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Adventure by Ollie

A Search for Purpose in a Random World

Beautiful Chaos

down the quiet roads, Spanish moss hanging, overflows,

the darkenss setting in like the folding of cloud upon sun

the street is empty, I am the only one

listen to the wind raise a fury over the earth and sky

such beautiful chaos, but if I describe it this way –

only others may misinterpret, what can words say-

sometimes they do not match my meaning;

and only seem to drift like paper aimlessly

missing every mark purposefully

caught in the grip of chaos – who sees besides me?

 

 

 

Of This I Am Sure

Knowing the trees have something to say,

beyond the scattering of mumbling leaves,

I am standing ready, for an earthly embrace,

sure of my birthing, from dust to dust.

Oh touch and heal, of numbness gone and heard

lay me down beneath the weight of heavy thunder

caress my skin with the pounding of rain, just storm

and let the tide pull me under and under.

I’ve got too many, the masks to hide

too much the scars, so ugly and worn

ease their way into humility, the proud soul denies it

until the wind is moving against the old wounds

and freedom there finds it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isn’t Love Possessive?

mouse step a way through the forest like

the sky isn’t glitter, pretend

it’s dark and no moon

light, none

so lost, get lost-er, so deep,

get deeper, too hurt,

it’s hurt-er

caught in the prickly vines, and

oh no, no one to rescue you, as if I’d let it,

let it happen, as if you weren’t precious,

my pretty little princess –

isn’t love possessive?

Love is Cotton Candy

Love is cotton candy

sugar and air

and standing there

in the rain

waiting

the bus that never comes on time.

and I was numb, I was numb, was numb, was numb

in the part where I shouldn’t feel numb, feel numb

it was dumb, so dumb, very dumb and numb

in the part, nicest parts, feeling dumb and numb.

put that on my tongue, pretty please on my tongue,

little stamp on my tongue,

sweet cotton.

erase all the need-

too embarrassing

the desire for eyes and lips

on my eyes and lips

hands on my hips

revealing

how you’d rather be numb than one, than one, than one

too much for your fun, not fun, not fun

your thumb on my tongue, now numb, so dumb

little stamp on my tongue,

sweet cotton.

 

 

 

 

 

Dancers and Waves

they moved to the music and I couldn’t hear, but their bodies

were like waves on the sea, flowing, rising, falling in time

forward, backward, surrounded by light, and the

warm glow of something inviting me from inside

that was fun and the simple enjoyment of life

and I paused to look in for quite a long while, so the

hands could keep time with the seconds of mine that was

beating so hard time stood still, that was beating so hard time stood

still. I walked on for a mile listening to the breeze, somewhere near was the

scent and the feel of the sea, something darkly deep that kept secrets from me

and I paused underneath the shelter of trees, watched water trickle on its way to the sea

catching the light from the bar down the street, every color reflected so sweet,

running in waves down the street.

Full Throttle

I want to feel it harder

be a bulldog looking into the eyes

of another bulldog; growler

not gonna back down-er

need to get a thrill, in my belly

a little bit nervous like jelly

going all full throttle; bottle rocket rocker

I’ve got to feel it harder,

Take me higher faller

don’t want to feel secure, feel safe,

or walk the line between leather and lace,

wanna sink my teeth in and fight to the death

rocking it louder all night-er

diving deep, giving all heart-er

and feel it.

 

 

Jam and Bread

It was jam and bread,

it was ice cold water

lemonade brandy

kisses underwater

strawberry chocolate

roses dipped in wine

ice cream Sunday

it was, “mine, all mine,”

jump in moments

just impulse moves

instantaneous

heart approves

 

 

 

 

 

hast thou? three questions and a brace

hast thou a wishbone?

a wishbone for me?

I’ll take a quarter ’til

a quarter past three,

stir it in my teacup

teacup and tea

spoon in some sugar,

some sugar for me.

hast thou a needle?

a needle and thread?

