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Adventure by Ollie

A Search for Purpose in a Random World

The Lonely Moon

Simple notes

Strung together like

Little pearls

Heaven help us

Tank’s running low

We’re turning on

A little road.

Circle back again

It’s a whisper

In the wind

Doesn’t matter

rain or shine

Clock is ticking,

Flowers wilting.

Why search

For peace?

Wheel needs

No grease

Let it squeak on

Rather moan

Honest songs

To the lonely moon.

teapot on the shelf

looking down at me

teacup on the floor

played too roguishly

no, not broken, please

have to keep myself

looking prettily

mustn’t crack a bit

she will frown at it

spinning round and round

little game I play

watch the colors spin

dancing in my clay

and that is the way

I fall on the ground

hear the teapot say,

“mustn’t crack a bit

she will frown at it.”

Something in the Night

from the village shore

mountains lift

muddled attempts

to Irish cider rules

one danced

twinkling

but I was tired,

so I blacked out

and around my

soft velvet chair

the party clamored

delighting in the night.

The Color Orange

Orange.

No. The sun was yellow.

It rose liquid above the

blank ribboned highway.

We were sped along it,

hands spread against the glass.

Below the light it lay, unmoving,

the blood soaked body,

and you begged it to suck air into lungs.

Open eyes. Scream out a loud high pitched

Orange.

No. The balloon was yellow.

It rose lifted and moved by the breeze,

unable to lay down anchor.

Naked tree limbs reached for it.

High, with fingers stretched out,

yet too far below enough

and the balloon drifted into a great,

wide crater colored

Orange.

No. The stars were yellow.

I sang below them,

all the songs you taught me to sing.

We knew, by heart.

All the notes flew into the dark sky.

Spilled themselves without shame,

Became a bright red firey

Orange.

No. The ball was yellow.

The mouth drooped downward

and the eyes searched mutely,

unable to shape words.

Sad sorrowful clown.

Paint on it a smile beautiful and bright

Orange.

No. The flame was yellow.

It beat hard and fast.

It was clothed in flesh and bone.

To the pain, it pleased and begged.

It did breath, after all.

Don’t tell me it was

Orange. I know what I saw, and I saw

The bright blue sky fill with warm pale light

beneath pink and purple clouds.

As long as I live I will never forget it’s hue.

It was

Orange.

Good and Well

Sleeps it well

And good

Rocking in the wind

Cradled thee between

Petals, my legs, my arms, my mouth

It’s a cave in the dark.

My heart heaves beneath a cage of bone

It possibly feels at home

It puts the kettle on,

At least, that’s what I hope.

Between the cradled wind

Rocking fiercely in the wind

Sleeps it in the wind

Good and well sleeps it.

The Suicide Letters

not pretty, the font

scrawled letters in case sensitive

type bold, ironic

everyday the same

grainy shades of gray

what is it? worth all?

to be here for some reason

aha, yes, ┬áthat’s it

the punch line, no joke

say it weak, you think

but it takes a lot of strength

holding these ribs together.

 

Exiled

on the Isle of wait

thing for another thing-

Waiting for a thing that isn’t drunk

on waiting.

Preach of want

Of need, of starvation

Of being too drunk-

Too many cupfuls of reaching out

without finding another to hold onto

too deep the bottomless pint of

needing

friendship,

needing

a listening ear,

Needing

Another.

Drink up the bitter brand

get drunk on lost loves and wear

Foam – the fear of dying alone

never anyone to carry me home.

drink the loneliness that waits

in an empty house

Drink empty stairs

Drink empty bed

Drink it drunk

And stamp it on my tongue

Stranger’s love as strange is better

Than waking

Hung over in the morning

On the Isle of wait

Exiled

How to Steal the Sun

She stole the sun!

At least,

I thought she did,

Viciously

Carelessly

Free

Just ipsidy dipsidy

So I left.

I walked away.

But, when I looked up

I saw

Following me

The sun!

That’s when I knew

I stole the sun, too.

She Did Not

but there were faces, uncovered,

In the wood grain

In the swirls of water washing over her calm body,

Speak of gray blue eyes,

Speak of sad questioning lips and

Pearl earlobes,

In the lines of dark and lite text,

In the spools of seagulls’ footprints,

And they were seen, they must have been,

In the mixing of sand and salt water

The current pulled them in

And pushed them under;

So all voices of waves, wind,

And gulls cried over

Her too calm body curved in the current

There on the shore.

And they begged her

with beating

to breathe,

to dance,

to play.

But she did not on that day.

Girl with Elephant

I gave my love to an elephant

Tied with a bow in box

She took it gladly, how elegant

Said she, she said I know

A way we both can lephagent

Like others seem to do

Tie a string around your legalant

And away we will go

Those below us all emoji-ed

And thought it such a trip

To see a girl and eleblimp

Fly so hip

 

Turtles Cross Here

Floweredly the counter bluebells

Ringing across the fields

Of sheep and baby

Lambs bleat in the sunlight

Rays streaking

Nude like over the valley

And I’m not drunk

Yet, quite dizzy though,

You’re to blame for

Turtles cross here

The white brickwork road

Leads to my bed somewhere

The end waits comforting with promises

Of sleep warm, so safe, so safe the words

echoing through the newly formed nights,

No love within them.

eight, nine, ten…

To have that ten back,

seconds tick away and the moment is passed

the present was right here in front of me:

blue eyes, round lips, arms like oh my god –

can I lick them? bite them? taste them? salt.

the gathering of words and stumbling

Why can’t my mouth say what my heart wants?

“I love you.”

Say it.

Three words, ten seconds…

The whistle blows,

final boarding.

I’ll write.

Me too.

eight, nine are leaving

ten turned to wave

all the world is a train is an airport

is the car driving away

is the melting horizon in sunset

and I can’t find my keys.

Driftwood

Driftwood

Where come did you go

And mango the flowering trellis

Like me

Small hands a bit clumbsying the way

Pastel chalk doth do

As the sea makes it’s market in the sand

Then recinds.

Can we lemonade the day

Salty sweet

Or will it drift away

Beneath of feet?

The Prince and the Princess

princess thought

frog he was not

handsome princely

said many

need never for

money to wed

beautiful and wealthy

not greedy

heart decided

it had found love

 

love found

had it

decided heart

greedy

not beautiful and wealthy

wed to money for never need

many said

princely handsome

not he

was frog

thought prince

Sun Rising

Sun, the rising of

East, welcoming

birdsong chorus-ers

flowering, skies blue

beckoning me unto

but feel it I do not

can’t see top to bottom

and

bottom to top.

See? Can not.

Do I it feel,

but unto me, beckoning:

chorus-ers, birdsong,

blue skies, flowering?

Welcoming,

east of rising,

the Sun.

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