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Adventure by Ollie

A Search for Purpose in a Random World

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Breathe in Me

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Get the hell out from behind my eyes

You, yes, I know I walked away from mine,

let you fall behind, pushing you far behind.

I can’t stand you, can’t let you breathe in me,

but without you everything is so boring.

I’m miserly.  Just let me make believe

that I can live a day without thinking of you,

I can be alone in a room without you.

Freedom is so much fun, being on my own,

and by the way, How the hell long have you been gone?

I’m demanding why you let me leave-

overturning and throwing things.

Go be a god in my universe

be the sun in my sky and my star at night

Be my Orion, I’ll be your dog star

chasing you with tongue panting like oh my god

sit in the heavens on a diamond throne

just as long

as you touch me and I feel you

breathe in me.

 

 

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Wrinkles and Youth; Lead the Way Toward a Free View on Aging.

Our modern society respects the youth culture. It believes being young is beautiful, but it’s actually quite naïve and stupid in many ways. It is our responsibility to reclaim the beauty, the sacred, the holy which is characteristic of aging. We can do this simply by choosing a different perspective. It is a choice.  We decide.  It’s conscious for some, and then others follow unconsciously – the herd mentality.  That’s how it works.  So what we’ve got to do is be the ones who lead the way.

The theme of wrinkles appear often in my writing.  I like the idea that they are words, sentences, stories which life has written upon our bodies – which we write ourselves upon our bodies as we live life and gain experience.  I choose to celebrate them.  I invite you to do the same.

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Let’s Play Once More

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before it’s time to go.

The clock rushes,

too soon another hour

dictates the measuring of life.

The work desk demands,

“what have you done today?”

The body says, “I’m weary,” and grows old.

The stubborn donkey feet declare,

“I’ve walked enough for one lifetime,”

then the soul is agreeing.

Don’t turn your eyes away from me.

Let’s play once more.

Taste the wine fully.

Laugh completely.

Tell every joke

and hide away

a little while longer.

Let breath, kisses, and love exceed that which is wise-

the One who measures all these

loves abundance.

 

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Higher than Can’t

photo by Neal Strydom Pixabay.com

they said, “You can’t do that,”

and so we did

every step.

There was no path –

we made one.

The steps we took,

were stumbling steps

feet upon gravel

not neat and swept.

No looking back –

hand in hand we rose,

higher than the cant’s.

“Can’t climb mountains.”

Good we didn’t listen,

here we are, at the top

and not ready to stop.

Now, to climb the clouds.

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curiosity

just to see what happens

when I do this

your mouth is drooling

all it took was a kiss

just to get a reaction

with mouth open wide

are you astonished

at my lack of pride

just to see what happens

now your eyes understand

how ordinary

and so very plain

are your own machinations

your own attempts

to acquire dominance

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The Best Stories

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Do not cry.

I will not die,

Child of my Daughter’s womb.

A fading tree in

the fading light-

not I.

Do you see these hands?

These wrinkles are words,

are sentences.

All the best stories

of life and love

are written here.

Is a book ever buried?

Only shelved.

 

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the minor temples

photo by Bessi at pixabay.com

lime green yellows

fold themselves to catch the rain.

the sun’s fading light reveals them to be

God’s minor temples.

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Ten Seconds

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to tell you how I feel

water rushes down my back

like Noah said

so why is my mouth dry?

Sahara.

Hot.

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Haiku Number Next (7)

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you put your hand here and squeeze

making wrinkles, oh the joy of

wearing them

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How to Write Poetry

girl writing

The poetry teacher says,

“The way to write poetry’s this:

Say what you want to say.

Say what is needed.”

everyone smiles teacher smiles

paint pretty preachers

hang them up to dry

by the newsreel.

say what you wanna say.

say what is needed.

everything spoken on display

art in museum

understand inventions

aha

say what you want to say.

say what’s needed.

magician trick for pay

like wine to water

and I am just a little bit cynical.

Say what I want?

What is needed?

Others expound,

able.

My turn.

Show ‘n tell;

how to say what? I want

to say…but, needed?

Pen pondering

then reading

two words:

It hurt.

 

 

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The Shape of My Glory

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There are no scars on my body

it’s just the look of my soul

surely marred and disfigured

but probably same as most.

There’s no tell-tale marking

to explain what’s beneath

sometimes the things that are hidden

are to hard to speak.

It’s just the limp of my heart

that fails to offer a home

to those who may be trustworthy-

best to not let them close.

There are no scars on my body

It’s just the shape of my soul

the shape of my glory

and the triumph of Hope.

 

 

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What I Ate Today

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Haha, this is not a poem.  This is prose Homes! What’s up? Hump Day is OVER.  Happy Dance.

I’ve been watching lots of YouTubers lately show me all they ate in a day.

I don’t have a YouTube channel (actually, I do, but there’s no videos there…so…) writing a blog now of what I ate for you and myself.  We be so obsessed with food, ya’ll.

Okay here we go.  I hope you’re not hungry, cuz if you are, your mouth is about to water.

So this morning I woke up at 6:00 AM.  The first thing I do in the morning is drink a glass of water and sit on the couch sipping water until I’m awake.  I drink water in the morning instead of coffee or tea…

so…

about an hour later, I’m sitting down to breakfast. It was:

warm lemon water

baked potato with

grass fed browned beef, black beans, avocado, tomatoes, and sliced olives.

It was delish. (Left overs for breakfast! LOVE a little cayenne pepper in the AM)

Filled up my tumbler with water and headed off to work, where I…

move, move, move, move, move

and by 9:30 I’m starving, so I ate:

a banana

which held me over for a few

at 12:00 noon, I’m a hunger bear

rabid, drooling, running people over on my way to my pretty pink lunch box

and I ate:

Asian chicken noodle soup with onions and carrots

a peach, a plum, some peach herbal tea

cuz that’s how I do it, don’t judge me, it’s how I was born

eating, hungry, sucking milk and making wild baby pig sounds

like: oink, oink, oink, coo. Adorable.

I filled my tumbler several times with water, so about 8 or 9 or 10 cups of water

I hate being thirsty

I drank a pond, a river, an ocean

a fish, a shark, a whale

and I’m still hungry

so at home for dinner I ate

a bowl of potato chips doused in plain, sour Kefir

I don’t know why I did, but I did.  Forgive me.  I ate it like a gorilla eats

whatever it is that a gorilla eats

and dessert?

a mango.

Are you inspired??? LOL Don’t forget to hit the like button and follow me on WordPress.

Blessings!

Friday is coming soon!

 

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The Hem of Your Garment

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I lay in the grass on the ground in the good night

feel the earth sigh beneath me, surrounded by breeze

white flowers dot the hillside reflecting moonlight

all bright points of light dance in a sea of darkness

where earth and sky confuse and merge into one

You are there, just there, I could almost touch

the hem of your garment and call you MINE

belonging to me, no one other

just your face shining down at me tonight

All the bearded smiles, the tender gazes

of a million stars, their bright reflecting faces

are a mirror of me, a mirror of you reaching

across the thin veil of space and time

I see you breathe, see the breeze all around me

I see your eyes, the moon shining up from deep water

I hear your voice, as leaves dancing through treetops

singing along with the music I hum

Take my hand, swing me out against the darkness

hold me close, waltz across dark matter

frictionless space where they spin forever

each spin an echo of your name

My hand in yours, now we’re blood bonded

you write my name on the walls of your heart

I memorize all your lines and your wrinkles

trace my fingers over all your scars

here in this moment and each one after

I’ll be an echo of your Name.

love echoes Love and the song that we sing

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Home Grown Bread

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grain bends beneath the wind’s rough hand

pets the Earth, her fur, her cheek, her tail

she’s loyal to her master, but he’s her slave

obsession

the grain bends low, the wheat, the chaff

hewn down for the making of home grown bread

and she is shaved of all her tress, trussed,

bereft

take the beauty of another for your own

given like treasure, queenly throne

but not without offering up your thanks

lest she turn and rend thee

no forgetting

as after all her children fed,

their bellies full from her own body,

rest and waken to plant new seed

for the tending of home grown bread

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all the lines

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O how I’d die

to wear your wrinkles

like silk against my skin

and read all the lines with

fingers and hands tracing

holding, caressing

sentences

the words

the voice

all tasted

and consumed.

 

 

 

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