Valiant Keep

Image Adjustments

2009-07-20T07:37:00.001-07:00

There's a certain brightness about this image.
It's levels are perfect; it's curves are seductive.

The exposure, the one thing the camera has complete control over,
is the work of a master.

Yet the vibrance is horrible.
It's color balance is leaning towards red,
it's green channel is completely missing,
and the blue...black.

It abuses the threshold of beauty.

I've tried variations of the theme,
matching the color,
replacing the color,

and yet this image,
that looks so perfect in the dialog boxes,
is brutally ruined
by the mis-mixed blacks and blues.

Reset and Purge

2009-07-20T07:36:00.001-07:00

Life should have a reset button.
One where, after I say something like,
"Oh no sweetie you don't look a day over 39"
could be pushed to erase, purge, these words
from the history of conversations between
my wife and I.

It could be useful to everyone:
the student who failed a test,
the teacher who stayed up watching Survivor instead of grading papers,
the plumber who flushed the toilet too soon,
and the artist whose portrait is perfect, except for the crossed eyes.

Why is it that the more we live,
the more and more we see the need
for something as simple,
yet divinely inspired,
as reset and purge?

Life-or something like it

2009-07-20T07:35:00.000-07:00

I've spent years reading books,
turning the pages for other lives
like a butler, or a slave.

Learning only those things that others taught;
thinking for myself others' thoughts.

How wonderful it is
to have a son!

Freed from high educations constant ringing,
freed from the stress of writing essays,
I learn, I think, I write my own thoughts!

Everything up until now,
my life before my child,
was wasted thinking others
could teach me how to read, think,
live,

and now I know the secret;
you can not cuddle, snuggle, embrace
books.

Daydreams

2009-04-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's the flowing of ink
the endless motion of paper turning
that moment
when I post my poetry
that under my name appears
"Fear of the Shadow" by Olsen W. Potter
at Amazon.com followed by a red link

I daydream of publishing my writing
and people actually reading it

It seems to have melted

2009-04-01T12:23:00.001-07:00

I opened a photo of us
the one where we're kissing
under the oak branch
pre-marriage
in Photoshop
just to see if I could make it better
lighten the shadows
fix the levels
apply a soft blur to our edges

but I guess 8 years
on an archived CD
had made that blissfully near-perfect image
melt

I'd love you but...

2009-04-01T12:22:00.000-07:00

I wish I could photoshop
your face to be more friendly to me.
My RAM can't handle the sorrow in your eyes.
I'd love you if it weren't for that.

The Popcorn Gods

2009-04-01T12:21:00.002-07:00

It was a just little shop
on the corner of 10th and Washington.
I had 10 minutes to kill so I walked in
and immediately knew I had found my Kryptonite.
Huckleberry Cheesecake, Caramel Cashew Crunch,
Fire and Ice, Chocolate Heaven, Pumpkin Spice,
were in plastic bags all lined up like the firing squad
aiming their kernels at my heart.

I have to go everyday now;
I mean, even the kettle corn is
faith promoting.

Planning the Honeymoon

2009-04-01T12:21:00.001-07:00

I thought,
before I get married I should plan my honeymoon,
so I took down a map and charted a course
for Coeur D'Alene.

It seemed to be a 9 hour trip,
doable,
but it would be so fun to stop in
Bliss for a day,
just enjoying each others company.
Maybe have lunch in Cable Car Crossing;
dinner at some diner in Darlington.

Of course we had to stop in Fernan Lake Village,
it would be in June and the lake would be green.
And Horseshoe Bend was a must see.

By the time the road brought me to Post Falls,
where I planned on reserving our hotel,
we would have passed through
Ireland Springs, Judge Town, Knowlton Heights,
Quartzburg, Underkoflers Corner, Yellow Dog,
and Zaza
taking 3 months, 2 days, and 7 hours...
before we even got where we were going.

I gave up; we went to Vegas instead.

Emma and Wayne

2008-11-20T09:15:00.000-08:00

There exists, in my mind, a couple. They fascinate me more than the books I read. And every once in while I write a poem about them. Life would be richer perhaps if I wrote their story in novel form, and who knows, maybe one day I will, but for right now I write their story in poetry. I post their story so far for you to read and enjoy.

Baskets

Emma was standing outside
Barnes and Nobles
Holding a basket of books.

Wayne winked.
She smiled.

They’ve been
Reading each other ever since.

Wedding Night

In black and red passion
They strip each other
Of their innocence.
Like two ancient gods hammering out
The last of their thunder before
Reason and Logic overpower them.

Wayne lies in the double bed,
Naked, spent, imperfect, the power
of Gods flowing through him,
as he watches Emma,
Dark haired Emma,
wash the make-up from her face.

The water is stained the color of regret.

Lua de Mel

It was a 9 hour drive,
Made longer by Wayne’s reading of
Tartuffe for his English degree.
The only honey Emma found on the trip
Was the moment, in a Barnes and Noble
(they were browsing the relationship section
For a book on Oral sex), when Wayne,
Looking at an illustrated Karma Sutra,
Shut up about books,
Looked Emma in the eye,
And said, “hum.”

She loves it when he’s speechless.

Reasons

Emma’s mind, like the faint light
Floating in on Wayne’s pillow,
Hovers, then retreats
To life before marriage.

He kicks in his sleep.

Last night, she told him
he doesn’t share everything
with her.

The music of their marriage
Is made from bubbling cheese
And noisy kisses;

Not from lights that turn red for a moment
or Emma’s embraces.

She takes Wayne with her everywhere,
Sharing with him her fears,
her dreams,
The stress of her every day.

He couldn’t understand that
When she left.

The First Year

Emma went back,
of course.
Her mother told her,
"You picked him",
made her feel guilty,
made her feel unloved.

Wayne had done the dishes.

She found him sitting
in her chair,
next to the bookcase,
reading King Lear
with the cliffs notes.

She laughed and said,
"let me explain".

And she did.

Reaction to buying a 4 dollar knock-off for a prescription pain-killer

2008-05-08T10:19:00.003-07:00

We only have one store in town,
the big bad wolf come to destroy everything we hold dear,
or at least drive all other businesses from the bank of our river.

So when my wife asked for some prescription pain-killer
(and also some latex-free "friends")
I forced to face the fiend.

They were painting the L
when I walked into the gaping maw
they call a sliding door entrance.

A friendly old person, brain-washed
to say only 'Hello, would you like a cart?'
asked me if I would like a cart.

I told her no, thank you,
turned, ran out the door,
and slipped on a puddle of freshly spilled white paint.

The Manager of the monster
brought me a 4 dollar knock-off for the pain,
which I took it home to my wife and said, "Sweetie, next time aspirin and latex will have to do".

Ode to the Miller

2008-05-08T10:19:00.001-07:00

I've been told I look like the Miller,
short, round, somewhat balding.
I take it as a compliment, because I
am, short round, somewhat balding.

So I read his tale. Seemed simple enough.
A girl, a guy, the girl's old husband,
the priest down the lane that likes to kiss
peoples "ers".

I like it enough to read it to my wife,
who, like every other time I read something to her,
gave a whimper. No laughter, no smile.
A whimper of disgust? A whimper that really said,
'Honey, I love you but stop reading to me'?

or was it a whimper of pain?

If only life were as simple as
the Miller's tale.

Dancing the Samba with a Brazilian during Carnival

2008-05-08T10:17:00.001-07:00

Her costume caught my eye
as it swayed with the beat,
beat,
beat.

Her feet flowed with the song
like hair in the wind;
her black hair that smelled of mangoes;
the wind that smelled of rice.

Her name was Sandrinha,
little Sandra,
smiling Sandra.

Her reaction to my watching
was a slip of the foot,
causing the team to miss a beat
and lose.

Her only regret after 3 years of love,
crazy-passionate-exotic-Brazilian Love,
was that her Samba team had lost.

