Recent Reviews for Odin Roark
Perceptions (Book) - 12/4/2012 4:10:02 PM|
Big Congratulations on this, Odin Roark! ~~ Diana Legun
ECHOSIS (Book) - 12/4/2012 11:51:32 AM
Quite a rant - nice symbolism at the end, wild geese in Spring ... hopeful ...
ECHOSIS (Book) - 12/4/2012 7:55:42 AM
A fine accomplishment.
You've birthed something unique here, Kent, which, by all appearances, may translate well into a dramatic movie. All the best with your new tome.
ECHOSIS (Book) - 12/3/2012 4:03:26 PM
Heavy stuff. It interests me, but its length is a challenge to this engineering reader of short stories. I was already editing the excerpt. May check back later on this creative piece.
Prosetry at Work (Book) - 6/10/2012 9:04:54 AM
Congrats on your book. I don't have a poetry book and probably won't unless there's some demand, somewhere.
3 WAY MIRROR (Book) - 4/15/2012 3:17:22 PM
Glad I didn't read your excerpt here before I commented on your "Darkness Three," because some answers are in this excerpt. Now I want to know the whole story. Belonging to AuthorsDen might be a boost for Amazon and the creative someones who tread this website; I may need to boost my employment! ~~ Diana
When the Wheels Stop Turnin' (flash fiction) (Short Story) - 5/20/2013 8:08:59 AM
Good story, a lot like my grandparents. They used to argue about little things like that for hours and never got anywhere.
When the Wheels Stop Turnin' (flash fiction) (Short Story) - 5/20/2013 2:39:03 AM
Nomadic Heart (Short Story) - 3/29/2013 2:57:40 PM
Odin, this is gorgeous. I see a splash of visceral everything in your style here, fresh and effective. I go to my knees for this vignette. The very brevity is the juice of its essence and right there in the center of its scarce is the tail of that last sentence: "...her reflection is still there in his eyes." How you could condense so much in this brevity and have me needing nothing more.....is wizardly. I don't think this could have had the same effect in poetry-form. Even the title is stunning. ~~ Diana ** P.S. "...deserved wind in her hair," beautious!
Nomadic Heart (Short Story) - 3/29/2013 9:50:45 AM
In the end, after all those dogs, she found a real dog. ;-)
So true for so many that go to the city. Most return to that dismal little town, marry a guy they don't like, and lead boring lives.
Nomadic Heart (Short Story) - 3/29/2013 8:52:43 AM
Nomadic Heart (Short Story) - 3/29/2013 7:43:24 AM
Hauntingly beautiful and heart-breakingly real. My spirit really 'felt' for the unhappy Jane, lost in her loneliness ...and then for poor little Reggie - alone again - He now carries the wounded heart.
You have a way with words that really appeals to my nature and plays my emotional strings.
6 Sec. Trailer (Short Story) - 3/26/2013 5:54:39 AM
All the better for multitasking my dear. Why, they could watch it while driving and texting (or was that sexting?) before you could text a three letter expletive! I can't wait for the DVD of the dash–cam sometime next year. Russian cameras are already here.
6 Sec. Trailer (Short Story) - 3/26/2013 4:10:10 AM
yep just like it is
Surreal Dummy (Short Story) - 3/11/2013 5:53:49 AM
Not as surreal as one might think, but quite original. But I love the perspective and the contrast between the highbrow city (manikin) and lowbrow country (dummy). I haven't read anyone who wrote from the perspective of a window showcase before and it's quite refreshing.
I can't help thinking about old age when the dummy is left in some attic or barn loft for many years, only to be discovered by pickers in decrepit condition like some corpse dug up from the grave and deposited in someone's living room as a curiosity piece of artwork.
Surreal Dummy (Short Story) - 3/10/2013 3:05:01 PM
hey i spent a lot of my youth in Tishamingo, Oklahoma
Surreal Dummy (Short Story) - 3/10/2013 10:11:55 AM
I've been to New York perhaps 6 times. But I never really knew much about the city until I read your observations. You have shown me a lot of missing pieces, and in ways I would never have imagined. Keep writing. Retirement will take care of itself.
Surreal Dummy (Short Story) - 3/10/2013 10:02:38 AM
Poor old Manny Quinn, driven potty by flies, the only friends to be found in that God-forsaken window. Such a come-down from the glory days.
Glad you spared him a thought.
Reality Becoming... (Short Story) - 2/13/2013 1:50:37 AM
An interesting look at the great divide - what money can buy and what it cannot - what luxury is and what it can never be. The mentality that feeds each side of the coin betrays itself starkly here.
Animal Chain Atrocities (Short Story) - 1/19/2013 4:33:33 AM
We are the 'animals', no doubt in my mind at all. We are the barbaric, selfish, arrogant race who think we are superior and yet refuse to see what is right in front of us.
There are a small number of us who cannot ignore the truth - but the selectively blind are many. Let's hope we can find a way to educate the many. We really don't need to treat these creatures so badly.
Hunger Pangs (Short Story) - 1/8/2013 7:18:08 PM
there is something very interesting about the roach and the cat and your mind and it's freedom from bars freedom of imagination. I'd say imagination has eternity if you allow no one to stop it. who's hungrier, so to say.
Counting Backwards (Short Story) - 1/8/2013 7:05:07 PM
The snipets of things we hold on to that we think identify us, that we hold so dear, or possibly the things we need to let go off.
Empty Airports (Short Story) - 12/18/2012 7:17:34 PM
this one gives us a journey into the various objects that segregate our lives into bits of waste without cause, i liked this a lot
Empty Airports (Short Story) - 12/18/2012 3:44:34 PM
I like the zoom in zoom out of this writing. The touchpoints you author are excitedly akin to mine (three things I wish had never been invented: time, money and guns). So the "companion-slave" rings recognition for me, "That luxuries could stave off Time" hits two-in-one (two out of three for me). The zoom in of "...eight hundred pairs of eyes/Peer out the windows" is great held up next to the zoom out of:: "...tiny dots of life/Swallowed by the shadow/Of this behemoth with wings.." I love the interjected: "But.../It's getting late." Marvelous. From watch to runway and outdistancing time, I like the empty airports visage being something "hopeful." I like this whole thing. ~~ Diana
It's Only Fair (Short Story) - 11/19/2012 10:13:06 AM
If this is a true story of your life, what a treasured piece of past. And if it is your past, no wonder personification comes so naturally into your writing. No wonder the tenderness, the detail, the wisdom. This writing leaves a deep impression, but a light and respectful footprint. I think it matches yours. ~~ Diana
DARKNESS THREE (Short Story) - 11/15/2012 5:19:48 PM
a very well written and interesting story Odin
It's Only Fair (Short Story) - 11/13/2012 8:55:06 AM
Among his many failed ventures, when he was aged, my grandfather tried truck farming for a couple of years, raising Indian corn, potatoes, two kinds of strawberries, peanuts, watermelon, and cantaloupe--some exotic for Wisconsin. That failed, too, but the time my brother and I spent there, helping with the bountiful harvest and picking wild berries in the brush was a precious experience, like having a grandfather like yours as a mentor on how to be gentle with the land.
It's Only Fair (Short Story) - 11/12/2012 2:10:21 PM
What an uplifting phrase to carry through life! And what a wise teacher. If we could all agree often enough so that we could look at each other and say "It's only fair," think of the possibilities!
It's Only Fair (Short Story) - 11/12/2012 1:18:42 PM
an interesting tale of learning
Hunger Pangs (Short Story) - 10/23/2012 10:17:19 AM
No one writes just like you write, Odin. I mean that as a tribute to your voice. The uniqueness of your language reads for me like a performance so fascinating one doesn't want it to end and cares not about any clock. Your poems are studies. I study them. They always, always deliver treasure. This one's treasure is present in the layers upon layers. "Cloning the vacuum of isolation," then naming the articles of isolation is tremendously effective. The way you introduce a 'guest' joining, we immediately think it is a person. A treat of a trick, as is 'dark cell in his mind,' which had me interpreting a morose synapsis cluster of brain cells, but bars then clarify the meaning of prison. Even the very next line where reflection erases the bars is so visual and literal when picturing the refection (mirror image of himself/room) literally has no bars; they are in his mind. But the coup de grace could well be foodifying the elements of emotional hunger pangs. In the last stanza, I see two meanings of the word 'reflections' both commensurate with the context of this writing....the window glass's cloning of the scene, and the 'recollection' of (reflecting back upon) anything. Both know not lying. Excellent, excellent. ~~ djl
Lest We Forget To Remember (Short Story) - 9/1/2012 8:58:12 AM
Thanks for steering me to Jack Kerouac, On The Road. From reading this of yours, I feel like I've cracked open a leather-bound book of truth and substance. I get a sense of smell from this poem, stale-smoke-smelling pages of books, of notebooks, which you bring out so well in your words of humble states of bedsheets, bugs, mold, noise, dirt.... gritty real people conditions that include smart, capable people of no means beyond your eclectic description "quiet echoing of honesty/Fused with the recycled air of love and passion/Inhaled and exhaled ever so humbly" . . . . wonderful "Regardless of acceptance." I like the word "uncompromised." Miller and Nin. This writing breathed off the page, Odin. ~~ DIana
Cavemen in Tuxedos (an editorial) (Article) - 5/21/2013 4:16:39 AM
I cannot decide whether to wear my bearskin or thatch to the event ... powerfully put, Odin. Perhaps you are the philosopher king, or its herald.
Ghost Town Ghosts (Article) - 8/19/2012 6:23:49 AM
We have no freedom. Few of us would last if the umbilical cord to big money corporations were cut. We get our mobility from the MiddleEast, manipulated by big oil and commodity brokers. We get our power from a corporate grid. We get our food from corporate farms and overfishing the seas. With our pistols, our generators, our tank of gas, and our emergency stock of food, we wouldn't last a month without these tits we suck on.
Who are we kidding? Only us. The old west is gone. We aren't a cowboy movie. We are codependent on big money and we don't know it.
Revealing write. I can see the tumbleweed already.
Ghost Town Ghosts (Article) - 8/18/2012 9:59:30 AM
Oh, I'm beginning to subscribe to the notion that we are most assuredly whores. without the benefit of being kissed, they just ram it up our ass. I'm glad I lived in an era where there was a facsimile of freedom, morals and firm handshakes that meant something
Note to Self (Article) - 7/17/2012 8:11:32 AM
Reading this is very appropriate to me today, Odin. I like and concur with this 'Note to Self'. I wonder, reading this, if you have always felt this truth of nature, even when you were young and just starting out in the 'human need' for enhancement. My son right now is solo backpacking along Kesugi ridge in Alaska; and I hope he can feel what you write in this article, as he is surrounded by the members of nature who know themselves and just 'are'. College degrees, titles, achievements, expectations weigh heavy on our youth as they look at the bleakness of their potential to grow healthy in the current global-society malaise. Would that being in nature (hiking is free) could bring them respite of what it has brought to you in this writing. Thank you ~~ DIana
Note to Self (Article) - 7/17/2012 8:01:20 AM
I appreciate the philosophical perspective that you have shared via your verses here, Odin. I love the comparisons. Love and peace to you,
Note to Self (Article) - 7/16/2012 4:16:25 AM
Because of her moods, we name the seas after ladies, and mountains after their discoverer. With one exception, the Grand Tetons, The greatest pair of natural tits ever.
Some mountains, like the Matterhorn are made of sea floor sediment.
Note to Self (Article) - 7/15/2012 3:40:41 PM
This human (some might question that claim) is very happy who he is. Admittedly, it took me quite a while to get to this point, but so what? I'm here.
Essay on Poetic Theory (Article) - 5/27/2012 4:26:08 PM
Interesting post Odin! sometimes the why's and how's aren't as amazing as how it reads. or how timeless something appears to be in any art medium.
Essay on Poetic Theory (Article) - 5/25/2012 3:07:22 PM
While I recognize some, not all, of the great American poets discussed. I have never studied poetry history and don't know who George Oppen was having never read anything by him before.
Therefore, without considerable study, I find his musings too dense for me; perhaps, totally un-understood. But classic to those in the know.
Finding Home (Poetry) - 5/21/2013 6:22:09 PM
Finding Home (Poetry) - 5/21/2013 6:06:16 PM
This sounds of a transportation to a personal space, something that home can't quiet define, if it is in the sense of a comfort; Maybe the object of the game on this blink of a view, meaningless stop, and pointless endeavor; is to make it matter.
Dying Alive (Poetry) - 5/21/2013 6:03:48 AM
Perfectly phrased and purposefully poignant.
Sets itself firmly in the mind for future perusal.
Dying Alive (Poetry) - 5/21/2013 5:29:44 AM
According to the grand scheme of things, all living things must die and be replaced by their offspring, genetically better to occupy the niche provided for them. We humans have broken out of our niche and now are occupying everything. According to your poem, I hope we can all die with a clear mind. There are some that will, like Andrew Carnegie and Bill Gates, do this while they're still alive, but there are many whose names we don't know who will carry their misdeeds to their death.
An uplifting message we all should heed.
Dying Alive (Poetry) - 5/21/2013 12:14:22 AM
Very properly put.
Dying Alive (Poetry) - 5/20/2013 5:33:57 PM
Life's full basket hoisted upon the
shoulders of experience. Well written poetry.
Lady Mary Ann
Dying Alive (Poetry) - 5/20/2013 2:50:35 PM
Dying Alive (Poetry) - 5/20/2013 12:32:44 PM
so very true and well penned
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/20/2013 3:05:24 AM
A much needed sanctuary indeed, especially these days.
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/20/2013 2:52:47 AM
yes i agree with those before me, such a cleansing time
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 5:21:39 PM
this is a ritual of privacy that can't be missed! especially with the chaos.
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 2:59:27 PM
When you have laid on a hospital bed for weeks, boy does that first shower awaken you to life. Your contemplations are not remiss to this old head of mine each morning I shower.
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 1:00:48 PM
...miles from nowhere... ...guess I'll take my time... ...to reach there... ...to reach there... ...some folks like to roll on roads... ...gives them comfort and serenity.... ....like your showerhead liberation... ...like to look out at the road running under my wheels... ...keeps me from running on empty... whether it's Cat or Jackson or the Eagles or Odin... the song remains the same... ...peace... ...mighty peace... ...that peaceful, easy feeling... ...I know it won't let me down... ...long as I keep standing my ground... ...taking solace in whatever sanctuary I have found...
...have a good long weekend, Odin...
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 7:10:54 AM
Yes, a morning shower is one of life's treasures. No matter your mood or circumstance, it will enlighten you––except if the hot water is off! It also is a blessing for those around you during the day. Cleanliness is not only godliness, it makes you pleasant to be around.
When I told my grandfather that I showered every morning at the dormitory (we didn't have a shower, just a bathtub, at home), he admonished me for taking a shower more than once a week, all that was necessary. “All that hot water on on your head every day is going to make you bald.” Like both my grandfathers at my age, I still have a healthy head of hair. I guess my grandfather's old men's tale was wrong.
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 6:38:31 AM
Humble resonance..for all to embrace..the coolness
or the steam of desired serenity. Loving the lather
and the rinsing of the calm. Enjoyed!!
Lady Mary Ann
Showerhead Liberation (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 6:02:48 AM
The shower is my refuge! Demands of the day have to wait and I can have my quiet, peaceful shower time with no interruptions. Enjoyed your poem!
Doors and Entrances (Poetry) - 5/19/2013 2:10:32 AM
The next doorway one approaches
Will greet with the forever question
How so very true, just about each and every day.
Doors and Entrances (Poetry) - 5/18/2013 1:52:06 PM
ahhh.... to enter lewd the interlude or to miss a cue in the mis en scene... whether tis nobler in the mind's eye to wander past why not towards wine or dine or to bear far dells while teasing tolling bells for thee or me or one other son along the road not taken (or other what ifs)... these are a few of my favourite rings among the many bells whose toll remains unpaid like a debt one owes to a poem whose "Doors and Entrances" may be ajar full of change, loose, compact, clever, or contrived to create much more than a quaintly conceived exit strategy... at any rate, this play on much more than words is an excellent, a marvelous miracle of rare device!
Doors and Entrances (Poetry) - 5/18/2013 10:56:54 AM
You are in your forte when you use the theater to express your thoughts and poetry.
I'll never forget the time I opened the Green Door and found the Ivory Snow girl behind. ;-)
Doors and Entrances (Poetry) - 5/18/2013 5:16:23 AM
Such a fertile, non-stop mind. It must be abuzz in there, and yet laid out with hot discipline and a spray of detours. Always enjoyable and arresting. Thanks. Jan
Mind's Labor Camps (Poetry) - 5/17/2013 9:03:46 AM
Wisdom comes slow to some, especially the youth whose hormones drive them away from reality until they're caught up in paternity and the drudgery of life and work. But in the end, is it worth it?
Mind's Labor Camps (Poetry) - 5/17/2013 2:40:46 AM
Quite a title, poem, and picture.
Mind's Labor Camps (Poetry) - 5/17/2013 2:13:03 AM
much to consider in this before the sunset
Mind's Labor Camps (Poetry) - 5/16/2013 4:02:36 PM
Parental captivity, to corporate slavery, through familial obsessions. One begins to wonder if in fact they have any choices at all. Leaving the comfort zone of familiarity is not so east perhaps.
Funhouse Distortion (Poetry) - 5/16/2013 12:27:20 PM
Freaks can be very interesting after all, as many of us remind ourselves when we look in the mirror...
Funhouse Distortion (Poetry) - 5/16/2013 12:15:34 PM
To use the word fun house for the tragicomic world of the freak show reveals our baser side. There isn't much fun in the world of freaks.
However, I've often found that authors here view themselves through rose colored glasses and distorted mirrors to their own detriment. It sure helps to have a good understanding of oneself before going out into the world and leaving the fun house behind.
Funhouse Distortion (Poetry) - 5/16/2013 5:02:06 AM
hmmm i different way of self examination
Rust-framed Reflections (Poetry) - 5/15/2013 2:06:31 PM
Teasing all that still glitters..diehard honor.
Memories of those bygone but treasured beauties.
Lady Mary Ann
Rust-framed Reflections (Poetry) - 5/15/2013 8:16:49 AM
I'm always fascinated with junkyards and you have written a beautiful exposé of their attraction. I'm like a bee that is attracted to chrome, offset by rust.
When my younger brothers were small and I had to go to a junkyard to get parts for my car, they would run about the yard and jump in and out of cars, pretending to drive each one. Both have gone on to restore old sports cars. My greatest thrill was actually driving a 1935 Ford coupe that my brother and I rescued for $100. The key to the thrill was that it was powered by a substantial Cadillac engine rather than the anemic for Flathead it came with. That engine was also its demise when I wrote the car at 80 mph.
Rust-framed Reflections (Poetry) - 5/15/2013 2:20:43 AM
those memories are well visited here by what you have penned
Cobblestones Gasping (Poetry) - 5/14/2013 11:15:57 AM
An interesting juxtaposition between the paved roads of Rome sending out conquering armies and bringing back spoils to enrich the rich, eventually leading to the faux paving the road to riches and excess on Rodeo Drive…
Cobblestones Gasping (Poetry) - 5/14/2013 11:12:40 AM
I'll take the opportunity to touch history every time. I take huge delight in the fact that my house was built in the 16th Century and the incredible inspiration it offers. People were born and died here. Children grew up with their childhood hiding places. Wars tore into its fabric and it was repaired and strengthened. I even found a secret space behind the chimney in which there was a German pocket watch, a rosary and a pair of 100 year old shoes. If only the walls could talk.
...there now - see what you inspired? :o)
Cobblestones Gasping (Poetry) - 5/14/2013 5:24:52 AM
yes the differnce between the two is staggering
Cobblestones Gasping (Poetry) - 5/14/2013 2:55:11 AM
Treading Empty Headed - how so true and how so sad that we human beings so easily ignore the past.
Cobblestones Gasping (Poetry) - 5/13/2013 6:08:25 PM
I like the fulcrum tipping point pulse that lies at the heart of this reverie, whose tone is at first almost Keatsian, almost redolent of "Ode on a Grecian Urn"... but after the crucible crescendoes its crux upon our consciousness, we are left with perhaps little more than the future of an illusion (or other Freudian slips)...
Age (Poetry) - 5/13/2013 10:27:39 AM
Builds to a beautiful summation, Odin. I find it quite fascinating that "a house of many rooms" is a constant and unfailing picture of how we see our being inhabiting time/space in whatever dimension. Whatever our state, we seem to have this need to "be" somewhere that's imaginably concrete. And I very much like how you tie in the concept of time passing by weaving in our experiences of the natural world - which, actually, exists within a very much larger timeframe. The restless human spirit seems endlessly soothed and able to find it 'true' perspectives when calibrating itself with nature. So good to read you again. xx
Age (Poetry) - 5/13/2013 8:02:51 AM
Wise and wonderful, like spring reminds us that what died last fall will come back in spades by summer.
Age (Poetry) - 5/13/2013 2:20:52 AM
a so agree just the turning of a page
Poem as Surrogate (Poetry) - 5/12/2013 10:22:50 AM
The only thing that I can think of is that you are writing about the way a poet captures a temporary thought and puts it down on paper (ether space) where it no longer is temporary but resides forever on the Net.
Poem as Surrogate (Poetry) - 5/12/2013 9:58:10 AM
could but so be true
Poem as Surrogate (Poetry) - 5/12/2013 9:56:34 AM
love the paradox you close this with: "temporary forever" ...tis a far, far briefer eternity that awaits those souls upon whose fleeting fame forever rests until moment becomes just another memento in time... ... and your photo does tease one out of thought like a debt owed to a Grecian Urn! Happy Mother's Day cause this is a mother of a poem.
Colorless Tears (Poetry) - 5/12/2013 6:07:50 AM
Control Mongers indeed, the right way or wrong way. How often we throw the baby out with the bath water. At times risk is worth it for the reward. ~ Morgan
Colorless Tears (Poetry) - 5/12/2013 3:44:37 AM
Another fine line, "actuality's hardened muscles" - the word actuality is used rarely enough these days, never in this way, I'm guessing. And where do you find such appropriate visuals for your poems?
Colorless Tears (Poetry) - 5/12/2013 2:55:08 AM
a wondeful piece written of ones ability to risk
Colorless Tears (Poetry) - 5/11/2013 8:47:11 PM
Observation's eloquent gift..the always present sense of truth or not
"Colorless Tears" courageous this willingness to risk..
Lady Mary Ann
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/11/2013 3:31:05 PM
I believe we heal without pain but the lessons learned are not deep as in life's experiences. Yes we do need to feel what is contrasting to understand love. There is no darkenss without light so therefore, reality does not set in well without those experiences.
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/11/2013 11:13:06 AM
I once saw a student at our university in a wheelchair with a huge raised scar on his arm with a symbol I have forgotten. I asked the woman who insisted that disabled students about it and all she said was, “low self-esteem.”
We all have our slings and arrows if we have lived life and all. However, I think the deepest scars, the ones that kill us, are our lifestyles. Killing us softly from within.
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/11/2013 4:36:38 AM
That 'chameleon of pain' phrase is classic. It has a billion lifetimes in it. One of your best!
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 8:21:04 PM
Oh, how I can relate! "Damage never dies - Anguish never vanishes". Oh, that they would!
Scattered Ash (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 7:53:31 PM
Where fresh finger-paints of infancy become
infinity's next masterpiece..a perspective of tomorrow's pages.
Lady Mary Ann
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 7:48:17 PM
Transient peace..wishing one to live nt languish
Splendid write..Beautiful the image.. conveys the chameleon
Lady Mary Ann
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 6:41:24 PM
Scars are in everyone's life. Emotional scars we try to hide from the world but some see a glimpse. Excellent heartfelt piece.
Bella (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 5:11:05 PM
I have Uncle who is a dairy farmer, on a small scale. A wonderful poem.
Scattered Ash (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 5:08:26 PM
This was an interesting read . enjoyed.
Scar-like Healings (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 5:06:24 PM
The first two stanza's hit home for me. The constant balancing, that could be it's own poem. Do things not heal because a lesson wasn't learned? Or was the cut a cut an endless open wound. Maybe you have to know Joy to realize you need to move away from pain. I really like this piece.
Scattered Ash (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 11:03:29 AM
Omni science or cosmic view, it works. The old adage, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” still applies as our molecules change throughout our lives and finally disintegrate into the elemental building blocks of the next infantile creation that will carry life further than it's ever been before.
A wonderful, far-reaching introspective of how important we really are in the scheme of things.
Scattered Ash (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 3:18:52 AM
Love your last stanza - and the way I want to go.
Scattered Ash (Poetry) - 5/10/2013 2:46:58 AM
they now float free and settle as they will
Malignant Avarice (Poetry) - 5/9/2013 9:48:35 AM
You're right. It all starts out so innocently with doting parents and grandparents showering the kids with what they never had, all with very good intention to make their children happier than they were when they were child. Until one child gets a craving and starts to grow beyond his needs, eventually taking over his psyche, stealing from others and hoarding to satisfy his need more, more… more. Someone else ends up with less. It is a disease infesting most Americans.
Have you seen the commercial by AT&T's U-Verse? Some reporter is talking to a focus group of children and asking questions about what they want by way of cable. One little girl gets excited and says she wants, “More, more, more,… More! The report concludes that, “More is better.” I'm sure that everyone buys it.
PS. My friend's mother found out that her son was smoking. When he came home from high school, she sat him on the front step and made him smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in one sitting. Needless to say, he threw up. He never smoked again.
Malignant Avarice (Poetry) - 5/9/2013 4:52:13 AM
'adolescent hormonal voracity' - 'long ago the child giggled' - 'gluttony and greed remained' - wonderfully horrible descriptions of the monster who walks among us, perhaps is us. Leaves a shiver, and a bit more resolve. Many thanks. Jan
Malignant Avarice (Poetry) - 5/9/2013 2:09:05 AM
yes the enemy is there but do we see it
Ladybug (Poetry) - 5/8/2013 11:26:22 AM
And a mighty fine aphid scavenger, too.
Ladybug (Poetry) - 5/8/2013 7:16:12 AM
A 'ladybug' one of Nature's needlepoints of beauty.
To that sweet smile on the fingertips of a child.
Loving this joy!!
Lady Mary Ann
Ladybug (Poetry) - 5/8/2013 2:28:56 AM
they are just as you have so wonderfully said
Ladybug (Poetry) - 5/8/2013 2:28:28 AM
One of nature's beauties indeed, and a marvelous visitor.
Gorging On Opinions (Poetry) - 5/7/2013 2:04:14 PM
Gorging On Opinions (Poetry) - 5/7/2013 10:54:01 AM
Guilty as charged.
Cogwheel Ballet (Poetry) - 5/6/2013 7:16:17 PM
Elegant and graceful the pic and the poem. Enjoyed it.
Screenpoem Pitch (Poetry) - 5/6/2013 4:25:01 AM
The circus images in a western setting are quite vivid. Even the idea of a flash flood. I sure would like to see the video of this. A reality show like Freak Show.
Screenpoem Pitch (Poetry) - 5/6/2013 3:10:13 AM
a varying way to view what you have given us here
Screenpoem Pitch (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 5:39:55 PM
...like a baroque riff on an electrified acoustic, an aromatic whiff of carnival coquetry amplified in quaint overtones of evanescent phosphor, then spiced with shades of darker carnival forces where something wicked (wicked in the sense of connoting an affirmative intensifier) this way comes out of the fantastic into suffused and spectral twilight, and haunted like a lost and phantom limb in the limber lost dusk of a bodily transference that feels for all the world like an out of body experience whose sentience overlaps with a force of nature and whose essence is a transcendence anthropomorphizing from an ethereal space beyond time... and out of this world... (Mr. Bradbury would approve! as do I...)
Screenpoem Pitch (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 5:12:20 PM
Ever changing scenes of surreal all wrapped up in less
than a moment then quiet..Splendid!
Lady Mary Ann
Screenpoem Pitch (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 3:51:03 PM
Son of a gun if this isn't just so life like. Will send me to bed with a purr.
Screenpoem Pitch (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 12:35:02 PM
that was cool.
A Whispered Blink (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 10:18:58 AM
This deserves an appropriate comment, but I can't define it. I listened and looked too long.
Bella (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 7:49:25 AM
A beautiful, iconic bit of history, when having a cow made all the difference to a poor farmer with little land or substance.
Got me thinking about a picture I saw in the annual calendar from the Wisconsin state historical society of a Wisconsin farm in the early 1900s. A few cows stood in knee-deep mud by a log barn. The caption said that they were probably diseased or starving after a long winter with only hay for food.
In 19th-century Europe, most family cows were probably emaciated like that.
Cogwheel Ballet (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 6:29:52 AM
I go back and forth as to whether a picture and poem should ever be put together. Does the poem work if you need a visual? In this case I actually like the exact picture you have. neat poem.
Bella (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 5:07:23 AM
In the human experience, that is elemental! Spot on ...
Bella (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 4:25:09 AM
Expressions held deeply in the huge moist eyes of "Bella"
Lady Mary Ann
Bella (Poetry) - 5/5/2013 12:21:05 AM
Beautiful, Odin, and poignant. Brought tears to my eyes. You have expressed the one factor that most people would overlook - that of the life from the cow's point of view. It must have been very hard (for those who cared)to know that the animal was needed, whether or not her keep could be afforded, that their poverty was her poverty and their hardships were her hardships.
Bella (Poetry) - 5/4/2013 4:19:00 PM
I'm aware that many of the best 19th century writers were practitioners of realism. How could they not like this?
What if... (Poetry) - 5/4/2013 12:06:51 PM
Sadly, I haven't read Kafka. But I believe your poem is clear enough to give me a clue as to your direction. While I tend to think that intelligent life will tend toward the way that we look because natural selection favors a certain number of appendages, eye placement, and even body hair to a certain extent. That's why there are so many illustrations of what highly intelligent aliens may look like.
Back to your poem. You're right. Most of the ideologues in government would be mightily awakened if they came across intelligent life from another planet. so would you and I.
