Poetry of the Soul

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ~Thomas Gray

The Hole Picture January 20, 2010

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 11:14 pm

Sometimes I feel

like…

a;sdjf;asjd;fjsa;dfj;asjd

There’s a hole in the wall.

Inside everything is grim

and dim.  The blues and the grays

mix into a maze of the most

ridiculous blasés.  And I feel,

like I could scream.

asdfasdfasdf

Scream into the nothingness we

call air.  But what’s the point?

No one would hear because

the walls are pressing inwards

the colorless atmosphere oppressing

our minds in a way that we cannot

escape.

asdfasdfasdfasdf

And then, all of the sudden I can

see it.  The pine bows sweeping across

the sky and the green, green grass

down below it, people trudging across it

on their way to who knows where.

And for a swift moment my hope

begins to rise.

asdfasdfasdfasdf

And then I remember

that it is a hole in the

wall.  And that’s all it

ever will be.

asdunreachable

asdfaauntouchable

asdfaaaaaintangible

asdfasdfasdfasdfasd

And sometimes I

wonder which would be

better: a hole in the

wall or the emptiness that’s

left behind?

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2010

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Desert Song

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 5:27 pm

Warm finger tips brush my hair with summer sun.  Walking round the city blocks as sunbeams stroke my skin.

Deep breath.

asdfasdfasdfasSigh.

asdasdfasdfasdfasadfDelight.

Listening lawn mower motors buzz and hum.  Long days in the heat create a scintillatingly pleasant din.

Hold it.

asdasdfasdasaListen.

asdfasdfasfdasdfasdaIgnite.

Canyon calls my name to come.  Causes time to freeze in a cool tree dappled light within.

Let go.

asdfasdfasdfasDrink.

asdfasdfasdfasdfasdaEyebright.

Summer’s sweet cup of balmy indulgences

Glowing green with envious trees stare down tumbleweeds

Rivers running in and out with islands of the most devout

Are children’s laughter mixed with motor boat

Splish Splash.

Brambling bushes crushing green in a terrible after math.  Bursting flowers strong of will living as if by choice.

Deep breath.

asdfasdfasdfasSigh.

asdasdfasdfasdfasadfDelight.

Stroll along a now here now there now everywhere path.  Swishing wind mixed rivers long lost voice.

Hold it.

asdasdfasdasaListen.

asdfasdfasfdasdfasdaIgnite.

One lone rain gives a showering drip drop bath.  Off the drying diet drought the earth drinks and drinks rejoice.

Let go.

asdfasdfasdfasDrink.

asdfasdfasdfasdfasdaEyebright.

Still a crushing heat of mirage and oasis rise from street

Sweat falling slithering sticking shirts of yellow white.

Sidewalk islands of white sand under glistening people stand

Are adults skittering off to work mixed teens raucous chortle

Sizzle Drizzle.

Sun drops in a glowering ball of majestic fire.  Slowly iridescence spreads across the rolling hills of gold.

Deep breath.

asdfasdfasdfasSigh.

asdasdfasdfasdfasadfDelight.

Crisscrossing brambles gangly yet elegant entire.  Crickets hidden among branches chirp a song of old.

Hold it.

asdasdfasdasaListen.

asdfasdfasfdasdfasdaIgnite.

Green grass now cool to touch awakens desire.  Grass-stained feet leap and lift in a twilight dance so bold.

Let go.

asdfasdfasdfasDrink.

asdfasdfasdfasdfasdaEyebright.

One night with a full moon in the middle of summer sun

Leaves the land with golden arms reaching heaven

Blinking stars out shine as fates align

Are sleeping breaths mixed moonlit capers

Rustle Whisper

Dream.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2010

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Unknown January 7, 2010

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 6:43 pm

Just a moment,

Lost in time,

asdfasdffff How to find a

asdff minute… gone.

Forever.

aaaaaaaaaa Significance?

aaaaaa Unknown.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2010

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Rantipole

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 6:39 pm

Frigid wakefulness

Blood nearly stopped,

Frozen.

Pink cheeks, nose

Rubbed raw by chill

Eyes watering,

A forced mourning of nature’s death

Yearning for healing snow

And a warm blanket of clouds

To envelope the earth.

Awake, Alert, Alive

Fully, Finally, Fiddlesticks.

Unknown eyes watching

Disgracefully unabashed

From tree branch walls

Built in secret, gradually,

Overtime, by unseen hands

Constant spies,

Not yet dormant from winter’s

Sleeping powder, view every move,

A masterpiece meant for someone

Else’s eyes, yet done in private,

Among the bark and leaves,

As close to nature as can be,

A clothing of pale ice-pricked skin

The only veil of separation

A constant, cool, consummation

Revives, Relights, Rantipole.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2010

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