Soliloquize

-source-

I am lost

Between meaningless rhetoric

Of warped semantics,

Confusing mindless behavior

And senseless murmurings

As the definition of…

Love.

Entertainment.

Friendship.

Career.

Art.

Consumerism.

Reality.

News.

Stability.

Religion.

Conversations.

Trust.

Family.

Relationships.

Life.


 Olsfred James 2016©

Vinyl

-source-

The creaks and cracks

Of her antique record player

Slowly chaperones the hollow echo

Of a dauntless verse.

With a natural ease,

The instruments amplify

And a tune chimes in

Stretching between halls

Invading every room

“If there's a cure for this
I don't want it
Don't want it
If there's a cure for this
I don't want it,

I don't want it”

The music vibrates her soul

Narrating her thoughts

Drifting softly

Recalling days gone by.

She hugs the air

Weaving her fingers together

Imagining being nestled at the waist

Humming silently.

As her playlist

Ushered the evening

Each song opened with

A quiet whirring

As the needle gently kissed the vinyl

And she continued.

I watched her

Endlessly in thought

Dreamily swaying away

To her musical tradition

Stirring blended aromas

As I awaited Sunday’s dinner.

 Olsfred James 2016©

Downhearted

-source-

Up on melancholy hill

The beauty of this world 

Has gone awry,

Black and white colored rainbows 

Ache of sadness,

Wilted flowers

Bleed colors into muck

And the call of the wind

Is empty and hollow.

A funeral hymn prolongs

Without lyric

Without secession

An unending monotonous duration

Of a dismal melody,

With contorted voices

Inviting the uninvited,

Enticing the sorrowful

To fester and wallow

In a mournful song.

Here they lay

Resting in dismay

Above ground

While the stench of decaying flesh,

Strikes sharp

Rancid and sickening

Filling the air

And poisons the arid soil.

A caution sign for a tombstone

Hangs overhead is inscribed:

"This is where dreams come to die."

Olsfred James 2016©

80s

I’ve got a Trapper Keeper type of memory storage

Assorted childhood memories

Of metal lunch box days

Themed with my favorite cartoon character

And Floppy Disks were still a thing

When an alien made Speak and Spell popular

Filing to the theater to hear the reeling of the film strip projector.

Breakfast wasn’t as sweet if Mr. T or Gremlins weren’t on the cereal box

And Afternoons weren’t complete if Reading Rainbow

Or the Sesames Street was not on repeat.

Damn I miss the 80s.

Olsfred James 2016©

Ink

-source-

I dipped my pen

In the black of your ink

And watched as my intrusion 

Erupted ripples 

Along your once tranquil mood

Such an intimate sumptuous moment

I felt you

Coiling around me

As my uncovered skin exhales.

Your essence

Wet and enticing

Slipping between secreted places

Delicately crest at my tip

Begging to be sprawled

Along these white unspoiled sheets

Neatly lined and in wait

Of my next entry 

Begging to be the words

Of my poetry.

Olsfred James 2016©

Marionette

-source-

Puppet strings

Bounded by the wrist

Made to entertain

Made to obey his every command

Dressed up

With smeared make up

Plastered across her porcelain smile

In her master’s theater.

Her first time,

Inhibition was the obstacle

The indescribable force stopping her from being… his

Now, the reluctance is no more

Confusing lust – his ardent uncontrollable sexual appetite – for,

“The love he never gave”.

His every touch is infectious

Eating away at her innocence

With slithering words

Reminding her, she belonged to him.

His desires spill from her cracked exterior

Like blood from an open wound

As a broken lullaby strains in the background

She dances at his will

Touching herself

Resonating under the cool of night.

He breathes her in like air

Resisting the urge to blink

As she grips the ropes above her head

Flurrying in slow motion

Dangling her naked beauty

Twirling to his satisfaction.

Behold, the perfection in her imperfections.

Mind games within the flick of a finger

Twisting away at his dancing prey

Playing softly until he’s done

Then she is propped at the mantle

To be used at his convenience again.

Olsfred James 2016©

Pleonasm

-source-

Ignoring the faint sounds

Echoing failure

Of past lovers,

My heart created an illusion

Of a tangible love

When our souls connected.

The perfect cadence

Between chaos and calm.

A symphony of euphoria

Wrapped in arms

Where the mind raced

And endless conversations followed

Creating countless versions of You and I

Lost under ink blue nights

As we count pulsing stars in the others eye.

However, as fate would have it

Somethings are not meant to be

Possibly we met too early

Not yet conscious of our ability

To articulate the incoherence

In wait at the depths of the abyss

To finally shape the ethereal

Language of love

Our potential was untapped

Prolonging the suffocation on pride

Too absorbed in ourselves

To finally be left with nothing

But the faint echo

Of yet another lover.

Olsfred James 2016©