What if... (Poetry) - 5/4/2013 7:44:24 AM
Your words awaken thought, Odin; what if, indeed? I appreciate the philosophical perspective that you present. Thank you. Love and peace,
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 5/4/2013 5:05:15 AM
oh no , Odin, flowers that never open were never meant to be given? It takes care to find the right vase, the right light, to tend to growth. Maybe it means the one receiving was not ready to take, not ready to believe in the possibility. Or too, maybe just not wanted.
I'd Rather love and wilt generously. ;) An amazing thought provoking piece.
What if... (Poetry) - 5/3/2013 11:06:20 PM
Now that would surely be an almighty blow to the vain and arrogant among us. Of course their protests could make things very awkward for the rest of us.
Love the path your mind takes sometimes - completely off the wall but not beyond the realms of possibility - What do we know!
Cogwheel Ballet (Poetry) - 5/3/2013 9:47:10 AM
Sustain's the dancers cacoon...gracefully yet pouring energy
Lady Mary Ann
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 5/3/2013 9:42:19 AM
Flowers..lifting breath's fragrance to a smile
for a dream realized known by few..Lovely write.
Lady Mary Ann
Cogwheel Ballet (Poetry) - 5/3/2013 9:09:12 AM
Reminds me of Paul Simon's, The Boxer. You have written the dance of the urban worker very well.
A Kid's Museum Day (Poetry) - 5/2/2013 12:45:08 PM
Wonderful the memories of such a boy now six. We took him
to Clyde Peelings Reptiland. Quite the experience of adventure
for him. Mechanical dinosaurs, reptiles and turtles. "They were
real!!" "Don't get too close!" Splendid write.
Lady Mary Ann
A Kid's Museum Day (Poetry) - 5/2/2013 6:55:51 AM
Brings back memories. Long after I was 40 pounds, I still love to go to museums. Only I don't know what “taws” are? I must be either too young or not enough from the corn-try to understand? I know, I could look it up right here on Google, but for now it will be a childhood mystery.
And then, you surprised us with a new scene, like in a play, where history doesn't seem to matter much except to bring back memories of those bad times and people lost. Like World War I to my grandmother.
I just scanned an old family album like that and was fascinated with all the pictures I hadn't remembered. I didn't find them sad at all.
Have you ever wondered why those portraits taken long ago show the people in mostly very glum stern looking moods. For one, a lot of them didn't want their picture taken because they knew from the mirror that life hadn't been too good to them. Secondly, most of them didn't smile because the photographer told them to cover up their bad or missing teeth. Hugh Hefner does that with every one of his pictures now. I guess all that pipe smoking and all those Pepsis have stained his teeth. It must be his money that reels those young girls in.
A Kid's Museum Day (Poetry) - 5/2/2013 12:41:55 AM
yes the young have not created those memories as yet
A Kid's Museum Day (Poetry) - 5/1/2013 5:43:50 PM
I recently took a child to the modern museum. The featured artist was a graffiti artist....they couldn't have been more bored!! This is a wonderful poem, Odin.
LIttle Red Dump Truck (Poetry) - 5/1/2013 3:26:17 AM
Some memories are indeed precious.
Cosmic Blinks (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 11:10:17 AM
Hi Odin, You don't often offer such a strikingly visual poem as this. I kind of mentally tipped the piece on its side and was reminded of an image on an oscilloscope showing the rise and decline of a sound wave or light wave (more appropriately) or, perhaps, a heartbeat. I've read this and looked at it many times. Plain language. Strong and familiar images. Fine shape. It did all a poem should. Thank you.
Once Carved of Stone (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 11:04:26 AM
Hi Odin, One more time. I was once in a museum, can't remember which one, that had a fascinating exhibit showing the history of writing. It started with copies of cave paintings and moved on through hieroglyphs, cunieform, sanskrit, Chinese character writing and on and on to the present digitizations and codes. This poem brought the memory of that exhibit back sharply to my mind and gave me a new way to think about it. Now if I could just recall where it was - Philadelphia maybe or Baltimore. No matter. Great poem here. Thank you.
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 10:55:44 AM
Hi Odin, Since I haven't been checking out the read and review lists on tNBW lately I've probably missed your postings over there. It's nice catching up a little bit here for a change. I like this one. Nice flow, nice lesson (yikes!) hidden gently in these lines. Melancholy and yet hopeful. Maybe a little quiet self-flagellation for missed opportunities here as well. You always bring a mature and dignified approach to a poem about love. Of course you would, as you are mature and dignified fellow. Well done.
Today, we are... (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 10:48:11 AM
Howdy Odin, I particularly like the way you used the image of the children "with raised arms" in a rhythmic repetition driving the poem along. Very strong stuff and deserving a wider dissemination than this one posting. This also deserves some contemplation in order to gain inspiration for our struggle against quiet complacency. Well done again. Thank you.
LIttle Red Dump Truck (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 10:48:04 AM
Ah, the nursing home. Let us hope that when we reach that state that will have enough memory left to fill in the gaps between naps. Wonderful to imagine, though.
LIttle Red Dump Truck (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 10:42:32 AM
Hi Odin, Nice poem. When I saw the title I of course came along expecting something like W.C.W.'s wheelbarrow poem. But you're far too original a voice for mere imitation. Nope. This one is all yours and very fine. We push our dump trucks along, adding and subtracting loads, oiling those persistently squeaky wheels. A nursing home is many things to many folks, from warehouse to a place of quiet contemplation or a last ditch attempt at socialization. We'd all prefer to be just visitors, I'm sure, but it's often a reality waiting a little ways down the road. And we're pushing our little trucks along that road every day. Well done. I haven't been on this site for some time but it seemed like a good day for a change of pace. Take care. Thank you.
LIttle Red Dump Truck (Poetry) - 4/30/2013 6:55:58 AM
Memories of childhood are the best, are they not...? Too bad you don't still have that little red truck, it would likely be worth a great deal nowadays...e
LIttle Red Dump Truck (Poetry) - 4/29/2013 4:24:17 PM
the memories are the best
Today, we are... (Poetry) - 4/29/2013 7:16:23 AM
I just read an article with charts showing the number of bombings in the United States going back to the 1970s. The decline in annual bombings is exponential and quite startling. What is also startling is that most bombings were right wing and far more prevalent than those of Islamic origin. The only exception was 9/11 and that has skewed everything.
You are right. The instantaneous access we have to public feeds and private conversation through cell phones and social media has amplified any tragedy far out of proportion to what it really is. Most of us party a lifetime without ever being caught in a club fire, but most of us now think about it whenever we are in a crowded club with pyrotechnics as part of the act.
In spite of the apparent decline of life, I'm going to continue to live it and relax in the idea that if something bad happens to me it is just part of the statistical chance we take every time we are active (or stay-at-home just looking at TV getting fat and afraid).
Today, we are... (Poetry) - 4/29/2013 2:52:55 AM
"Today, We are The Weapons of Indifference"
A truly sad indictment of modern mankind.
Today, we are... (Poetry) - 4/29/2013 2:08:57 AM
indifferent to all but ourselves
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 4/28/2013 10:38:10 AM
The metaphor is well taken.
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 4/28/2013 8:38:27 AM
I just attended my high school reunion again last year and saw the same wallflowers there. The girls who stood in the background whenever asked to dance. And the guys who were too shy to ask them or had been turned down too many times and gave up trying. There's a lot of loneliness out there and that's why so many people get married for the wrong reasons and ended up divorcing, often leaving their children in the wake.
Perhaps if we had a little more sexual freedom, a lot of the problems involved with wishful loving would go away and our hormones would be satisfied without all the commitment thing that gets so tangled up in “love.”
