Search

Adventure by Ollie

A Search for Purpose in a Random World

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.

 

Rocky River Bed

When I look in the hand glass, hand glass,

all I see is gold, see gold, see gold

shining up from the deep blue, deep blue

too deep for you in the clear blue, clear blue

rocky mountain river bed head, bed head,

and it’s not my fault dear, fault dear, not my

dear oh dear, that you wrecked your truck there, truck there,

there’s no despair for your truck dear, wrecked there,

couldn’t care, couldn’t care, couldn’t care less, care less,

for your mess, what a mess, such a mess,

mess you made, when you laid in my

blue mountain river bed head, bed head,

what I made in my sweet, what a sweet treat, sweet meat;

pretty little wrecked trophy, little trophy in my bed.

Home

Home in me,

and I in you,

the pulsing, raging, blood red lust

breathes against the window pane

creates a mist and drips beneath the heat

how we conquer mind numbing nothingness

beats me, beatsmebeatsmebeatsmebeatsmebeatsme

and I remember wishing she would just beat me like that

instead of blessing me with words like this,

“You’re worthless,” and “You’ll never be.”

and I agree, you are better at home in me –

How we kink it up, phone chord tangled around fingers and ask

how are you? No. No safe wordsnosafewordsnosafewordssafewordssafewords

just truth.

Body Talk

Talk about my body,

beautiful like yours,

curves that fill up the room

and continue to expand:

meant to be seen and tasted.

There is bread and butter; there is wine.

Let it overflow,

like heaven’s glory.

Let it come rushing –

deep water breaking free.

Your steps mean war –

SHAKE the EARTH WOMAN!

Let every animal, man, and spirit

know you are here.

We Live

we love we live we dance  we hope we dive

red ocean  blue ocean green of sea bed salt

the sky the clouds the rain the sun and all

the wrinkles tell great stories as scars reveal

weholdweholdweholdweholdweholdweholdweletgo

and much is snatched away in sudden time

the breath the wind the air inside and out

is step walking running flying being high

we cling we sing we live welivewelivewelivewelivewedie

abundant store of emotion and of mind

welovewelivewelaughweholdwesigh

wehopewedancewebreathewedivewecry

and oh the muchness of living we have done

in short amount of time

 

I Am, You Are

I am every eye,

I am the moon,

every rising, setting, eclipsing

all the seasons, the waves

splashing hard and fast upon every shore

as every kiss is wet and sweet, I Am, You Are

each bird song that thrills my heart and soul

the sparkle in every star

and I am every woman-

you,  every man

in every love story ever told.

 

My Face Reflected

like tree roots in an old graveyard

wasted is the day

staring into mirrors,

where no one comes any longer

to lay flowers,

to sit beneath trees,

to speak with dry bones.

make me not look in,

but let me dive,

and die

let the light embrace me.

leave me not with time.

every second sixty thoughts

crackle with the wind against the cold marble

and none of them,

upon examination,

contain my face reflected

in the twin pools of

thine eyes

or pondered within the expanse

of thine mem’ry.

let the dead carry their dead

cross over to life again.

waste not my coin

for I shall not waste yours.

 

Add the Brilliant Light

Oh to add the brilliant light

upon the feckless hills

and feel the satisfaction

of fancy alteration

to sum a word polite

in phrases of pure fire

and heal the broken bone

with nothing but a line

keel up, reel up, divide and multiply

the sound and feel is more of rhythm

than contrivance, what is?

more than my meat and potatoes?

Is it rounded on the tongue

and fitting in the groove?

Smooth as Casanova,

the mighty word Play.

 

Teacher for the Trembling

A trembling flame, he did not extinguish,

but blew gently to make it grow.

He earned the name others had bought

and was despised by many, even though

the others would demand the tearing out

of wicks, the elimination of all light.

Who then, wise one, desired to teach,

and who loved the pupils?

The One who did not tremble in the time of darkness;

who took away the shame of the weak.

I won’t hide there’s scars

can’t deny it

not in the game for it

seldom the mood

red ladders for climbing

red landmarks to keep

the path of my body

for the long haul

yes I have scars

and also you

red mountain jagged

steep cliff abounding

perfect nonsense

becoming personal

like a map

memorize each road by heart.

 

 

 

Tell Me How

the gods were jealous of us,

how we shone too brightly in the pool of heaven

Tell how

we were that which philosopher’s dreams were made of

sitting in the long dewy green grass and blue jeans

analyze the distant stars

count infinitude

Tell how

we were born in blood and hair and spit and tears

animal bodies tempered with spirit

fierce breathers of air, stomping into the earth

making plows of our feet and fingers

Tell how

skin felt so good to wear

leaping, laughing, jumping in deep water

sand between toes and the pleasure of pasta

Tell how

I was bitten and bit in return

tasting red, warm iron mixed with salt

fisted glory, rage and passion

how we fought, were overcome,

were conquerors

Tell the story

we dig for, seek in strange places and

find only in coming home.

Make jealous of us.

Tell me how

much like gods we are.

 

 

Crone Songs

Grow flower,

grow quickly,

before the daylight fades –

carrying with it

all the bright, beautiful birds.

Come again sweetly,

lend a feather to a friend

and nest with me.

Feathers or no,

dig a little deeper.

Caress – bud to sky and root to earth.

The rising tide of wings gather

in the setting light

exchanging colors with the sun.

Do not be afraid

when the day is done.

You will sit alone in the dark

and the moon will sing you her crone songs.

 

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: