#ogdiddy
~for Marissa Fanelli<
*living with a woman who loves her
some vampires,
is difficult for endless is the sweet sorrow,
of
never having known the thrill of someone biting her neck for a transformative transfusional exchange of body fluids,
makes her sigh periodically as she applies
her makeup
Dutiful man, you do something about it!
I sweep in when damsel is vulnerably unsuspecting, sweeping her blond tress
from her neck, applying combinatory
kisses and nibbles, she shivers delightedly,
b u t
inevitably
indubitably
emits a gasping sigh of great and
delicious length,
signaling she must finish her makeup
applications lest she be forced to begin
all over again
and
her deep regret
that her-nice jewish lover is,*
still no zombie
p.s. and when she makes a sign of the cross
using both pointer fingers, to shoo me away
I retort
“Boy oh boy lady, have you got the wrong zombie”
Dec 26, 2024
Dec 26, 2024 at 9:11 AM UTC
do not address you with frequency
but here, where I am disguised in
a public facing place, it is easy relief
that recent reversals, have occurred,
contusions upon my self, body, mind,
scattered have combined to cause an
erosion of soul
of course this matters little to you, but
nonetheless will inform anyone’s eyes
who happenstance falls upon this page,
and I am gripped by paralysis. life-by-me-
threatened, and I’m ashamed of myself,
but offer no forgiveness nevertheless
what I value has not changed, but my
core is wilting, eroded by the confluence
of circumstances, aging of time, and no
one to ask for guidance, or support genuine,
I’m soft froze exterior, interiors rocky ice
ask you do nothing. but someday - when?circumstance will circle back, perchance
to this literate plea, that asks for nothing,
posting gone unnoticed, on a bulletin board
I reserve the next three lines to unsatisfactorily not explain, just
to inform, erosions of pieces of me, now gone
in these two lines, a fine of fine will have to
be paid, in a currency of cell’s dying quietly
and here, I,
Ogdiddy,
cease, in every way possible
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 8:27 AM UTC
every day we make rules
for ourselves, gonna do this,
never eat that, drink less,
write shorter (ha!),
write
less, more, better, so as I edit
the preponderance and infiltration
of that word,
(that shall remain nameless),
it
plague my scripts, diminishes my
verbal acuity, curses my perpetuity,
inserts itself without asking, is a
rudeness to your host, an intolerable
sin that cannot be abided,
know now
that it shall be banished from speech,
daily conversation, a heretic, born to
die in The Void, spent superhero,
a place languages send there superfluous
constituents, to live, hopefully disappearing
via the Ark of Archaic…
*weirdly, my writing pointer tips sudden
drained of blood, my composure and
composition disabled, when I hear a
sumptuous sobering voice declare:*
Sit down and shut up
to which authoritative declarative
I reply:
“Yes, God, Roger that,”
adding,
“over and out”
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 3:25 AM UTC
con-none-drum-roll please
why do “people” wear
really short ,
really tight, skirts,
then spend the rest of the day
tugging,
tugging repeatedly,
on an invisible schedule,
to con us into lowering
the temperature
in them
overheated classrooms?
ogdiddy
Jul 26, 2023
Jul 26, 2023 at 12:34 PM UTC
the doctor cautioned me…
no rough S?x my boy, your coeur très ancien,
ain’t up to the task, in fact, i urge you to forgo
the goings on you love to write about, leave them
words on the page, six to eight inches (!) from the
tippy part of your…nose; for distance makes the heart
grow fonder, life longer, when you ticker gets that
‘lost that loving feeling’, keep it lost for now, cause
I no longer make home visitations and cancelled,
I did, the refills on your ****** scrip, keep your loving
confined to the twenty six alpa-bets, so you grow
old, well, alive, cursing my name repeatedly with
a strong God **** and I’m sure He’ll be listening,
cause I know He appreciates a **** good poem!
Jul 20, 2023
Jul 20, 2023 at 8:48 AM UTC
“Reads at a Presidential Level”
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 10:13 AM UTC
deaf eyes, blind ears, pens down!
two of my English Teachers,
from high school and college
from way way back when,
i requested, critiqued my poems,
cause they could, ex-teachers...
They said:
Your emails are too short,
your poems are too long,
we recommend that your
quit this, do what we say:
pens down!
Your poems are travelogues
to places in your mind, we’ve
got no interest in visiting, Egypt
and Exile, cemeteries in a privy,
time to get a new travel agency.
Your imagery, ars obscura to us,
everyone but you, despite too many
copious notes, which proves our point,
you need smile more and write less.
