on
parchment,
the will, be tried.

roof over my head
like a hat hanging
on an empty coat
hook
between the ribs
tearing at a heart
that refuses to
stop
beating while
being beat up by voices
that keep coming out
of the dark, dark, dark

shhhhhhhhh
whispers,
wisps
of hope
that knowing
as long as the
sounds of music
from many artists
find the ears
and,
able to feel,
lines of tears
and too
the laughter
echoes,
echoes in the
empty hallway
that swallows
red and white
and clear,
I live to write
another
day.
Take courage
to Play
the ukelele
if may I
by deSign.
12 poems in 2012, the other 760+ in 25 months, I had no other way to show You.
For helping me, for saying I matter,
you will never know
what you have been part of
thank you
200K reads
101 followers
A r m - a Rich Mullins, any and all of his music, "step by step", 'if I stand"  denver is John Denver, Rhymes and Reasons, Eagle and the Hawk, two very powerful songs in my teen years, RW is Robin Williams, made me laugh when well...strange what happens to you inside when people you look up to, successful people show their human side, makes you want to believe in yourself and what you can do, just a little bit more, better.
Makes it easy to believe that there is much more than meets the eye, in this world and especially every person.
Enough reading, do what you do best...write and read aloud
Thankyou for reading this if you made it this far, Thank you for all
of your
Poetry.
No Muses were injured, overworked or expected to get a tattoo with my name on it, during this poetic adventure.
Ottar Jul 2013
You have a dream, we all have dreams, dreams are needed not just wanted,
career changes, leaving for the good, what to do, thoughts of what if leave me haunted,
new directions a fresh start recharge the batteries and jump start the heart,
old dream dashed, no where to turn, no where to go, have I the heart to restart.

April Fools day, stepping out and up into the clouds of rain and night falling,
no room in the shelter,
hollow spot for our tent,
all the rain you know where it went,
next night the tornado train went
up the valley, questions were we supposed to go, on, what was our calling?

Sights to see, did we find something to refresh our minds,
nice people, amazing landscapes, (tunnels of rhododendrons)
did we leave anything behind, (except wishes for complete success)
and did we gain beyond the pain of heavy packs, and the daily hiking grind,
but we did not go all the way North to Maine but we did go beyond,
the empty path of the rest of that Long Trail remains forever out of reach,
until we hold hands, remembering,
knowing that it may be considered incomplete,
together, no regrets, no need to repeat.


©DWE072013
Left the military 1989, hiked the first 131 miles (212km) of the Appalachian Trail.
DWE, TLE and 2 year old ADE
Ottar Jul 2014
heat of the day begins to abate,
breath is cooler than the sweaty face,
the sky is all one blue, the final hue
for this day has no more curtain calls,

the orchestra pit is empty and
the last patron of the arts has left,
the auditorium,
his name, was not Elvis,

the road grows quiet and as breezes pick-
up where the heat left off and teases, sweaty
faces with moments of gracious relief,
the flaming ball set out of sight, good grief
it was hot.

sitting still silently, missing her, sees her photo
and begins to cry, the maestro is master of
many things and even some of those he loves,
but he will not get her to understand why
she is not home with him, but in her own private room.

Like the ochestra pit, their home is empty,
no music to be heard, not a sound or a word,
he can't bring himself to sit in that house,
for long with out her by
his side, so he sits on a park bench across from her
room, hoping that one day she will once again,
remember him,
remember music,
remember love,
but above all, be herself...so he will recognize, her again.
Alzheimers/Dementia
Ottar Apr 2013
They train and they train to run,
some are serious and some for fun,
               with friends or family, a journey.

It is a journey that takes courage,
but when they train to compete or complete,
they are on their own.

No one can do it for them.

For all who were there or saw it on TV,
social media and next days paper,
the struggle, Will Be.

The race has changed course,
hardly any will notice they
just race to keep up.

No one can do it for them.

Boston is waking up and will again and again.
The sun will rise and set, courage will be found,
where? it may surprise us all.

Even make you catch your breath.

For these few are many too many.
Catch their tears and water the forests.
Though there will be grit.
No one can do it for them.

Don't stand in front, they need to see the future.
There is space for a stripe of people on the left.
Another space for a stripe of people on the right.
Behind them place a stripe of people too.
                                                                               Stars overhead.

No one can do it for them.
So stand with them,
                                      after all life has become the marathon.
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
bliss.

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
rememberance
is very old.
First serious girlfriend thirty-seven years ago.

