It's blades,
it's hammering,
it's a head-ache from an old testament god.

It's losing,
It's lost,
it's disarranging your mind.

It's rape,
it's drugs,
it's a shock from a deflibulator.

It's being homeless,
It's love's labor lost,
It's misplacing your heart.

It's long distance love.

Glancing at my face,
you don’t see it's a mask
to cover the pock-marks
of Schizophrenia.

The brother eyes of
Charles Manson,
my bladed eyes
are blunted by
Prozac and Lexapro.

Ah...my lips
are the lips
of a Crazy;
always smiling.
Want a taste?
I’m told my kiss
unlocks the furnace of Hell.

This sensitive mask
quickly dissolves
when studied,
receding into
a narcissistic skull
of left-over emotion.

Scott, my friend
in the white coat,
tries to discover my ailment,

But I've secreted
these gifts away,

I've buried them
into this opaque flesh.

I stood there with a crunch in my shoe,
I had been running in rainbow-half circles all day.

The workman at my house had a hammer;
quirky, he put plastic around it and kneaded my bread.

EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT!
The Mcdonald barn burns in an accident with some plastic and a bread-maker.

The sterling stamping of silver nails into my counter
enflames my head more then the bread-making workman.

Olsen W. Potter

I love to be the stamp
Of a black epitaph
In black ink
On the first line of “Date Due”

I walk out with 3 or 5 or 2
And rip into them,
Breaking that virgin spine
Into beloved used.
gargling their words
to wash out
the talking-breath
of everyday conversation.

Give them to me, these icons of god’s addiction;
I want to saturate
in the serum of their forgotten fruit.

When the Portuguese found you,
A river in January,
The Samba, the Christ, Carnival
weren’t what they sought;
The wanted the gold of the land,
The slaves hidden within the natives,
The wood that has more life,
Nothing but gain.

When I found you,
A lake of passion,
The language, the food, Cariocas
Captured my soul.

I want to speak the golden language
Of the tongue,
Experience the samba of food on my tastebuds,
And let the carioca’s carnival
Releash the native in me.
I want nothing, but your passion.

May your ears screech
With the creaking of cellar doors,
While your heart echos the splintering of a shattered soul;

May your eyes melt
With tears,
as your skin
sizzles in shame;

May your spit be crossed with Arsenic,
Your tongue, a scythe
That dooms the lies you decree;

May your nose, cascading scum,
Sneeze out the lust that danced
while you fermented in your desire;

and

May your life be as
A room full of 30 empty chairs;
Love’s casket leading in their lament.

You’ve yet to speak,
Still you swirl in my thoughts
Like a hungry vulture

I want you to experience Life.

Life that, without your mother, will batter your patience
With the man who tries, to feed you infant formula and pat your back till you
burp,
But can’t fill that tenantless chair, that empty nest of stolen devotion.

Life that will burn the plastic off your lampshade,
that boy will create a crack of sorrow on your heart,
And you’ll call, needing a ride, crying, and I’ll just say that it’s ok
Because now you can understand your father.

Life that will steal you to marriage.
I will stand in line; my right hand a prisoner of war,
my left boycotting this oceanic alliance,
because I’m losing you, my writing hand, to some dude with a Corvette.

Life that will let you be a mother,
that headache from an old testament God,
letting you fill your own chair with your written laughter,

What I want for you is the knowledge that I sit today,
widower and Father,
and praise your life.

This is the assignment for my poetry class this week. We were to write a persona poem, a poem that's speaker is not the poet. I dont want to ruin the poem; so just let me what you think.

A Chip.

While I've got you here,
Mr. No caffeine for me- strictly Decaf-
(Do you think of my well being when you say that?
Maybe I need a shot or two to heat my inner self.)

We need to talk.

I can still remember warm milk by our bedside, Tolkien slept next to me, while the lamp and I
(Did you throw her out too?)
Flirted pull sting with handle.

I remember eggnog and nutmeg
the snow outside the window looked like flakes of sugar,
I always swirled a little just to see the whipped cream decorate your nose.