Just because you’ve got creases,
lines all across your face, doesn’t
mean any wisdom came with them,
nor did you listen in our classes,
we suggest, resolutely, give it a rest.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
mineral wealth in my veins
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 3:59 PM UTC
I am nearing seventy,
my woman, has me, surpassed.
that hallmark of difference,
is a race I can’t catch her up,
so always on the lookout for ways,
ways to equalize the difference.
laying in bed on a beautiful
Tuesday, (renamed Twosday)
romantic muse-marveling how
an ordinary weekday came to be
so spectacular, the senses are
keening, preening, as the warm
loving feelings upping with sun,
rising, and my eyes welling tears,
of youthful gratefulness and love
so
I propose we get matching tattoos
to lock in this storied moment historical.
She smiles.
Stealthy moves as if to bed exit,
when with a sudden twist of fate,
reverses with one of the three pillows,
her in-bed-reading-backup-accompanists,
no pretense, she tries to beat me to near-death.
Later.
She inquires.
“What tattoo exactly did I have in mind?”
Till Death Do Us Part
(inside a heart, optional).
She snorts.
“That can be arranged, if you get more deranged!”
*from now on my passing thoughts of loving celebration,
gonna just keep on passing by, except for maybe, just,
tattoos of chocolates, a money saving device, so many
occasions useful, now you understand this poem’s entitlement.*
Ogdiddynash
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
“still on the fence
about you being
a mortal man
or a God.”
well thanks for that,
and did I mention
it’s a fence style called
picket you put me on?
which I can attest,
makes me feel both
majestic & definitely humanistic,
cause a picket up one’s ****
is proof still that this man,
unlike god,
has not lost his “touch”
so to speak...
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 11:50 PM UTC
twenteesventh.
you write of dismembered leaves,
enhaloed lust(wtf)
pains too sweet because they’re youthfully incomplete,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
dry rain droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
edible didactics, teaching “frosted flakys”
poetic methadone methodology,
poems hats with rhyming lyrics
that taste like that burnt eyelids colored
a blood stained mustard yellow, (yum),
beyond burger veggie based satyrs,
the happy gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
***** ******* you want an
infernal cataclysm...
really?
dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and other Olsonian beauties,
like I write with succinct passion,
me, who gets eaten alive by buggers saying
“too long,” “too long,” “needed a mid-poem napt”
non-lexical non-commonsensical ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries
and then you wonder why
PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?
jes kiddin’ a leetle
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
*~
touch~teach her eyelashes
with my index finger,
her toes ask why
they must, no choice,
curl,
my heart answers,
one, one, one
~~
The truths that sway
within my hands,
my body follows,
am music borne,
we each of us
sway differently,
because my hand traces,
my beloved's waist,
soon enough,
never soon enough,
we are
two, two, two
~~~
no no not religious,
but miracles observed
quite regular
two becomes one,
emerald melded,
a yellow blonde, how extraordinary,
his blue eyes, lately
gray flecked,
blue and yellow
combined make
emerald melded,
thus two becomes one,
one becomes
a recombinant color,
and new is now
three, three, three
three that rhymes
not with me,
or her,
but the three that rhymes
with me and thee
which makes
we,*
three, three, three, thee
for life
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
preface.
majestic adjectives of contrary harmonies,
adverbs in adversity that modify our satisfactions,
gut punch our eyes, scramble the taste buds,
now inoperable, incapacitated to distinguish
what is disturbed - what is sweet - what is impossible.
my days ending is nearer to my god than thee,
the crumblings of what I’ve got left,
stale panko crumbs,
here come they in 1000 radium-tipped projectiles of
serious humorous self-destruction,
gifted to you few itinerant followers
brave enough to follow me into the deeps of
radioactive incomprehension,
in no particular disorders
a thousand times
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
four.
chernobyl on peoples mind.
mine too, pretty clear,
humanity intent
on destroying itself.
good to know!
I can put off my
my perpetual idea of getting even by suicide,
no need to cease my puffing,
waiting now until my very last moment,
cause I won’t be cheated out
of course,
by god and his central committee
of what they have being planning for me,
all my life
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC
daily provisioning
wallet watch testicles spectacles
cash (single bills) cell phone
bottle of water hairbrush with vanity attached,
personal technology baggie
(earbuds, variety of charging cords etc.)
loose change in order to fall from pockets & annoy yourself
sunglasses (idiot! summers half over) and something else...
pocket tissues!
skin and bone, muscle, all flavors and multilayers,
a language of music only you hear,
the pumping station internal, the gaga motion
product of the palette of body following souled emotions,
the antacid pills after that burrito;
and that strangely named thang called
libido?
your teeth your smile, your shyest guile,
to catch that lady’s hopefully.
reciprocated pearly whites delight,
pen and pad to record being a sad and mad good lad,
a Swiss Army knife if the tube or bus
should (will) breakdown,
your tiny little bottles of
inspiration perspiration and perspective,
that you forgot to
label
the list to do and the list
to add to the to do list
and good heavens,
a serious writing utensil
to fool yourself when
thinking serious thoughts like
these
the last but should be first,
the house keys!!
keys just an enabler
to do it all again
tomorrow
July 11, 2018 10:22pm
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC