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Odin Roark

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· Perceptions


· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1


Short Stories
· Pockets

· Poetic Injustice

· Letter To Friends

· Cave Cracks

· Bubble Choices

· Surreal Dummy--Still Here

· IT

· Faux Companion

· Take Me, I'm Free (Flash Fiction)

· Beer Neck Flower

· Discipline of the artist

· The Dogs of Sochi

· A Crow With Super Smarts

· Targets Be Warned

· Simple Times (an observation)

· Cavemen in Tuxedos (an editorial)

· Ghost Town Ghosts

· Note to Self

· Essay on Poetic Theory

· Noiseless Thunder

· We Sometimes Weep

· Happiness Is...

· Maybe Tomorrow Night?

· MIrror, Mirror...

· Projectiles In A Cup

· Revisiting Culture Rot

· Enigmas

· Walking Meditation

· Time Traveling

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Books by Odin Roark
  Ghost Towns of Love
by Odin Roark
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Recent poems by Odin Roark
•  Noiseless Thunder
•  We Sometimes Weep
•  Happiness Is...
•  Maybe Tomorrow Night?
•  MIrror, Mirror...
           >> View all 1,112

Some think that love is reserved for the young. Others believe love transcends youth. Still others believe there is no end to love. Sounds like a debate to be had. An exchange that might never be concluded, but at peace knowing the serialization is worth the effort.

Ghost Towns of Love

Isolated yesterdays
feeding off arid dust
while a Greek chorus of tumbleweed
perpetually alive
rolls by

Its flirtatious bounce
now languid with age
while still confident of notice
defies rejection
lifts its bounty
above and over
trumpeting its forever once again

Its path winds gracefully through
structures of love's main street
this erected system once fresh with adorned colors
once vying for sun's cater

Now cautiously holding steady
behind blinds of sleep
awaiting sun's rise each morning
lifting one
then two eyes of clarity
opening with anticipation
while dreading their closing with moon's late-night farewell

Now the faded memories arise once again
the sagging tattered folds of smooth velvet once
now covering and hiding the burlap shrouded wounds

Cataracts of history
battling yore's sand crusted storms
challenging the weakened transparent windows of survival
attempting once again
to bury the first-kiss hunting grounds

But safe I am
inside my ghost town
its precise webs of woven chances
clinging to corner
while cupidry's eight-legged sentries
with nourishment sparse
remain at the ready
patiently waiting
for yet today's old hunger anew

Through the walls' withering cracks
riding sun slivers across the shadowed confinement
imagined smiles bring respite here
caressing life's paradigm shifts
remaining somehow fortified
even while giving way from time to time
to innocent's Time-consumptive adventure
knowing the geography of love
happily cherishes and protects its ghost-like allure

From starts
to middles
through endless ends
Time's romance reaches to embrace the ethereal

For in its seeming small windowed enclosure called youth
experience knows it is but the beginning
knows winds of love
never fully dry the waters of passion
the seedlings of hope

Even the periodic gales of doubt
opting to silence the windmill of my person
seeking to clear away
these weathered walls
these once polished eyes
knows this landscape of birth
is forever what once was
never to be destroyed
becoming instead
merely another hour in
Time's spirit of love

As another day begins to fade
in the near distance
harmonizing with the rhythm of the windmill
earth's thunder-cloud drumming
joins the delicate voice of Mother earth
love's quintessential ghost incarnate
passion personified
the love all tumbleweeds chorus

Accompanying this roll endlessly forward
this ghost town of love
Its shadows stretching toward the light
carrying life haloed in dust
to disappear in love's sunset

But only today's sunset


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Reviewed by Morgan Merriweather 10/5/2012
love is the wild west at times, but there is nothing wrong in dreaming for the best of many descriptive lines here. wonderful tone.
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 10/1/2012
There comes a time when everyone thinks back about the loves of their earlier life, now transformed into ghostly lingerings that never quite come to pass again. Your poem took me on a journey through that past and ended with the thought that the sun will come up tomorrow and you can start all over again.

Reviewed by richard cederberg 10/1/2012
As I construe this, a poignant lament, Odinsan. There seems much unrequited here, and, in certain ways, even cynical. It seems you advert to corporeal love and the inability to dwell confortably in the deeper layers of something that is eluding you. "Time's romance reaches to embrace the ethereal"... seems a clue about the writers desire for a physical love with someone (rooted in love trust and respect) that lasts forever. Your last line seems to place the gist of your thoughts into the twenty-four hour cycle of a brooding soul remembering, and, also, yearning to experience loves bounty. Seems a poetic confession to me, Odinsan, as if you've shared a page of your personal diary. Kudos ...
Reviewed by Mr. Ed 10/1/2012
I guess I'm one of those who believe that love is endless. I'm also one who loves to wander old abandoned ghost towns out west, always pondering who lived and loved in them, once upon a time, as I gaze at their deserted streets and buildings.
Reviewed by Diana Legun (Reader) 9/30/2012
This is a captivating mural of emotional form, for me. There is a dryness in the texture (tumbleweed, dust, burlap, sand crusted, nurishment sparse, withering cracks) that provides an aging element. Bumped right up next to this I find youthifying elements: (perpetually alive, flirtatious bounce "trumpeting its forever once again" / I reallly like that one!! / opening with anticipation, imagined smiles bring respite here, Time's romance reaches to embrace the ethereal). I elect "disappear in love's sunset," as the yellow highlighter phrase in this incredibly balanced poem. ~~ Diana
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