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 4/28/2013 7:12:01 AM
so ture so very true
Flowers That Never Open (Poetry) - 4/28/2013 6:52:35 AM
'Mistake's tight-necked vase' - 'strangling' as a destiny. Tragic. But you paint a ray of hope, too - flowers that fail to open may never find pollination or progeny but they do display the sort of beauty which inspires hope, possibility, imagination. Perhaps not a mistake at all.
Well done, as usual.
Once Carved of Stone (Poetry) - 4/27/2013 4:53:22 PM
as always leaving much to think about and enjoy
Once Carved of Stone (Poetry) - 4/27/2013 11:43:18 AM
No longer the “sounds of silence,” today's images are posted on the wall of the Internet for all to see, forever––or until someone pulls the plug.
Cosmic Blinks (Poetry) - 4/26/2013 9:47:03 AM
I always have difficulty discerning what your dense prose is offering, but I would venture to guess that you're talking about a major disaster that wipes out most of life on the planet and that it will be reborn regardless.
Cosmic Blinks (Poetry) - 4/26/2013 4:24:43 AM
I wonder how many parallel universes have been fashioned of your discarded waste fueling new fire? Does your mind ever rest? Your pen? The birthing cries around your office must sound like a big city hospital nursery. Thank you.
Cosmic Blinks (Poetry) - 4/26/2013 3:53:25 AM
An intriguing poem - a mesmerizing graphic.
Cosmic Blinks (Poetry) - 4/26/2013 2:19:31 AM
once was all it took
Guilt's Living Tunnel (Poetry) - 4/25/2013 8:17:37 AM
Using the subway as a metaphor for the pending doom of an episode of post traumatic syndrome in a dream is pure genius in its inception. I'm sure the veterans that have this condition could tell you that that's what it feels like. Brilliant!
Guilt's Living Tunnel (Poetry) - 4/25/2013 2:48:06 AM
hmm a powerful dream
Whispered Cadence (Poetry) - 4/23/2013 3:59:21 AM
this wilted body before me
this woman who became
my light in the dark
How precious indeed, as is this tribute to her.
Whispered Cadence (Poetry) - 4/23/2013 3:35:26 AM
a very warm tribute
Whispered Cadence (Poetry) - 4/22/2013 5:51:16 PM
Tender and vivid images convey those precious and few memories and experiences, revealing the depth of commitment simultaneously with the unspeakable sense of loss at having been given up and then again, embraced for the son whose life ahead forges so much division so much unity, so much tension, so much peace. A vital and stunning contrast between death and birth imagery brings this journey full circle with a solemn almost regal air, a tone of temerity and tempest tossed stoicism evincing courage and solace borne of reflection and a kind of respite that comes maybe once, maybe twice in a lifetime. Excellent poetry, Odin.
Elusive Gold (Poetry) - 4/21/2013 12:36:54 PM
yes yes yes i loved it
Elusive Gold (Poetry) - 4/21/2013 7:49:24 AM
Once we love ourselves, we become open to be loved by others.
The End Stool (Poetry) - 4/20/2013 10:13:19 AM
I sense a bit of recent history in this. I am atop an end stool, fearful I may fall off, but I know where the center is, to keep me balanced.
Identity Rentals (Poetry) - 4/19/2013 11:52:05 AM
A couple of guys I know sure rented the wrong identity!
Identity Rentals (Poetry) - 4/19/2013 4:25:27 AM
Living where quiet exists and one can be part of it forces introspection. The stars literally stared back at me and I could be part of something larger, microscopically small and expansive as the universe, all at the same time. Humbling to tears and mind shattering inspiration ... as for wearing many hats and personas, that can only be a good thing, a skill which makes us flexible and resilient. It forces us to see different perspectives and possibilities. Unfortunately, the vast majority get caught up in 'existing' and never seek the quiet which lets us evaluate it all. Odin seems truly adept at prodding, poking and awakening these notions in us. I should say 'me' because I am the only one I know well enough to speak for and about. And I appreciate his insights. Thank you, poet.
Identity Rentals (Poetry) - 4/18/2013 4:03:27 PM
well living off the grid isn't any better
Hang Your Heads... (Poetry) - 4/18/2013 3:38:37 PM
oh it is too bad that they will never listen
Hang Your Heads... (Poetry) - 4/18/2013 3:08:52 AM
You are both an embarrassment to this country,
And a smear on the species as sentient creatures
And the saddest part is that most of them don't even care - as long as those kickbacks and campaign contributions keep pouring in.
Burn (Poetry) - 4/17/2013 6:08:44 AM
Some economist saw that our economy was based on consumption and declared it, “good.” When times are hard, like the Great Depression, people are deprived of even the necessities of life and go malnourished. On the other hand, when things get better, we tend to “save up” for a rainy day by gathering too much, “stuff.” For some, this gathering of stuff becomes an obsession. For the rest of us, it may be our demise.
Your poem is quite insightful about what is wrong with human intentions.
Wordsmith's Diet (Poetry) - 4/17/2013 4:17:46 AM
How do we package such a gift? Breakfast of Wordsmiths? Knack snack? Rhyme Time to replace Happy Hour? Seems a shame that our language is being dumbed down, especially now when so many other resources are growing scarce. Think of all the archaic words and meanings we could revive, and new that we'll find tasty. I nominate you leader of such grass roots movement as it will take, for surely, since there is neither product or money to consume, it will not interest Madison Avenue or Wall Street. Lead on!
Burn (Poetry) - 4/17/2013 3:49:39 AM
Columbian natives are fighting a brave battle against gold miners as we speak. Heavy equipement, mercenaries and international sanction against those defending their environment and homeland. But your point is well put, Mr. Roark, and there are not enough of us listening to you. I've 'liked' this one to Facebook. Let's hope it runs through the media like wildfire.
Burn (Poetry) - 4/17/2013 3:45:26 AM
yes we humans do to excess
Burn (Poetry) - 4/16/2013 3:07:18 PM
True, we are a consumer oriented race that one day will consume itself before burning out...e
Wordsmith's Diet (Poetry) - 4/16/2013 2:57:38 PM
There is strong positivity in these lines, and momentum, that I feel when reading. Graceful drawing of: "Ink's endless search/For shoreline discovery." So much grace I find in that last stanza, ending in a recognition of blending beauty, "..to be not frightened/Even as I eat you to live." ~~ Diana
Wordsmith's Diet (Poetry) - 4/16/2013 11:22:22 AM
I just reviewed a lexicon of the word “crip.” I was surprised at the number of words created from that one word, a virtual cornucopia of expression.
Your poem is right, we have a smorgasbord of words to write poems with, growing all the time.
Wordsmith's Diet (Poetry) - 4/16/2013 4:05:17 AM
You have prepared a veritable smorgasbord of linguistic delights from similes to metaphors to verisimilitudes as only a literary master chef can arrange them, all the while each entrée carefully hides the author’s true identity by the intriguing nom de plume, Odin Roark. The frequency of each new creation is nearly as astounding as is its quality. It’s as if you have a secret archive, a private Valhalla from which you are able to tap into an endless flow of poetic magic. And now I have run out of words.
Wordsmith's Diet (Poetry) - 4/16/2013 2:34:59 AM
to live, to write, to feel fulfilled
Might It Be... (Poetry) - 4/15/2013 1:12:23 PM
I love playing this piece, love the composer! Do you like his Knoxville? Intensely meaningful subject matter to this reader ~
Might It Be... (Poetry) - 4/15/2013 10:09:15 AM
just listened to this masterpiece and all i know is, the inspirer...? He had me in mind. thank you!
Naked be... (Poetry) - 4/15/2013 8:09:14 AM
I'll be damned if you didn't write a song! This is got all the makings for someone to put a melody to it.
Naked be... (Poetry) - 4/15/2013 3:03:57 AM
Arrggghhh! I can't handle naked be! ... Or is it The Truth? Thanks for the Tax Day smile, Odin.
