Author Archives

OdinsBard

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

The Greatest Tragedy

What hope is there
for one whose
great gift lay
uncultivated
Allowing days
to drift aimless
upon wispy clouds
of phantom excuses?
What use a life of
mindless rote and
trifling duties
An existence
turned away
from the
raison d’etre
kindled inside?
No greater tragedy
could I write

The Cancer Had Him

seeing demons
and I leaned over
his delirium
They were real things
to him
and me
whether morphine dreams
or other
My older brother
in sheer terror
A man made a wraith
by cancer
Trimmed to the weight
of a petite ballet dancer
on a six foot two frame
I carried him to
another room
and the demons –
they came too
There was nothing
I could do
so I prayed
Hey God,
take me
There’s blood on my hands
The dirty work of Uncle Sam
But whatever god there be
The I Am
by whatever name
didn’t see things the same
as me
and my brother was gone
within a week
These are the things that
inform the dramatic scenes
of this play
we call life

Eternal Earth

There is a knowing
in the loam
Eternity
in its dark
sweet balm
A nose of
dinosaurs
and kings
and growing
things and
it recalls
the gnarled
joints of
gingham clad
gardeners
who survived
the war
to plant
peonies
and dream
of passing
in their
sleep

A Word Apart

I have an insatiable
fondness for the word
assuage
It flows from the tongue
like the gentle stroke
of a lover’s caring hand
Effortlessly
a whisper even
when spoken aloud
and its meaning
true to its
sound
We have few such sublime
words around
and I trust
this poem has
assuaged
any doubt
in your mind

Batter Up!

Few of my poems are home runs
Some of the better might be doubles
with a run coming in – how bout that!
But it’s mostly strikes filling my stats
yet I still take my chances
Always swinging for the fences

Vigilance (PTSD)

I am the very soul of perhaps
There must always be an out
Ever wary of ambush, some trap
Escape must never be in doubt

These are things one learns in war
and around violent kitchen tables
Head on a swivel, eye on the door
where peace is naught but fable

A child is born – a warrior made
Innocence does not suit the field
A determined heart and well-honed blade
for those who would harm to feel

Granddaughter

She is beautiful
and so very sad
Filled with insight
that I never had
in my preteen years
She followed
me upstairs
to show me her room
and once there
shared with me
so many doubts
so many fears
so much of her life
that was so unclear
in her mind
and in her sweet
brown eyes I
could see the pain
This young girl
grappling with
growing up
Hoping for answers
that I didn’t have
but I gave her
what I had
All of my attention
All of my love

It Begins (The Price of Joy)

It’s glitz and glamor
Behold the clamor!
All sadness you’ll end
if you
spend
spend
spend
Buy a Lexus
for a friend
or someone else dear
and out in the kitchen
there arose such a clatter
It’s not St. Nicholas you hear
That sound is the pounding
of my head on the counter