I’ll put a pin prick

in my bread,

pour over cream

until it’s dead

give it to Susie

standing on her head.

hast thou a corner?

a corner to share?

I’ve got a will o’whisp-er

in my ear

hot cross, hot cross

hot cross buns

give us a kiss and a

nickel of fun.

Tomato Sandwich

I just had to.  Send it out.

Sprinkle it with salt.

It wasn’t neat, not at all – it was

mayo spread thick over bread,

gushes over the edge

butter slapped onto it

onto the crusty corners sweet

and lavished with tomatoes

bright red juicy tomatoes –

the devil’s fruit, and I stacked ’em high

as I wish I were high as I wish I were high

and threw them out into the world

discus style – one here, one there-

here you go, provecho-

sandwiches, holy moly sandwiches

that collided into things and people and

things and people and things and people until

someone said, “I like tomato on bread with mayo

and butter and mayo and butter and mayo and butter

because the world is like that bright red juicy

green and blue and green and blue tomato.”

and someone else said, “Why?”

I  didn’t even know,

“Just DO it.” Oh Holy Muse,

thy dictate I shall obey,

Oh my Lover.

journal entry 8/2016

doesn’t matter who put me in it- this frame of mind,

who or what doesn’t matter – either way, I’ve been burned-

postal posted, blurry eyed, no way to deny it

if I don’t believe, don’t believe, don’t be

leaving soon, If I don’t begin believing soon,

I’ll die.

Just take the first step and know that

I know, though I might not know how,

somehow the next step will be there for me

waiting for me, I’ll see it, feel it lifting me

and if I just keep climbing, keep climbing up

I’ll fly.

These Changing Bodies

These changing bodies

fold and fold again

a many hued landscape-

capture the movement in the wind;

beneath the current of shallows

plays the genuine

of landscape, rearranging.

Quick to perform a ruse, and

shape again the light.

How soon from sunset unto dawn,

and then another night.

Such palette rolls across the face

like clouds across the sky

fades into its own beginning

as I sweep it all away

and move dust from one place to a new

as waves move the sea side shore.

How Quick I

Was how quick I to deepen glance

the reason our meeting be?

I’ll trifle not the shape of lips that

prefer I to mortal none

other than the words they shape

from ear to soul caress

of healing love thee transform,

and I do mostly bless.

 

Reapers

Two reapers walked out into the field,

where wheat, yellow and tall, stretched high

and gave it’s worship to the wind and sun

leaning and bowing.

Side by side, the reapers did hew

to the left and the right; each together

strong arms, swift swing of sickle, high to low

sharp and as round as the setting sun.

The rising harvest moon rose and approved

smiling down upon the lovers

who victorious fell into each other’s arms

leaning and bowing.

 

 

 

 

Grandfather Clock

That clock never ticked

although I love it so,

it never told time, no never told time

and it collected so much dust

looming down at me

disapprovingly

that I believed it did seem to say

I am real, IamIamIamIamIamIam

real as time is time is real

real as any other human being,

and it really was: walking, talking, breathing

down at me, dustily,

but it never did

tick, that clock.

Drawn in the Sand

waves come in, into the shore, rub up against silent musings

all the unspoken stories, the final ones, left behind- lines drawn in the sand

the willet and the sanderling, the small and gentle plover,

sea gulls come and mark them over, just in case, God didn’t see, or care,

or wasn’t listening, and tears away the words while picking for gems

left, lost behind, in the breeze, in the lines drawn in the sand,

on the shore while waves come in, rubbing up against all the small stones,

the fine grains, the powder soft grit, shells and driftwood,

until the tide rolls out and in and out and in and out and in

and some bird carries the words freely and quietly away

into the expanse of blue nothing they call a sky,

but sometimes a few of those words which slip and fall away

find themselves washed ashore again, spelled out amongst the seaweed,

unearthed from some watery grave, where

perhaps it should have stayed, but still that is how

I come to find myself silently musing over

your words once more, and they follow me again, and the waves come in.

 

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