A B a A a b A B  rhyme scheme for the 8 lines
Ottar Mar 2013
The more I read, the more I remember I have forgotten,
More is as more does, more or less.

The more I eat, the more I gain what I shouldn't have,
More is the cost, better an unhealthy appetite lost.

The more I sleep, the more I slumber till I am too tired,
More is a sleepless state, where I move sluggish, the eyes have it.

The more I think, the more I think too much,
More is the process which is less lost in thought.
Ottar Jun 2014
he touches,
he breathes,
he caresses,
he tastes,
he sees, with his minds eye,
                                no need for sheets of paper with dots and lines,
                                he has lived this piece since his life became defined,
the instrument,  and hearts
the oxygen, with poise
with fine pressure, the pure sound,
sweat, saliva and tears,
he does not stray from the course,
                                                             sharing the talent, giving the gift,
                                                                to any who will listen,
                                                                   to all who are near,
                                                                       but always to an audience of one.
Ottar Feb 2014
wait for me at the gate like you used to do, my friend,
can not think of going into the city looking for you,
we had such great debates with the men of that place,
we were all so serious, brows knitted, frowns on each face,
so much time always so serious,
time has passed, now so perilous,
the days have gone dark,
faces have paled, time stand still,
have we failed, one another?
you have gone on ahead to make plans and prepare a place,
when you get back to the gate, I will be there too and
we can go on together, into the uncertain times
side by side two friends, on a life long journey, lost without
the other.




©DWE022014
Ottar Apr 2013
Trees bare, night falling,
Cat prowling, distant owl calling,
Cold air, frosted with flakes,
Of Snow.

Spotting the cat, owl awakes.
Owl and the Pussycat's strange
partnership plays out on the wild range.
One a trophy bearer,
The other wisely to accept.

The owl dropped down, talons filled with rat,
He accepted this ****, the black and white patch cat,
Looking at the other so close and so near,
There was no weakness, no fear.

***** cat took the rat mouth full of rodent,
The owl stood, feathers whiter than the moonlit snow,
Stopping and dropping the rat,to say,"My turn next
time, I know," then picking up the gift once again.
I would not call it a classic, NaPoWriMo for today as well.
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
Ottar May 2015
where both left
and right
form the bowl,
appraising
pale cream or pink
seductive space
between,
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,
the
pistachio.
Pistachios are addictive
This may even be ...
Ottar Jun 2013
waiting here,
baiting my breath
the sweet taste of wine
loosens my lips
waiting for what'
waiting here
sating my mood
with any food
to taste
and lay
waste to the
staleness
I have become.

Moments
prized and
realized gain
arrived pain
now fully felt,
through skin, like
fabric padded,
fatted not draped
like a discarded
memory or
muscle miscue
as I miss the
mark once and
again.

dullshooter, not sharp
propelled blindly
out my door, into
the day
light mood darkened;
not by shadow,
not by sightless,
not by faith,
for what little
I have I must
share.

Of all these things
buried in me,
my own grave.
Riches?
The pit is full.
Ottar May 2013
There is a history, could be called their story,
But the clouds,
To the dirt beneath,
Their finger nails,
All were lined in silver,
Or other precious metals,
Smelted with treasured memories,
Weaving silver through all,
The storms, along every cloud,
Each raindrop and teardrop too,
They labored,
In veins of mineral mines,
They smelted iron ore,
Got more troy ounces then they
Bargained for, by the millions,
Gold and silver for those linings,
Precious and semi-precious metals,
From deep holes in the ground,
To a furnace that evaporated sweat,
Under the fireproof suits, they worked hard,
Honestly while wearing protective lenses and
Not rose coloured glasses, it was a good life,
Memories and faded glory days,
Until the Company, took it away, bit by bit,
Leaving,
Flame but little glory,
To those special days,
And bygone days,
There are still a few,
Who survived modernization,
There are many more,
Whose best memory,
Is the pension,
Crew mates are gone,
Spouses are gone,
Yet the special days,
Are celebrated anyways,
In the Silver City,
That joy is almost,
Tangible, to when,
Generations of men,
Went home to their women, children
Broke bread, drink vino and shots of grappa,
Sharing day shift or afternoons,
And graveyard shifts during the boom,
Today many years later, more than 100,
Now the fireworks light the night-sky,
While figments of the past, stand shoulder,
To shoulder, with those who remain,
Shared memories of silver linings.
For Trail during this weekend of Silver City Days
Ottar Mar 2013
Uncluttered hours with unbroken,
open windows and sunshine, Space!,
not just in the room, but the Space which
is Outer, out there, up there to be filled
with enough words to describe, at least, Love.

Objectivity to stand back and view
the turmoil Inside, waiting;
for The Voice, a voice in writing
that compels a Reader, to enjoy listening,
to the spoken word, as their tongue
wrestles with the sounds which pitch
and yaw during the flight, the journey,
to find what is beyond their equilibrium.

The spoken word which can, bring light to
the darkness, quiet an uneasy child,
contentment to the one who can not sleep
until they write, and rewrite and write some
more.  Only brief Peace is found on this
Earth, by a writer purging his grey matter by
weaving thoughts on a white blank page.

It is not a dare to dream, nay, a dare to
let some One other than your self, experience
a dream that was once yours, alone.
Ottar Jun 2014
the pool, of still water,
you have become,
distresses less,
as rocks are tossed to form rings,
that echo silently across the pool you have become,
winsome waves, echo in not so perfect circles
but even the rocks,
settle
to the bottom,
you no longer ask "who tosses these rocks at me?"
the answer would always be "Life"
bringing strife and stinging tears,
but that is the past,
moments upon moments,
the water droplets in you,
the pool are pulled skyward,
like the daydreams you hold dear and
release,
with out fear,
as clouds roll gently in,
the wind parks them and
soon the rain falls, like healing tears
find their way down to
fill you, the pool again
for another peaceful day,
the wind skims the surface,
dancing across open water,
featherlight
in the moonlight, I
sit staring,
smiling, questions without
answers,
wanting to throw myself,
clothes and all and in the fall,
make a splash then,
soak in that pool, that you have
become,
where I have never been before.
The pool that you, have become
for someone, not hunting for peace, yet finding
for some one, not chasing peace but believing in daydreams
for some,  once lost and now found but don't know it,
for one finding peace, breathing it in, to fill lungs, to fill every pore,
to wear it and share it.
Ottar Apr 2015
bad pair of parents these two always dressed for funerals,

wings feathered with death and flight construct a nest with cunning,

safe from predators in the branches high of a safe evergreen,

each year for four years, two crows hatches one egg, alive


share the work, feed the one, day and night, work the pair, with hope,


Caa-crows, caa-crows, caa-caa, goes the crow, baby crow has passed,

not first flight aloft with air and sky beneath the young wings,

yet from life, to Earth who claims, the prize, before four black eyes,

‘Tis the same every Spring these two, evermore a funeral
some people don't like crows,  some crows are not good parents, some people would like these two, as they are not adding to the population of
crows.
Ottar Mar 2013
Lazy mornings filled
with warmth, I, house-coated beside
the fireplace while the sun rises.
The rapid flit of birds
through a slowly warming sky, bunnies
hop hoping for no surprises.

Across the green grassy
expanse, the mist creeps and hangs on,
to every blade, branch and bush.
The horizon's edge gets
more defined as the blind is pulled up on
the night, and daylight hints at the rush.

I stop reading, to see
and listen, to all that the world has to show, knowing
I must leave this quiet place to labour.
I will step in the steps,
baggage with me on my shoulder, the real burden, I
know, is how to to love my neighbour.
Ottar Oct 2014
invisible flight
paths, translucent truths
lines crisscross
parallel lives
parallel loss
masks and disguises strewn about the place,
meeting me, you would recognize this face,
don't look my age,
what can be seen,
is there any happiness that is not obscene,
is there any doubt in this poet's remorse,
too many lines,
only one life,
words on paper can not be deciphered,
not in code, who taught this boy to write,
penman-ship,
sank in plain view,
this is too easy for the lot of you...

wind gusting as weather digests,
any life form brave enough to venture,
out,
                                                   ­   capital idea,
run in a thunder and lightening storm,
with scissors in your outstretched hands,
how is that again,
Eddie?

Didn't work for you?
Sorry this is not about October thirty first,
                                                   what a thirst,
For a dark brew,
cesspool stew,
pouring from the insides out,
don't believe what sounds,
words shaped like scalpels,
can do
shave your heart and soul,
down,
down,
why do these sounds,
have a voice that cuts like my own,
oh on a positive note, this too shall end,
tear a strip off there is nothing to defend,
with,
with,
no one to stand beside,
no one too trust at my back,
can't reach the bullseye to prevent the attack,
there may be rhyme
but no reasonable prose,

for if a dark cloud grew darker as it was over
a forlorn brow, upside down smile, caffeine,
fuelled fool spin doctoring, the story of a lifetime,
always forgetting the best part, no heart for
memorization, lazy man playing at this for real,
always a decade plus three hours behind,
write something happy with bunnies and frogs,
talk about love...

bring the lightening
hear the thunder,
face into the wind,
can't leave you all,
                                  like this,
rain pellets feels
like bullets,
absorb every hit,
would put me on my
knees if the legs weren't so stiff,
like the neck,
not a question of pride,
I have none,
not one gram of self worth,
hope grains like a sandy beach,
dream streams like a rainbow arc,
sure,
am I okay,
I will be okay,
when the dragonfly returns my smile.
Holding on till spring.
Let there be spring
Ottar Jan 2014
Language Corporate,
disease of words,
too many spoken
mis-          stood,
       under

too many in print
              to imprint,
themselves on your psyche,
meaning less
               than they did
before, but somehow affect you
more

a semantic
dance to,
position themselves
           the body corporate,

over head,
over your head,
they have you  in a ***,
while slowly increasing the heat,
on the stove,... how's the water?
If you
were to
escape
the words
know
where
you sleep
know
your friends
know
where you
work
those
worldly
words
and their
corporate
masters
with
bad manners.

©DWE012014
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.
Ottar Aug 2013
there is nothing to absorb the shock, the hurt
there is less than there was, but never enough
there is a way but it is a blind alley, fear has closed
                                                          ­                    my
                                          ­                                   eyes
there is no one to trust, so we trust no one
there is page after page of pages of words that mean nothing
       (the internet is a desert and it all looks the same)
there is an end, we have sown sadness, we will reap madness
there is  a Lover of our soul,
             if all else fails and we find shoals
             we know we won't be alone
             as the ocean of sharks gets frenzied
             as we struggle tangled and are denied
             pieces inedible we find the deepest trench
there is a tough decision, hard one, gut wrenching,
                                     it is so cold and so dark sunk so deep
                                                 still sinking, into the silence
                                                         ­             which paralyzes the soul

S.O.S.
S.O.S.

S.O.S.
going through some very difficult stuff, complicated, cannot write specifics, cannot write enough to
purge the tank and do not have the resources to resolve unscathed, choices are few and I have let her down, it may be awhile before I have time unless I need to vent to keep my thoughts clear, yeah... I don't know what I mean either

©DWE082013
Ottar Jan 2014
there is war
there is a war,
for hearts and minds,
            found in minefields,

there is chaos,
there is a chaotic trend,
to steal your peace, your sleep,
              until the end, yes the end.

adding swear words,
would not add to what this
does say about the world, for ... wait listen, do you
hear IT, running down the drain,
a cleansing rain,
let me run outside,
with a towel and board shorts,
rip across the parking lot, jumping in puddles
until the people from their windows shake their
heads and mumble,
that somebody ought to call the police,
but no one does, meaning no one will,
for they want me to suffer and fall ill,
a consequence
of the quenching drench,
that I took, as my flipper feet, ran slapping
the asphalt, to the end, the end where I
looked over the edge, and saw there is more,
where that crazyness came from,
there is more.  I will behave if I can just reach out and touch....
It is not my fault, they called a "mini pineapple express".  Towel got too wet to dry me off...believe it, or not.
Ottar Apr 2015
the words have lost their meaning, put down and forgotten
the ink is old and hitting refresh, flesh is rotten
the love of doves is for the birds, love of forgotten
words, buried deep unearth on Earth, what has brought this on...

short tempered phrases
Viennese masked faces
road rage that displaces
where words that disgraced

the root that spawned their meaning
and thinkers were able to be gleaning
to drink the rich and full in leaving
pride at the door and no deceiving

what we are all here for

not a geo-politico hidden agenda
not a plan within a plan within a plan
like some Shogun in a Clavell novel,
not to be a notch whelped on Evils' belt

size 365 days a year,

equal spaced holes like stepping stones
tighten around a neck stuck out too far
risk taking and all in isn't a sin, groan,
who am I to judge, I am so marred

am I poeticizing how to live,
no, how write poetry and be so alive,
I have so many words they
roll like boulders, in my head
and off my shoulder across the floor
the neighbours complain of the
noise and I lie, say-
ing it is my dog with her toys,

so go write your poetry,
no one else can, please
may it cure you as mine
cures me of my disease

so you can do what you were born to do,
what are you waiting for ** I can't tell you!
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