And remember your wedding night?
Who was the one that tipped out of the cupboard
red wine in your hand, shyness fleeing from my white stare?

Now this. A chip to disgrace my gold rim.
as if the tea ring ‘round my nethers wasn’t enough for you,
I bet you dropped me on purpose didn't you?

Don’t look at me with that rag,
you can't clean away my feelings.
You can't sip away my pain.

I use to think your eyes were like hot chocolate,
we had something special -you and I-
Now because of this chip, I get the can.

IT WAS YOUR FAULT.
I was sleeping away, dreaming of a certain mocha latte that
always animates my porcelain,

When you grabbed that new thermo-whatever
and knocked me awake with a crash,
breaking away my dignity.

We're washed-up, on ice,

Trashed.

Laying in a bare bed,
a black blanet twined around,
like ivy climbing the trellis that moonlights as a ladder
to the balcony of a lover who has been absent for too long,

thoughts come and go
fleeting feelings of friendship, love, passion

until at last, like a unwelcome invitation
to the wedding of our one true love,
sleep comes to the mind,
releasing colors before our closed eyes.

Remember? Remember
the image of a solid tree.

Loneliness comes with the mixing colors,
flowers grow, bloom, and die
all while the tree stands tall
waiting for a splash of white to erase

The colors that blind our eyes.
The blanket lets go,
As cold takes over the bare bed
betraying us to feelings of numbing desolation.

Olsen W. Potter

The blood on my hands goes to show you
that life is not all that it seems,
the red in my eyes seems to prove
that corrections have to be made.

They call it a sacrifice,
to give up all that you have
to a stranger you barely know,
give because you can.

I'm sick of playing nice,
forget tender and kind,
I'm playing a new game now,
one where I'll never be hurt.

So this blood that drains from my lips,
this blood that feels so warm,
is to prove that I can be mean,
I've warned you, stay away from my storm.

This red that never fades
made to cover up inside,
these feelings of love and truth,
Feelings I wish I could hide.

I through playing by the rules,
forget sweet, forget kind.
I'm a new me now,
I hope that you dont mind.

Caressing on my hand,
soft, warm, leather-like;
thoughts of meadows and brooks
paint a landscape of sensations
on my skin.

Time, a round room with
a blowing breeze,
alone.

Pages turn creating wind,
cooling down a self-hate;

not wanted, not needed,
not here.

"Sorry I'm not in my mind right now,
call back later"

changes

"I'm better,
call all you want!"

I asked if I could tell you that
I loved you.
I asked if you would
hold my hand.
I asked why you
were smiling,
you just keep smiling
back.

I haven't asked if
I can trust you,
why ask a question
you already know?
I told you
that I love you,
what more is there to trust?

Absolute dread,
a moment when I can feel tension,
like a cat in the headlights of my eyes.

Closing in around me,
I can't seem to move or think
its takes over and will not relinquish its hold.

Fighting, almost like loving,
only strengthens its power
to overtake my mind with images of humilation.

Closer and closer still it comes,
What can I do but let it take me?
All it is
is a simple
kiss.

We entered,
not just a simple store
but a warehouse converted to
the worshipping of all things manly-

Homage to the bullet;
Shrine to the Hunter-

Two kids-cowboy boots and all-
push a cart that reads
"Customer in Training"
I stopped and wondered,
amid the countless colors of cowboy hats,
"Men in Training"
is better.

Not being a hunter,
a fisher,
an athelete;
its hard to understand just what it is
that makes a man.

Poetry,
rhyming,
sounds,
everything and nothing said on an empty page.

Love,
laughter,
sorrow,
capture the attention of the reader like a burning book.

One look,
one movement,
one word,
destroys walls and castles quicker then anything else.

Fear,
Hate,
solitude,
keep me within my own castle's walls.

"You always look so proper,"
but I'm only twenty-one.
"You always know the anwser,"
But I'm younger then you all.

"You're so kind and gentle,"
"You're so warm to touch,"
"You're voice is so soft and tender,"
yet I still sleep with just my books.

"You're such a good guy,
to help that grandma with her bags,
to help that kid learn to read,
to do everything you're asked,"
still I sit alone...

Squeezed in between the Bulher Agency
and the Thai Cuisine
is the Sushi Ya-
Friday Night-
out with the guys,
well fellow employees at least.
I had a godzilla-cripsy crunch-
a Happy- my mouth wasnt full of joy-
after a cup of courage-
A.K.A. Lemon Water-
I tried a Crystal Shrimp...
the urge
to go
overcame me.
The bathroom was pure black
with a wanna-be Piasco
paino player painting
hanging above the sink.
The mirror was displaced
along the wall it ran,
in front of the john.
As I sat
I saw and thought "why?".
The iron butler stood there,
arms outreached, a tray of toilet paper,
as if to ask so kindly
"May one be of service sir?"

-Olsen W. Potter-

I said I'd write you notes
in the freezer-
you laughed.

I said it didn’t matter.

I said I would write you poems
everyday-
you smiled then cried.

I said I love you.

I said that I would be there
with you-
you hoped more I.

I said I couldn't make it.

I said I'm having problems
with my mind-
you love me anyway.

I said it hurts.

I said I would always
love you-
you said to keep in touch.

I said a simple "O.K."

Yesterday, the day before, this whole week,
without talking to you.
Today, as well, I wont get to
I'll be coming home somewhat late.

I adore the words
"Samira has entered"
its like the sun just came up,
or my soul just found Christ.

Maybe...I'm wrong,
it could be that I just love you to much.
but I believe that you complete me
you fill that abiss of sadness.

Ah, my love, why were you born?
to love me without end?
Your holy mission, the reason for life,
Could it be you were born for me?

And why do I live for you?
You've pasted your smile on my heart,
Imprinted the words of love on the air
that no one else can hear but us.

To what end will we love?
Until the poets forget their words?
Until presidents and kings realize their wrong?
I want to love you until the soul loses its religion.

Poems, words, thoughts,
help with this distance between us,
Still what I want more,
is to feel your kiss in my life.

Olsen W. Potter

Passion, like a flower
blooms when I think of you.
Not you on the phone, not you online,
but the real you, the flesh that my body desires.

Deep inside my very soul,
lies a beast, a wonder
that thrives on thoughts of you,
I try to feed him as often as I can.

Can you hear him?
Screaming to be let out.
I can barely control him in public
when at home, he runs free, heat and love combined in my mind.

Then you enter...
the beast goes wild.
He sings your love like a song of thousand years that
floats across time and land to touch your tender heart.

You speak,
it tames him.
He only stays quite to listen, harkening to your words
his very life force thrives upon such moments, as when you say
I love you.

Waiting, he sits inside my chest
where no one can see but me
and you, when I release him.
This desire of love that overcomes me.

He doesn't sleep. Rather he projects in my mind
images of you, sleeping, working, loving,
He obesses over the little things,
he wants me to do to you.

He's the poet, not I.
I can not write such words of devotion,
He spends the day debating sounds and words
that can convey this deep emotion.

Oh how he loves you, my sweet
He loves the taste of honey that your spirit gives to him.
He's my soul, my spirit, my heart, my all,
he's your's for the taking, please take!

I long for when I can release him
in touch, in love first kiss.
He begs and cries for that moment
when our lips will meet in god's bliss.

I warn you, He is not tame
a tiger... his teeth sharp with desire
He bites your heart with poems and words
A firm grip he has, he won't let go.

Please take him, accept him as he is!
Nothing else can sooth him, but for your sweeping fingers
caressing his restless love for you.
Please, dont make him wait any longer.
Please, dont make him wait...

Driving today,
a friend saw me
I looked like a rocker
she said
maybe because I need a shave.

Class, well it's ok
I wish I could just get it over with
like some pregant rock heaved upon my back I carry around my work
Crazy, Psyctic, and Mad
are really the only words for it.

My mother is sick
breathing through tubes
that twist and turn until they create a mask that I can't see through
to kiss my mother on the forehead and tell her
she'll be alright.

Negetive is a big word,
sincere maybe?
a little dark perhaps
Its hard to let the sunshine through when your covered by the dark clouds of a storm.

I'm devouring my book
I'm a monster when it comes to reading
my hand like machine turn the pages,
while my eyes,
huge round lasers,
scan the page and swallow all that black print.

Ah, let the books like rivers flow,
into my mouth and brain!

A friend saw me driving today
she said
I looked like a rocker
little did she know,
I was listening to Brazil...

Oh give me back my heart so dear,
and my love that I may hear,
the voice inside that gives me joy
and leads me in my rightful track.

My love for all was once strong,
and now it is but small and gray,
I wish that things hadn't been this way,
but doubt destroys the truest heart.

Oh give me back that heart of mine,
that I may see its life fulfilled.
Thy tongue is soft,
thy journey long,
but give me back this heart of mine.

Olsen W. Potter

Sometimes when I'm walking
I close my eyes
I close my eyes to change my surrondings
to something pleasant.
You, of course, are always there
with your smile.
Usually its in a forest, or at least some trees
I sit on the ground.
I can hear a lake somewhere near
lapping sounds abound.
I hold your hand while I sit
you squeeze it sometimes.
Then I open my eyes and it all goes away,
this wasteland of love
fills my eyes.

Olsen W. Potter

Let it be me;
the one in your dreams;
Let it be me;
your first love,
Let it be me;
that occupies your thoughts,
Let it be me;
the one you want to marry.

Let it be me;
the one who takes away your pain.
Let it be me;
your confidentant,
Let it be me;
the one you always kiss,
Let it be me;
your one great love.

Let it be me;
no one else,
Let it be me;
the one you think about when you sleep,
Let it be me;
when you shower, the one in your imagination,
Let it be me;
your first Man.

Let it be me;
always me,
Let it be me:
your love.

Olsen W. Potter

You were dancing in your yellow dress
red and blue lights reflected in your eyes.
I was wearing black,
such a cliche way to dance.

We started off together
dancing the Tango.
All that was missing
was that rose in your mouth.

I remember then the pace picked up,
you lead the way in the salsa.
The slit in your dress went all the way up,
our audience was memorized.

I wasn't that good of a dancer,
but with you as my partner,
we danced like no other.
They didnt want the night to end.

Little beads of sweat,
like rain drops on a rose,
graced your stunning brow,
I wiped them off for you.

And so we danced, and danced, and danced,
until the lights grew dim.
Then in the shining darkness
I kissed you on the lips.

Olsen W. Potter

I live painting a picture
in my mind of you.
You wear a pink blouse
and tan jeans.

Your hair is jet black
down around your ears it hangs.
It's so real that I almost want to reach out
but its a painting, nothing more.

Your lips are red
like the brightest crayon in the box.
Tempting, begging, puckering
for one simple kiss.

Your body, a painting of perfection
that Leonardo can not out do.
The way your body flows
even standing still.

Your smile holds me spellbound
my paintbrush still in hand,
how could I even try
to paint it like it is?

Whenever I am lonely
your eyes draw my attention;
brown holes of eternity,
swirling love and lust together.

I live painting
a portrait of you
and hope that before I die,
I can show it to you...

Olsen W. Potter

I dreamt of you this night.
oh what a sweet dream it was,
like the sounds of the sea that relax me,
dreaming of you, rejuvenates me.

You were in the road,
we were walking,
then I remember glancing over
my heart stopped of overwhelming beauty.

We walked into a forest
there were tons of red Calla Lillies.
I picked one for you,
you put it behind your ear.

And then I couldn't take it,
I kissed you with the trees watching.
I think they were jealous,
they were screaming in silence.

My hands traveled your body,
they touched your soul, your life.
My tongue took away any doubts,
Your smile, a beautiful happening.

We made love on the grass.
Our bodies became one.
What a divine feeling,
it really was love.

Your eyes shined,
with the light of a women in passion.
Your gentil touch,
caused a tear of contentment.

I woke up sad,
it wasn't fair.
How can I work?
How can I live?
without you.

-Olsen W. Potter-

As I Sit

As I sit here
5 chairs, yet only 1 full.
Little feet with little voices
Whisper giggles as little children do.

As I sit here,
white wind whipping
beyond the scratched steel doors.
Only red noses and watery eyes enter here.

As I sit here,
Older and Younger intermix
in a strange soup of learning
books and bag lunch fill the pot.

As I sit here,
a lady with a file stands,
rush, rush, rushing
across her imperfect fingernail.

As I sit here
my hand itching for relief
my mind sketching down it's thoughts.
There's 5 chairs here...
only 1 is full.

-Olsen W. Potter-

Insanity

The voice in my mind
a censureship on creativity
tells me I am nothing,
I, a bird, sings in my flight.

My family's always asking
leaving doubts of self motivation
Asking what I'm doing
a creek can erode the earth.

"why are you so different?"
voices like a cat screatching in the night
"why are you so monochromic?"
that old cliche saloon fight.

I enjoy who I am.
Sunset painted on a lonely soul
I refuse to change.
Counting grains on an aging beach.

Writing with a faithful pen
chicks hatching out of pre-used eggs
Poem that never get read
swimming in the ocean of words
and dying of
thirst.

-Olsen W. Potter-

I want more

This passion that I have
for all of your words
nothing can kill
its like thrist, hunger, and love.

Your written words
Your spoken words
Your words always leave me
with the feeling of being loved.

I look for them always
I check just to see
If I have a note from you
on phone, I wait to hear your voice.

Am I crazy?
I need to hear you say
speak your words
listen to your voice.

Never want to change
if I'm crazy, I am, thats it.
this way I find
my pearl of great price.

How good it is to love
How good it is to hear
How good it is to speak
How good it is to know

You say I'm crazy
love me then, for the fool I am
Your words make me crazy
I want more, I want more, I want more.

Need I say more?
What else can I say?
I have a passion for your words
please, dont leave me without them.

-Olsen W. Potter-

Depression through the eyes of a lover.

I think no one loves me"
weren't those your words?
I wonder if that what you really think
because I know you're here for me.

I'm sick of saying I'm sorry
for being the way that I am,
because I am, I really am
Trying to change.

Everyone says I have so much talent
I have so much going for me,
maybe thats true, I sure hope it is
but its something that I can't see.

Dont get me wrong, I have you
I know that our love isn't something one finds everyday.
Like a calm in a stormy world of hatred
my relief, my shelter, my own.

Anger doesnt enter here,
I love you for your words.
Love would be rather one sided
if it was only when we agreed.

I feel a little out of place
I know what you see is true
yet what I see and I feel
are two very different ideas.

I see what others see of me,
I can tell that not everything is bad
but I must worry to much about things
because thats the way I feel.

Feelings that hurt,
Feelings that cut
Feelings that cause to much pain.
Feelings I can't escape from, except when talking to you.

I'm not making you
my only remedy
rather, my prefered;
like chocolate cake with strawberry tea.

What makes it so my love is blurry?
Why can't my words all agree?
How can I fully express
these feelings inside of me?

I dont hate myself
I dont hate those around me
I wont give up on my dreams
I just want you beside me.

It's like theres a devil in my ear
telling that I can't do what I want.
that devil is my country, my family, my self- doubt
but with you I feel free.

You take me to places that I never knew!
Release an anti-drepessant thats true.
You give me white wings that fly on blue skies
rather then black ones in dreary storms.

I guess what I'm trying to do with my life
is cleanse my soul from this dirt.
Rid my past of all this doubt.
Love you for the person you are.

I could keep going
on forever
my feelings for you dont end
but rather then continue I just want to say
your my love, my life, and my way.

Olsen W. Potter

Searching

Love lost in a crowd
my feet are wondering empty streets
my voice crying out loud
heart ache's in everything.

I'm searching, searching for someone
everwhere and endlessly
wishing, waiting,
could there be someone searching for...
someone searching for me?

So battered and bruised
pride wounded and left for dead
ears closed to good news
and eyes are tear drenched
with sleepless rest.

I'm searching, searching for someone
everwhere and endlessly
wishing, waiting,
could there be someone searching for...
someone searching for me?

Oh I hear the cries
and I know thier pain
can it be denied
that everyone has been
and will be one day...

Searching, searching for someone
everywhere and endlessly
Wishing, waiting,
could there be someone searching for...
someone searching for me.

My love is standing alone
hands scarred by the nails of hate
Hope suffering long
Faith urging that it's not to late
Someone's searching for somone
Someone's wishing, waiting
Could there be?
Someone searching
everywhere and endlessly
Loving, longing, always there someone searching for....
Someone searching for me.

-Olsen W. Potter-

Ok, so I realize that not many people read my blog, that could be partly my fault, but I wish to explain to those who do read it why I wrote this poem. I am taking an understanding poetry class in college. I love to write poetry, but I never knew that understanding it could just as much fun. I mean, I fuss up to the fact that I have never read a complete book of poems, well except for Camoes "Os Luisadas" but that is in a forgein tongue and many people do not know him. Today we learned about Ezra Pound. He was an image guy. He said that the image should convey the emotion, not the extra junk of adjectives surronding it. So I thought to myself; I wonder if I could do that. Here is my try.

Self-Hate

A black eye
no outreached hand
a broke mirror and
a fired gun.

Olsen W. Potter

A pure romantic's poem

Even in a room full of people
I miss you
when alone in bed, nothing but thoughts of you
enter my head.

Dreams I dream,
the words I speak
doesnt matter who
I wish I was with you

I want to fell your body next to mine
your gentle touch caress my cheek
feel your heat combine with mine
fill me with the love I seek

Solitude, Emptiness, and Depression
all run from the very thought
that one day I will be all you need
that "For Now," will turn into "Forever"

Yours words,
even those that hurt
make me a better man
turn into someone I want to be.

I wish you could believe me
that the past had not happened
but the wishing in the world
is worth a half a black bean.

Now then can my worth increase?
become Diamonds instead of rice?
I'm seeking always for that answer
"always Learning" to quote you.

Love, to me, is something grand
doesnt matter who you are
I may have the wrong idea of your character
but I love you anyway.

Because you inspire my voice
give my words true meaning
you force to do better
never accepting when I fail.

All I ask is that you keep doing
all that makes you happy.
I will keep progressing
until you belive me when I say
"I am the man who loves you."

-Olsen W. Potter-

Wonders of a loving heart

Sometimes when the dark envades
when all is lost and cold
the simple thought of your embrace
brings the light back home.

When I am stressed and missing you
I close my eyes, and like the fire's flames
I see our first kiss and first longing look
and my heart seems to skip a beat.

Then when in silent slumber I rest
my mind portraits soft images of you.
Me, washing dishes; you, hugging from behind
so simple, yet so full of love.

Sweet songs sing in my heart to you
songs my voice can not express
I long to find the words to say
exactly how I feel.

My body keeps asking for you
it can't understand why we're not together
my mind wonders why sometimes as well
I think, eventually, I'll just have to give in.

My poems, my words, my thoughts
all center around your pure love
and I... I wonder why
of all those you could have
you chose me.

-Olsen W. Potter-

If Heaven...

If heaven were an hour;
it would be when I finally embrace you
If Heaven were a town,
it would be wherever you are
If heaven were a touch
it would be your soft hand on my face.

Remember the days when
we would travel the world together
from our computers and our dreams?
those moments add together
to create my very own heaven.

You know when you speak
whispering "Te amo," so softly I can hardly hear you
all of those whispers build in my mind
surround me in love, giving me wings.

Faith and hope, its not easy to believe
but this time when I almost lost you
I realized, I dont need to believe
because sometimes, the heart just wins...

-Olsen W. Potter-