Naked be... (Poetry) - 4/15/2013 2:32:42 AM
The Naked Truth - we could surely use more of that these days.
Naked be... (Poetry) - 4/14/2013 5:58:39 PM
Love the flow and the meaning that speaks to me. Thank you, Odin. Love and peace to you,
Naked be... (Poetry) - 4/14/2013 1:44:36 PM
I like the breathless quality of this one... a pace that pierces the naked mind at play... to see it is to be leavin' it!... leavin' it be, that is... as is, as it were... or ever more will be... the naked truth!
Naked be... (Poetry) - 4/14/2013 1:39:40 PM
what a change of pace, only the nudist likes naked be lol
Recess Bell (Poetry) - 4/12/2013 3:12:15 PM
Metaphorically speaking, Odin, you've found
a wonderful way to wrap words around life's
active stages (in hands of others), used
the bell to symbolize the longing for toll
to free us from the ad hoc malady and for
a short moment be....just... "me", "us".
Early in life, when the bell toll we dashed out
onto the playground, began chanting (nothing to stop it),
later arrived at adulthood much with the same
discomfort (less options) only to realize "the working life
is a waste of time!", with hope now...to get some
wake up! bell sound, get out of this.........,
quit working (start to be "me", "us", again) before
heart will......last bell....not to be enjoyed!!!!!!
Movement Resting (Poetry) - 4/12/2013 2:43:57 PM
synaptic stimulation creatively externalized ...
Movement Resting (Poetry) - 4/12/2013 1:18:59 PM
another of your wonderful thought inspiring writes
Movement Resting (Poetry) - 4/12/2013 11:20:21 AM
Leave it to a child to wipe away clouded reality and delusional security ... and an imaginative poet. Thanks.
Recess Bell (Poetry) - 4/11/2013 6:56:55 AM
Two things come to my mind. First, we all need a break to get together and just socialize. I used to go to the lunchroom every day and shoot the shit. That deteriorated to eating alone in my desk while keeping one eye on the computer. One of the latest edicts from our wise superior was that we weren't allowed any breaks anymore and only one half hour for lunch.
My second thought is that children need unsupervised play with other children in order to develop strong social behavior traits. Parents today are so afraid that they smother their children with protection from social interaction with peers that is very good for them.
Your question is, are we living, or are we living well? I prefer the latter.
Recess Bell (Poetry) - 4/11/2013 3:33:01 AM
Life's profit margin - contrasted with real sweat and infectious laughter - let me see, now. Thanks for the golden pen jab ...
Recess Bell (Poetry) - 4/11/2013 12:28:26 AM
this is a thought provoking well written piece
Recess Bell (Poetry) - 4/10/2013 5:46:44 PM
For me this reads as a marmalade of tart rinds of forlornness and juicy sweet remembrance. Stanza 4 is loaded with reader identity, and I love it. "Making sweat that was real" carries a deeply-meaningful comparison to office stress sweat that is so unreal. The flow of this has the sensation of beginning in color and ending in black and white. Very effective, Odin. ~~ Diana
Grooving Time (Poetry) - 4/10/2013 1:03:14 PM
Odin, I like that your "careless finger prints" eludes with me to how we briskly handle what we touch in life; all stemming from your word "careless." I like that. The 'dust' of mistakes, and smudges of 'residue' depict true-grit living...then moving those elements to a vinyl record (here's where dust and fingerprints really come in. . . and thereby include 'using and knowing'). Fate's true path traveled being a record groove is an idea from the interpretive eyes and mind that are faithfully your signature. ~~ Diana
Grooving Time (Poetry) - 4/10/2013 6:13:57 AM
Great analogy for the fateful course of life. Most people will say they chose the path they're on from either ignorance or arrogance. I say that, “there but for fortune,” we are all fated to where the world takes us, and we have little to say about it.
Grooving Time (Poetry) - 4/10/2013 4:07:49 AM
the thought process is skillfully condensed here,
every phrase counts and builds the motif
well delivered, Odin
Grooving Time (Poetry) - 4/9/2013 8:41:40 PM
Wow. Now I'm grooving on the music,
to celebrate.....Returning to your's
old self........ Odin.
'til one's song runs out.....long way to go!
Grooving Time (Poetry) - 4/9/2013 4:04:12 PM
sing your own song and be happy
Patchwork Musings (Poetry) - 4/9/2013 1:11:08 PM
Such nice word choice and design, Odin, with emotionally resonant and universal feeling!
Patchwork Musings (Poetry) - 4/9/2013 10:42:07 AM
If only everyone could wear their patchwork past as a blanky to keep them safe from the night. I'm afraid some would find it too hot and uncomfortable while others would find it too spare to keep them warm.
Patchwork Musings (Poetry) - 4/9/2013 3:50:42 AM
A most interesting perspective and poem.
Patchwork Musings (Poetry) - 4/9/2013 2:26:48 AM
we all cover ourselves in these patchworks for protection
Patchwork Musings (Poetry) - 4/8/2013 10:22:26 PM
Wonderful metaphor, Odin.
Fragmented old (?life's memory) sewn together
into new collage, forming (eclectic) blanket
of warmth, security, love....get underneath
to be protected dreamer when going through life.
Awakening to Dreams (Poetry) - 4/8/2013 9:32:51 AM
you again have written so well of issues that most don't consider and given all much to consider
Awakening to Dreams (Poetry) - 4/8/2013 7:26:02 AM
Perhaps, most of us live in a world that is rather regimented, repetitive, and boring. We seek out the occasional thrill to add a little spark for our lives and fantasies of all kinds attract us as a way of leaving our boredom behind.
On the other hand, people like me, love to explore places, people, ideas, and more. I find the real world so full of wonder and excitement that I find those trapped in fantasy (rooting for their favorite sports team) to be deluded and puppets of the system. When I write fiction, new ideas pop into my mind all the time that are possibilities and not mere fantasy, based on reality and a healthy sense of where we are headed.
Excellent food for thought like your poems generally are.
He Once Wrote (Poetry) - 4/7/2013 10:23:21 AM
A scene that is unique to New York City. How the changing times have changed the city and the diary writer within. I especially liked that last line.
He Once Wrote (Poetry) - 4/7/2013 4:01:57 AM
Too sad and close to home, yet he (she) left us valuable, even vital pieces of herself and it is up to us to be the audience for those who care enough to put themselves 'on the record' ... as all of you do. There should be a national library for diarists (if it isn't a word it should be). Thanks for bringing this (and all the others) diary out of the shadow, Odin.
He Once Wrote (Poetry) - 4/7/2013 3:11:22 AM
he once wrote, who will read
He Once Wrote (Poetry) - 4/7/2013 3:05:46 AM
A sad ode, indeed.
He Once Wrote (Poetry) - 4/6/2013 8:44:24 PM
this is well crafted work, Odin, with
exceptional word choices and phrases...'skyscraper
shade'...'cashmere-draped gangsters' and 'knickered children'
as much material here as in a Singer or Bellow novel
and with genuine impact
Our Own Version (Poetry) - 4/6/2013 10:37:32 AM
No truer words have been shared.
Our Own Version (Poetry) - 4/6/2013 10:15:32 AM
You are absolutely real. Everyone writes his or her own version. When I read some, it's an aversion. When I read others, it's an immersion. And for still others, it's an emancipation.
Our Own Version (Poetry) - 4/6/2013 5:57:40 AM
I grock, to use an obsolete futuristic term.
Our Own Version (Poetry) - 4/5/2013 4:51:39 PM
yes, yes, yes bravo
Animal Chain Atrocities (Poetry) - 4/5/2013 4:02:30 AM
they are our conscieous
Night-Noise (Poetry) - 4/4/2013 3:02:05 AM
Night-Noise - that strange redemption. Marvelous poem and fantastic graphic.
