Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ottaross May 25
She is a flower
Rendered in black and white
I am a poem
Encoded in Morse code
He is an aria
Written upon the page
They are a chorus
Captured in a photograph

It takes a bit of imagination
And a bit of effort
But the beauty there
Comes partly from
Something from within you
ottaross Jan 7
I am much taller in person
Than I am in human.

They say that the camera puts on ten pounds
But the camera in my pocket weighs a tonne.

A picture of me paints a thousand words
In a language I struggle to understand.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Unless you leave your heart behind.
I don't know what it means
ottaross Jan 7
Blank and beckoning
But devoid of content
Into the void are thrown
Ideas and fragments
That stick together like jelly
And may not be removed.
ottaross Oct 2019
Rainy autumn weather.
The rain drops sound cold
As they strike against the window.
Cat silhouettes seem to herald
An approaching Halloween.
Watching the cat at the windowsill one morning.
ottaross Oct 2019
Trying to post again
Hoping that today it works
Outside is nothing but rain
And this website has some quirks

But try again I will
To placate my poetry fervor
Fearing the bone-cutting chill
Of error 500s from the server
Service test
ottaross Jul 2019
A few words before a nap
In the heat of the midsummer radiance
In the heavy air of a string of rainless days
When our lawn with its broad diversity of weeds
Sits green without our help

Before succumbing to the mid-afternoon weight
Of eyelids commanding me to put tools down
I will select from the firmament
A few choice combinations of letters
And their concomitant meanings

They will say 'I am alive'
In a landscape of life and death and struggle
I am an organism that works to move forward
Though some days I'll move less than others
And sometimes I will rest.
Searching to capture a thought or two before a nap.
ottaross Jul 2019
Our stairs are made of wood
The trees that they once were
Probably grew nearby
One hundred years ago
When our house was built.

Maybe they grew in a copse on a hill,
Spent decades swaying in the wind
Tasted the rain, and the soil
And the carbon dioxide
Exuded by creatures of the forest
And people who lived among them
And those that would one day come
And bring them to the ground.

And now they bring me
To my bedroom every night
Where I doze quietly off
While inhaling the cool night air from the window
And puffing out carbon dioxide dreams.
Next page