Bald head hovers, alien, as the Death Star above the trees
Waiting, Silently to gun them down in the violent expLOsion it resembles
mushroom clouds like ash all around so only the bulbous crest is visible.
A warning: run while you still can! Imminent death
will occur sometime
in the next two weeks
to two thousand years.
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
To my beloved, Lauren Major.
I want my love to be eternal
As the moon and the stars
Burn as brightly as the sun
Held in human jars
I want you by my side
In peace time or in war
Whisper in my ear
“I will love you evermore”
It is you that makes life lovely
The reason that I glow
I will never leave you
My heart will always show
I will be your constant
Never shaken at our core
In the silent eye of storm, whisper
“I will love you evermore”
Press you to my chest
Preserve you on my heart
Pin you to my memories
So we can never be apart
When life is crushing in
And worries make you sore
I will lift the burden, whisper
“I will love you evermore”
In old age with our wrinkles
You will sag sage with wisdom
And I’ll caress the laugh lines
For they prove that we have lived some
In our rocking chairs we’ll sit
As present turns to yore
Holding hands we whisper
“I will love you evermore”
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
i feel as if my voice is riding on owl wings
too soft to be detected
who’s fault is that but my own?
my creativity is defected
my thoughts are as cramped and kinked
as my hair when released at night
i remember when it used to shine silk
somehow soft and bright
but now corroded from breaths
taken inwardly rather than
speak my mind
i think.
i think
of things i wish
to say but can’t because
it’s impolite or if nice
because i lack the courage
to say more than “i love you”
and say out loud that my heart tears
at the thought of losing you
to move beyond simple sayings
society has pre-created for me
so that i don’t actually have to put my thoughts
on the line because that’s not something to do over
a cup of tea.
a cup of tea
is just a starting point of mesmeric proportions
spending hours staring at the dark water
splashing in my mug listening to you ramble
wondering what i should say so i totter
on the brink of getting wet or staying dry
i can’t decide if i should jump
and if i do and drown how would the air get back in my lungs?
would you pump
your life source into me so that somehow
i might return stronger
not because i lived and died and lived again
but because i have just a little bit
more of you
inside of me.
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
I randomly came across this site, Gabriel Gadfly, today and found one of my new favorite poems, “Why I Hate Reading Maps.”
I don’t want to take the liberty of reproducing her words here, so please visit the link! If you like my poems, I promise you’ll like this one as well. Happy visiting!
What is kept in your attic?
Wonder about personal
history is asleep in boxes.
Dust piled up on taped over
openings, closed against prying
children, all grown up.
After death comes spring cleaning
all the secrets bandaged in bubble wrap.
When piecing together a life
where better to start than dark corners?
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
Decisions
Blinking is such a small decision
often it is not even a thought
But that momentary lapse in vision
would have been one less view of you
that I’d have caught.
Actions
The trip seemed to take an hour
across the room I nearly ran instead of walk
You stood there tall as if a tower
watching as I sweated and fretted
and spilt my wine upon the clock.
Words
Are hard to come by in a hurry
stumbling and stuttering is best
For when they left in such a scurry
I found the words you guessed
less messed.
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
Many of you may have discovered my new favorite hobby long before I did. I have recently discovered that I love to stumble. This past week I have been in bed with viral bronchitis (no worries, I’m almost recovered) so I have spent a particularly large amount of my time stumbling around the internet. Today I came across the most poetic house I have ever seen and it is now my dream to live in it.
To read about and see the rest of the house click here.
There are no more life shaping lessons from the often over-looked objects of desire. The obscure hero is gone. You are left to muse over the logic of the heart. How do you feel about the episodes of your life? It can all change in an instant with six little words: “Spells and Charms of Dragon Origin.” You may use these to bring on nervous affections of the brain, to round out the men of good intentions. But be warned, hero-hood will lead to loneliness and heartbreak. Yes, you will have adventures. They will be in search of simple keys and arcane women in distress. If you want to be rich, don’t buy this book.
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
Wingtips frayed from beating air
Invisible strength
Buoyed up I can see what I wish
I had already known
Junkyards stacked like Jenga
Filled with must-haves
Triple-jointed wishes
Bent away from intents
Trunks with holidays and families
Stuffed inside
Floating, I can see treetops
And sunlight before it’s filtered.
Flowers are polka dots for toddlers
And romantic walks that end in tragedy.
Someone has to do die.
What comes in between?
Rushing wind brings energy
Above the graveyard
Lives growing downward
Planting roots
Shoots sent sideways
Intertwining vitality
Gifts lay on grass as if we could
Reach through the tangle
Time is lost being sorry
For a history
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
My Love, my love for you has grown,
aaaaawill grow
But how and why do I lie for you
aaaaahere and now
With the thorn of your absence pressed
aaaaato my side
Once when the sunlight flooded the blinds
aaaaaI cried
aaaaaat your face
You stepped away, you ran your hands
aaaaaover that place
aaaaaand left them there
I reached for your fingers and plied
aaaaathem away
You closed your eyes before I was done
aaaaalike a guard from my expression
I kissed your lashes, they fluttered
aaaaaat bay
You held me to your breast
Then left on your quest to run from yourself
But I never saw the scar that you feared
I cried at the beauty of the man that I love.
(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011
laurenmichelleotheim
Poetry of the Soul 