Night-Noise (Poetry) - 4/3/2013 2:58:12 PM
so much to accept and understand
Ballet of Death (Poetry) - 4/3/2013 4:25:39 AM
well beyond narrative, Odin, this poem
has the feel of the victim and the heart
of the poet;
technically, to the point and accurate, as well;
when i lived in Madrid i will admit i was an aficionado in those days and attended on the sundays during the killing season;
i've grown up since then, thankfully, and now i
am a passionate opponent of this horrible blood sport that
despite the many protestations of those who support is NOT
an art but a calculated killing and often a botched one
at that but i'll spare you those details
Ballet of Death (Poetry) - 4/3/2013 3:07:45 AM
Such a sad 'sport'-this Ballet of Death. If only mankind could instead revel in a Ballet of Life.
Ballet of Death (Poetry) - 4/3/2013 2:22:04 AM
you have so perfectly penned this spectacle that was Papas favorite
Ballet of Death (Poetry) - 4/2/2013 10:49:18 AM
Your poem is a tragic epic. Like Moby Dick, the whale, the bull is doomed. Back in the 1960s, I had occasion to see a movie (or documentary) on bullfighting. The only thing I could gather at the time watching so many matadors gored and bulls killed, was that the so-called, “sport,” was insane.
For Hemingway to glorify bullfighting as some type of courageous act is to liken it to saying that only men who smoked like John Wayne were real men. I believe that bullfighting (although I haven't done the research) is an offshoot of the Roman games where people and animals routinely pitted against one another for blood sport for the masses. Football continues a tradition and continues to be a means for controlling the masses.
In the twenty first century it is time that we examine animal torture for sport or any other reason and ban it, either by laws or by letting it fade away from lack of interest.
Thank you for sharing the bull's point of view to us.
Ballet of Death (Poetry) - 4/2/2013 8:45:43 AM
...and Man's barbaric nature rises again to whet the blood-thirsty appetite and sate the hunger for superiority, whatever the cost.
Sandpiper Pausing...Again (Poetry) - 4/1/2013 7:17:56 AM
so well written and very apt right now
Mind Carvings (Poetry) - 4/1/2013 5:50:28 AM
The characters of the alphabet, put together in millions of words, and these words placed in trillions of combinations describing our verbal language and mental skills adds up to a lot of communication and mis-communication.
Mind Carvings (Poetry) - 4/1/2013 2:58:34 AM
yes the anticipation and the discovery
Mind Carvings (Poetry) - 3/31/2013 10:25:22 AM
As usual it is challenging to describe your work, even to say what I think of it or how it makes me feel (more than a little intimidated, often). But perhaps I've understood enough this time because I've known a sculptor or two. That old saw, "how did you know there was a person/bird/dog in that stone?" fits the mind carving as well. And that you have the insight and courage to mold that memory by steadily chipping away at it while it cheers you on, anxious to see what it will become ... a past not yet created.
Faraway Footsteps (Poetry) - 3/29/2013 3:05:49 AM
I love nostalgic pieces, and this one is very good.
Faraway Footsteps (Poetry) - 3/28/2013 2:20:51 AM
excellent my friend a wonderful insightful write
Everyday Remains... (Poetry) - 3/27/2013 2:31:04 PM
everyday remains yesterday...if...one is unable to bring the 'gifts' of yesterday into...today. thanks, Odin.
Faraway Footsteps (Poetry) - 3/27/2013 2:26:11 PM
whether covered or uncovered...the lessons of yesterday are remembered and do preserve, foster and guide...today. thank you.
Everyday Remains... (Poetry) - 3/27/2013 3:46:44 AM
Reality is indeed a harsh teacher and as our world 'progresses', so our culture makes greater demands of us ...but where is it set in stone that we must serve another and hope they will serve us in return? The human race is now much more selfish and so it is pragmatic to treasure our friendships - but ultimately keep our sanctuary to ourselves.
Another stunning creation here, my friend.
Everyday Remains... (Poetry) - 3/27/2013 1:46:42 AM
May tomorrow be a better day.
Everyday Remains... (Poetry) - 3/26/2013 4:03:37 PM
Imagery without excess. Nouns without embellishment. A stunning poem without a doubt.
Everyday Remains... (Poetry) - 3/26/2013 3:50:40 PM
a fine piece with wonderful visions and much to reread often
Everyday Remains... (Poetry) - 3/26/2013 1:04:24 PM
Ample examples of vivid imagery marshal here to trumpet the vestigial value of what once was in an ode to nostalgia whose nadir nearly bottoms out with bathos... nearly, I say, because the high point climbs from children's laughter to the emblem of love itself only to close petal-like upon itself in the cascading collapse of captivity... this is the jaundice of the jaded... and the irony is that you have captured it so well, we readers can at once recognize it as the counterpoint of a quintessential freedom fighter! You can't fool me, Odin... What remains of today is really that eternal green light (to use Fitzgerald's term)... the perennially optimistic tomorrow! Save a few of those "empty vases" for bouquets yet to be thrown your way, my friend... they're coming!
I also want to just take this opportunity to thank you for all the many cogent commentaries you have made on my FACT series this past year! From one serious poet to another, it means a great deal to hear the viewpoints and perspectives provided by thoughtful readers like you! Stay strong, Odin... the best is yet to come!
Lonely Awaits (Poetry) - 3/25/2013 7:48:04 AM
A lot going on in my head as I read your words of loneliness and decaying passion with time. I guess that's why Viagra sells so well––men trying to recover their lost passion, thinking they can buy it.
On the other hand, my mother has begun to express her loneliness, living alone in an apartment, now profoundly deaf from nerve hearing loss, unable to communicate like she always did with other people in social gatherings because of the deafness and aphasia. The aphasia even affecting her ability to answer and write the countless e-mails she used to send daily from her computer and phone calls now so difficult to make.
The sands of time errode and take away our passion. But I hope that I can cling onto mine until it is no longer necessary for me to live and I will go peacefully, not worry about being alone. We all die alone.
Lonely Awaits (Poetry) - 3/25/2013 1:44:33 AM
just enough of everything written expertly to stir the imagination and enjoy this fine work
Lonely Awaits (Poetry) - 3/24/2013 6:37:17 PM
Your use of metonomy is dazzling, but my brain gets inundated quickly by them. Your words flow, they grab, they stir but they also overwhelm with too many words that stand in for other words. You've got to dumb it down a little for me.
Lonely Awaits (Poetry) - 3/24/2013 10:00:20 AM
"gathering furl of past", "withering dunes aimlessly adrift", "drifting grit" - it is enough to put one's teeth on edge and make one yearn for the 'worm' - where's my thumper? Evocative! Thank you.
Terraforming Earth's Demise (Poetry) - 3/24/2013 9:29:11 AM
for some of us, caution is not set against the wind...Bob-
Terraforming Earth's Demise (Poetry) - 3/24/2013 8:14:17 AM
To paraphrase a philosopher I can't recall right now (George S?), “If you can imagine it, it can happen.”
Your poem brings forth many truths for those writing their feet in ancient beliefs to understand that we do not live in a fixed world based on old principles, but a evolving planet within evolving society that must change in order to survive like it always has. What is different now is that humankind can then is affecting the evolution, and therefore must carefully channel it or risk great disaster from mistaken beliefs.
The Earth still has about four billion years of relative stability before the Sun grows to the point where it makes life unbearable. Evolution will continue with or without humankind, like it always has. Who knows, maybe a superior intelligence unwilling to destroy itself with petty territorial imperatives, will emerge two billion years after we are gone on this beautiful planet called Earth.