Author Archives

OdinsBard

Writer, author, Navy vet, musician, intermittent mystic, old soul and practicing poet

Thief

The vanity
of the moon
is unbecoming,
luster stolen
from the sun,
her porcelain glow
not her own,
libidinous trickery
made to look
chaste
that she may
bask in the
unabashed smolder
of young lovers
casting smitten
glances skyward
from sea kissed
beaches

Truth

Today I could not
breathe
though the air
was plentiful
and free, all
because of this
thing,
PTSD,
few understand
the agony –
defying logic
I remain alive,
striving,
believing,
praying
that tomorrow
is a better
day

Divine Mystery

Oh the
great
weight
of our sin,
poor thin souls
bent
under the rules
we broke,
rules from
long dead
white men
who swore they knew God
better than me
and you
and what we
should and shouldn’t
do
while they watched
the money
and walked
oh
so
piously
and thousands
of years
along
we crawl
and cry
for redemption
from the
dreadful end
sworn by those
old
white
men
in our
spare
hours
between
loud
protestations
toward
subjection
and
oppression

Twinkle, Twinkle

Being born
is a
death sentence,
the Reaper
sniffs out
our first
fog
of
breath,
tracking us,
carrying
our death
close to his
chest,
always
mystified
by our
apparent
surprise
when he
arrives
while the
stars
simply
smile,
they’ve been
around
awhile,
watching
suns
expire

Life

I fabricated
a true story,
one act of
uncertain
duration
and made
the decision
to play it out,
me, both
protagonist
and
antagonist
of a
tragicomedy,
thus far, anyway
but me,
being a
crude thespian
who missed
acting class
am a bit
half assed,
not at all
credible
in the role
of myself,
there’ll be
no Oscar
on my shelf
for this
unscripted
wandering
in and out
through
empty
rooms

Sometimes

Sometimes the

Fall

evenings

drape over

my shoulder

like a long lost

love

that knows

my every

hope

and

fear,

holding the

promise

that all

will be well,

only to

disappear

when day dawns,

leaving me

longing

for the

return

of the

stars

Autumnal

Maybe . . .
maybe it all made sense
before the leaves
began to turn and the
breeze through
my bones
took on a chill.
Maybe I had it all
figured out –
but it escapes
me now,
now, when pain is
common
and hope hard
to conjure.
Where did I spend
that power?
At what hour
did the magic
fail?
Those youthful spells
of certainty
dapple
the ground
around
my feet,
remnants of a
seasonal shift,
evidence of
what I missed,
dying
wishes
waiting for the
rake.
In my mind’s eye
a lake,
the air
cool
the sky
fair
as I ache
for what I
left
there,
a thing without
name,
but I feel
its absence
just the
same