Twelve Dozen Roses

2008-05-08T10:16:00.000-07:00

I'm an unpublished poet,
still in school.
I teach computers at
the community college.

Somehow
I managed to pay
for twelve dozen red roses.

The color of her blood-clot.

I choked on those petals
when the clot broke free.

A conversation heard around the water cooler in a university faculty lounge.

2007-11-17T10:04:00.001-08:00

Move him into the sun,
into the daily fire
of reality.

They told him that he could
change the world,
make people read more,
help others embrace
this dying natural resource:
our beautiful English tongue.

They gave him Dickens,
Dickinson, Gogol, Tolstoy, and
so many other ink-filled pages
from the past, and said
"Read and never thirst again."

As the final act
of smearing on his educational sunblock,
they let him teach college freshmen.
Let him artificially indoctrinate them
with his ideas too potent
to be contained in
a standard classroom setting.

Ideas, words that burst from his mouth
like rays of light in a dark forest.

He's had it too easy,
let's move him into the sun,
where its so hot
his books will melt into sorrow,
and his ideas,
his words,
will burn through his sunblock
and eat away at his unconventional soul.

Paisley Price Pincock

2007-11-09T14:56:00.001-08:00

Purple is her favorite color,
purple with pink spots that
pronounce to the public
the she has pride
in her posterity.

People always perturb her
with their pointless peppering
of penetrating ponderings.

Of course she has the pluck,
poise, permanence, power,
and pertinacity to perplex
them with this plea,

"Please, plug your pit
with Peanuts, and pop off."

Will you go to Prom?

2007-10-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

I had envisioned a huge truck full of Oreos and Cheez-its,
That you would have to excavate to find a question that I wrote
on fancy smelling paper I found in my mom’s underwear drawer.

But I’m on a budget and couldn’t afford the truck and the driver (DUI, you know…).
Besides I’d eaten two bags of Oreos and all of the Cheez-its before I realized
That my mother likes to keep the things in that drawer private.

So I wrote a poem. It’s romantic, it’s easy, and it doesn’t cost anything,
Oh don’t worry I’ve planned the coolest date for the day, we’re going
To go milk cows at my uncle’s farm…you’re not allergic to mice, right?

I do have to ask one favor, can you pay for pictures? My family thinks that
The camera steals your soul, something to do with Uncle Bob and Aunt Jane
Going crazy after they got their picture taken at the Here’s Ur Sign convention.

We can wear matching over-alls! Momma says that they’re “easy” clothes. Her
And dad wear them all time to bed; she keeps hers with the smelly paper and strawberry
Flavored lip gloss. I invited my cousin Jimmy to come with; he’s taking his sister Bessie!

So, You wanna come? Be ready to kick up your heels, cuz we’re going square dancing!

It’ll be a hoot!

Camouflage

2007-10-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

Waiting with a five year old
in the doctors office
with the bruise hiding his face.
I wish I could cover myself.

I didnt do it...
His mother, a meth user,
hit him in the night
when he had a nightmare,
wet his bed,
called out her name...
she didnt care.

But people dont know that.
They think I'm the dad,
I'm the culprit of this crime,
That I was jealous of his black eyes,
his brown cheeks,
his spanish voice.

I wish I could mask myself as white powder,
and tape her striking her son,
but I can't,
so I sit and wish I was camouflaged.

Dragons

2007-10-02T10:10:00.000-07:00

There are no scales,
no morning breath
from left-over page
with Knight gravy.

They look like a lizard
but not a lizard.
Like a human
but not quite.
They look like a mix between
a castle moat
and Stone Henge.

They drink ice water,
with a slice of King.

They live in waterfall caves
like Frank Lloyd Wright's
Falling Water, Bear River.
Style, Class, and little elf girls
that feed them sushi wrapped in skin.

Sunday afternoon in the park with Becca.

2007-10-02T10:09:00.000-07:00

I called her today around 3:00
Said “hey baby how about hanging in the park,
Watching those crazy star-wars freaks choke each other
With their invisible hands and slash each other with plastic light sabers?”

She said, “ok.”

So I went to her house
in my white hippie van made for making love.
Singing Sweeney songs, the sweet sound of sharp
Notes filled the spine of Harold Bloom with a literary pain in the ass.

She said “hey,”

When I knocked on the door.
With my black “cool cat” beret on my head
I looked like the owner of my “books on wheels” hippie van,
As well as Mike Myers from “So I married an Axe Murderer”, only better looking.

She kissed me.

I kissed her back
and threw her in Wisp the magic van,
driving down Park Avenue like Batman chasing a lead.
Except I am a safe driver, only leaning to kiss her on the yellow lights.

She just laughed.

We got to the park
And no one was there but us, the freaks
Must have left the premises when they saw the White Streak
Of Love coming from afar; screaming out passion and fire as it squealed it's wheels.

She said, “sweet.”

Not one to mince words,
I kissed her like New Years Day after two Jacks
And a Strawberry Daiquiri with a slice of lemon and a splash
Of sex. It shuts her up for a moment; she talks enough to chew the ear off an elephant.

She said, “wow”.

A true account of a lover’s drinking habits.

2007-10-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

The radio on the bus is blaring out
The news of a fire somewhere.
The man who sits next to me
Is wearing cattle skin and drinking
coffee from a cup marked "Caution Hot!"
I need something for the pain.

It’s a hang-over, head-smashing pain.
I got it last night at Rebecca’s party, out
near a river, where my girl, hot
With Tequila Sunrises, wished to be somewhere
Else; wished to be drinking
In public without me.

She doesn’t love me.
Adding an emotion-numbing pain
to my introvertive drinking.
only in the unassuming night I go out;
To the movies, to a bar, somewhere
Other than my dump. Anywhere hot.

The sun, that big hot
Eye with searing rays, stocks me.
Every time I kiss her somewhere
lower then her lips I feel pain.
Because I'm always out
of it; always drinking.

I find escape, relief, Home in drinking.
Those Tequila Sunrises, makes her hot
pent-up pleasure fizz out.
So its the bus for me,
Causing my red retinas pain
Because I can’t get off somewhere.

Because I can’t get off somewhere
With my girl. My drinking
leads to skin-boiling pain.
why the sun is so hot?
Is it jealous of me?
Jealous it cant black out?

I want to go somewhere parched and hot,
drinking instead her love for me;
Maybe absorbing her pain will finally dry me out.

Let's Hear It

2007-06-27T15:06:00.000-07:00

Cut to the heart of the subject,
poetry-hater,
and tell me,
why?

Why don't you enjoy
smelling the scent
of freshly read words
in the air after reading
a poem?

What's the probelm
with the taste of letters
merging to create the
sound of life in your mouth?

Perhaps your tongue
refuses to have worthy
company join it for dinner?

Where else can you
find the soothing touch
of meter and style
on a night when the raindrops
mix, join, and combine
to form whispers of regets?

You're to busy for Poetry
you say?

Maybe Poetry's to busy
with me
to find you.

Olsen W. Potter

Love is like the 4th of July

2007-04-16T15:30:00.001-07:00

With fire.
and lights my nights
It celebrates FREEDOM;
4th of July.
the
like
is
Love

Wrong Address

2007-02-28T13:43:00.000-08:00

I get my mail at 11:15.
By 11:30 I was kicked out of the house.

It was the day after Presidents day.
I’d brought her a new select comfort mattress.

In the mail was a coupon.
“Mail in for your free bra!”

It wasn’t addressed to me,
But Gisele was on the front.

I have a weakness for hot Brazilian chicks.
So I took it inside.

My wife saw it, took it,
Ripped it up. Giselle’s face

Was torn just left of her nose,
Right down her beautiful Bra line.

She missed the coupon though,
So I mailed it in.

Figure I’ll give it to her,
With a dozen roses.

Hate Mail

2007-02-26T14:33:00.000-08:00

I wake-up with no one.
I feel like John Donne.

I'm pious so I raise the kid,
I won the "sober" buyout bid.

I've got PB&J and a carton of milk,
She's living it good, lying in silk.

In the drive, there's a 98 Silhouette
Cost: $15,000; I'm still in debt.

Jamie has to get to school,
I'm her pet, her dog, her mule.

I return home and write,
stuff thats nice and polite

When I really just want
to write in Hate-mail type font.

Long Distance

2006-11-28T08:31:00.000-08:00

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.

Lament of Innocence

2006-11-02T07:35:00.000-08:00

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.

A crunch in my shoe

2006-10-25T10:16:00.000-07:00

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

Ode to Library Books

2006-10-16T20:44:00.001-07:00

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.

Ode to Rio

2006-10-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Curse

2006-09-15T12:11:00.000-07:00

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.

The Blessing

2006-09-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

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.

A chip

2006-09-08T12:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Forgein Love

2006-08-25T14:18:00.000-07:00

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

Sacrifice

2006-08-05T13:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Finding Time

2006-07-19T15:50:00.000-07:00

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!"

Relations

2006-07-06T22:23:00.000-07:00

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?

Fear

2006-07-02T06:52:00.000-07:00

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.

Buying a Gun with my Father

2006-06-29T09:22:00.000-07:00

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.

To you, dear reader

2006-06-24T21:25:00.001-07:00

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.

Aging Heart

2006-06-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

"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...

The bathroom at the Sushi Ya

2006-06-07T16:29:00.000-07:00

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, You Said

2006-05-28T05:38:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-11T07:06:00.000-07:00

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

My Passion is a Tiger

2006-04-02T19:17:00.000-07:00

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...

Tubes and Books

2006-03-25T21:49:00.000-08:00

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...

Give me back

2006-03-10T21:52:00.000-08:00

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

Walking

2006-03-07T13:46:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-07T07:14:00.000-08:00

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

Yellow Dress

2006-03-02T07:23:00.000-08:00

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

Life as an artist

2006-03-02T07:07:00.000-08:00

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

My Dreams

2006-02-25T08:58:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-02-17T21:52:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-02-16T11:38:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-02-16T09:31:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-02-02T12:55:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-22T16:38:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-01-19T11:23:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-13T10:46:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-01-13T10:45:00.000-08:00

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-

2006-01-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

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-

2005-12-23T21:17:00.001-08:00

Maybe Tomorrow

Maybe tomorrow
when I'm older
and the sun has left my eyes
I'll understand why

Why hope can outlast depression
Why truth never changes
Why I can't refuse to believe
that everyone has some good in them.

Maybe when I'm dying
the color black finally winning
the light will enter
my mind will expand

Tell me why the rainbow's only after
the darkest cloud passes over
Tell me why even the sweetest melody
must have a deeper darker harmony
Tell me why the happiest person
also knows the pit of saddness

Maybe after I'm gone
my life just a flicker of faint fondness
People will look back and see
I try my best to overcome
to fight the fight and won.

Speak of me with love
Speak of me with a smile
Speak of me; never without mention of thee
They'll speak of you and me.

Maybe years from now
a thousand, or possibly two
I want people to still remember
that I deeply loved you.

_Olsen W. Potter_

2005-12-23T21:17:00.000-08:00

Who?

Who would say that you're not loved?
Who would have the courage to do that?
Who would want you to live a life unloved?

Who could say that I can't love?
Who would open their mouth so wide?
Whoever said it must be jealous,
They can't understand what we feel.

Then I want to say that you really are
a person extremely blessed.
Theres a poet, well at least he tries,
that loves you with his life.
Theres a painter that just thinks about you
everything he does, he does for you.

He tries to write, place the words in the right order,
but the love runs so deep that the words run away.
How can he write, or paint for that matter,
that which conveys the faithfulness, the happiness, and the passion?

And so he stays, without being able
painting a picture that can't show,
writing a poem that can't say,
everything he holds inside.

Now then, Whoever says that you're not loved
doesn't know anything at all.
Because this man loves you more then anyone else
he just doesn't know how to express...
I love you.

-Olsen W. Potter_

2005-11-13T21:00:00.000-08:00

Life sucks

This morning I woke up,
had no desire to leave my bed
I could feel today really would
suck.

But I had work to do, I had to go
so I got in my car and drove
hit a cat on my way
the blood splated against my wheels.

I called my girl, she was mad
I hadn't done all I could I guess
she treated me like a brazillian dirt
the lowest form of love there is.

So then I did my homework
I thought I would finish tonight
I was wrong, I got screwed
all by myself I trudge through.

My work, dont get me started
the kid peed on my shoe
then they took away my favorite
and gave to some loon.

What do I do now I ask?
Where do I go from here?
Why do I try to be happy?
Who can I turn to now?

2005-11-05T05:08:00.000-08:00

Solitude

The dark
gathering, biding, lurking
waiting for a time to get me
get me all alone.

The vision I keep having
of myself attacking
those I love, those I treasure
and even my own self.

The fingers I keep losing
the blood I keep tasting
arising in the morning
a taste of steel rest in my memory.

Can you feel it?
the hot blood streaming down your body?
feel it cool, it congeal,
leaving traces of desperate wanting.

Stab in the heart, why aren't I dead?
The pain, like an ember,
sizzles and sears my soul
Again I ask, Why aren't I dead?!

-Olsen w. Potter-

2005-11-02T19:10:00.000-08:00

The Idea of doubt
There lingers in each of us
something like a passion,
a desire for that which we envision
a want to succeed, beat our fears into submission.

Doubt comes creeping, with a host full of friends
Lasiness, Cowardish, even Restlessness come along for the ride
they enter our minds, entertain our thoughts
with shows of utter disgrace.

Lasiness sits right next to you, whisper sweet rejections in your ear.
Cowardish just a row ahead, ducking at very action and whim.
Restlessness makes you go crazy, with her talk of enduring decit.
yet the worse of all of these ladies, is that of Miss Questioning.

She comes dressed in her best, she's out to kill
to remove any sign of intellagent life.
First she seduces, then she muses over the stress and the strife.
and before you can see
she's a rooted tree
sucking your enegry
and giving back nothing.

Friends, heed! Beware of her tricks
She will enter your house, and you'll never remove her
once you start with doubting
you can never ever win...

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-11-02T19:02:00.000-08:00

Tis better to have loved

I lost the love of my life tonight,
what hollow darkness I am in.
yet come to mind, like doubt covered arrow,
is the phrase we all know within.

Tis better, I hear them start to say
I already shut my ears
It's like no one knows any other words
or else they're just blooming idiots.

I'm not trying to be mean
thats not my point
but dont you think that after 100 years
the same old phrase would go "Ka-put"?

Maybe I'm just depressed
singing some solitary sad song
tapping a tune to the absence of the moon
screaming out loud at the sun.

It does no good to pout
no good to sit and wallow
still, I dont feel a like walk in a golden meadow,
a red rampage of carnage is more desiring.

So when you hear some one say
I lost my love today,
say something useful, hopeful, and smart
something, anything, other then this
"Tis better to have loved and lost"!

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-10-24T13:41:00.000-07:00

My Angel My Muse

Oh Angel of joy
of love & of serenity
come and linger
stay within my soul

Peace of heart
ripples in the sea of doubt
seek out my darkend face
from the ocean of self pity

Oh sweet angel
bless me with thy kiss
heal my wounds of instant pleasure
fill me with enduring delight

Touch of grace
heat against a flame of ice
revive my seared soul
return light to my desolate eyes

Oh angel of true love
Come! Come and linger!
release my mind of this calamity
stich together my severed heart.

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-10-24T13:39:00.000-07:00

What a lonely poet feels

Eternity, what a dream,
What an idea to comfort hearts.
Time is an illusion
Love then. Doubly so.
Eternity, serenity, beauty,
mind games of a encrazed lover.

Eternity is a game of poets,
romances that defy common feelings.
They whose whords are writen well
Money, not happiness, is their goal.
Born from dust to live in lust
A life of common solitude.

What of it then? This "amor" this faith
It lacks blood, flesh, and heat.
Ideas can not steal away
The wounds from our dying trust
In a world where one minute pleasure rules
Faith is a thing let to rot.

So innocents of heart and blind of love
What dreams may come now?
The Hellish creatures of the drenching dark
Rulde with a sceptor of fear and doubt,
Dare you to think the light of love can win?

You reply "love onquers all"
And I sit and listen.
"Darkness is but a moment,"
You argue, "the dawning day will win."
"Of course, my friend, of course."
My comforting voice lies.

"Yes time is but a dream,
To a broken heart there is no dawn
Thus the endless night in wollow wins-
Love you say? You've found true love?
I congragulate you then.
But alas true love found you?

I do not mean to strike your dream
that would be very wrong-
But open your eyes and you shall see
In this world, love does not belong.

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-10-19T14:23:00.000-07:00

Luiz De Camoes: Sonneto De Amor
Amor é fogo que arde sem se ver;
É ferida que dói e não se sente;
É um contentamento descontente;
É dor que desatina sem doer;

É um não querer mais que bem querer;
É solitário andar por entre a gente;
É nunca contentar-se de contente;
É cuidar que se ganha em se perder;

É querer estar preso por vontade;
É servir a quem vence, o vencedor;
É ter com quem nos mata lealdade.

Mas como causar pode ser favor
Nos corações humanos amizade,
Se tão contrário a si é o mesmo Amor?

I love this poem. It talks about how love is a fire that doesnt burn, its wanting to be in prison , Its be carefull to win by losing yourself. One day I might tanslate it for you all, but for now I want you to enjoy it for its forgein tongue. Somethings lost in the translation.
-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-10-12T14:52:00.000-07:00

Success

Like a Dog caught in the rain
my coat wet and cold
my heart
beats alone.

Like a sailor in a storm
flashing lights and darks
my soul
is endless stress .

Like a muse without a song
my inspiration gone and dry
my thoughts
are baren.

Like a ghost town at midnight
empty doors and passages
my eyes
are colorless.

Like a shadow of myself
full of hate and reget
my brain
alone I'm left....

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-10-03T12:19:00.000-07:00

Would you Hold me?

If I caught the world in a bottle
and everything stood still beneath the moon,
what would it all matter if you did not love me?
If I were as smart as aristole,
and understand the things around the world,
with out your love would it still shine for me?

Here in your arms, where the world is impossibly still
where my million of dreams are fulfilled
and only thing that I fear
is the moment when holding you ends.

If I could tell you the meaning
of everything that goes around the sun
Why would it matter if you left me?
and If I want to hold you forever
safely in my arms covered in love
Would you want me?

Here in my arms, where all of your fears are subdued
where all things that matter are blurred
and I am the only thing.
Here in my arms, where you really want to be
where my love sets you free
and reality can not make our dancing end

If I could love you forever
and everything was ours because of love
what would it matter what the others say?
If I caught you in my love
and arms keep you safe from all the world
Would you hold me?
until this nightmare ends.....

2005-10-01T11:38:00.000-07:00

What is the Truth?

Your think I'm just a liar,
not lying to hurt but rather to heal,
Lies that make you feel better inside
But still, keeping from you the truth.

Only that I'm not lying
to you I only speak the truth
time and space are against us,
things happen to distort my loving words.

I don't know how much more I can take
I have a tear in my heart from your harsh words
I'm fraying into a lonely life
each time I hear you ask if it's true.

It's my fault I know, one lie and trust is broken
yet I promise I know that I can not
make up for that which lies in the past
how I wish I could change that.

I love you with all my heart
and in your heart I know you know.
Hope and Love are the builders of trust
if only blind pride didn't get in the way...

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-09-30T15:25:00.000-07:00

Escape

Lets escape this sad reality,
come with me into my dreams
where the only thing that matters
is this love we share, you and me.

Lets escape from a world of sorrow
from a world where gravity shatters flight.
away into the sky I would take you
away sin and doubt.

Lets escape, runaway, flee from this monster
a monster that prohibites our destiny
destiny divine that showers us with love
come away with me, come away

Come into my world, the world I have made
for us to abide in sweet Venus's care
Cupid adores us, Hades resents us
because of this home that we share.

Home is where your heart lies
or so they say
but I believe home is where love
sets you free...

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-09-30T15:19:00.000-07:00

Waterfall

Isn't water romantic? doesn't your heart beat in the myst? What better place could there be for two lovers, who dont want to be found?
Just around the corner from where my father grew up, there a small little town, with a small little road, but today there is no one around
so if we go through that town, and follow that road for awhile, we'll find at its end a place thats just ours....a waterfall long forgetten.
Come with me, please? Follow me there? It's where I have always dreamt I would ask my love to wed.
come with me? I'll meet you there, with a ring and a question to ask.... Come if your answer is yes....

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-09-28T11:46:00.000-07:00

Love just is....

Love doesn't have reason for being
it just exists in each of us.
Love doesn't have an explanation
it just lingers all around us.

Searching for love, searching for hate
wanting warmth, yet finding ice.
They said put your past behind you
yet the past is like a head full of lice.

Never ridding ourselves of its pain
of its undesirable memory
How can we forget the lessons
learned in out infantry?

Poetry is nothing
just an escape from the blade
that blade that we call Love
that knife which we ourselves made.

Some people judge, others no
Judging relieves from us a certain void
finding fault in others releases our own guilt
those that don't judge, are always with themselves annoyed.

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-09-27T16:29:00.000-07:00

Death by Stars:
Rushing feeling of boiling hate,
Fleeing my brain through my fingertips.
Death by Stars, Burial by Space.
Brock making fun of me
because of my homeworks fate.

Who cares what he thinks?
I know people read my blog
ok, maybe not at many as his
but I'm new, I'm refreshing,
I'm a work of bloody art!

Who needs comments?
Who wants glory?
I write because I want to
not to receive some man given trophy
Writing is a gift from god,
and as said by Mary Poppins
"Screw 'em!"

Laughing my head off
joys of forgetten friends
write and write and write and write
really who cares what a blog says?
.
.
.
I do.....
-Olsen W. Potter_

2005-09-16T21:52:00.000-07:00

Death

Blood, Hate, Anger, Lust
Red, Green, Yellow, Blue
Feelings of a lonely life
Colors that only sinister see.

Steel cold heart, even colder emotion
Freezing hope in my icy veins
Love is broke with an empty stare
How could heat even dare to enter here?

Romance is dead, buried along with joy
Solitude is the only thing left to my reason
Worthy friends are next to none
and those that I have, well they run, run, run

Running red, a pool in my hand
A pleasure pain releasing adrenaline
Green feeling, Envy of the dead
When will this oddity end?

Yellow sun, rising hope, what a head ache
Hatred of the day, a passion for the night
Blue eyes of dulling energy, lifelessness filling my heart
Who want this life? Who wants.......
-Olsen Potter-

2005-09-10T23:41:00.000-07:00

This is my inside when I'm feeling sad, odd isn't it? how someone can dream of Love undying and yet still have so much pain inside.

2005-09-10T23:18:00.000-07:00

Capable

You dont think I'm able
to live in this world without you
That its your love that keeps me going
Well I know that I am capable

Love like water is nesscary to live
Your love is like wine
I dont want to lose that sweet taste
But water will suit me fine

So you think you've won me over
that I'm just your servant or slave
Well my mind wont agree to that
so I dont think that I will behave

I'm capable of life, I'm capable of love
I can do whatever I believe I can
And I dont need you to back me up

-Olsen Potter-

2005-09-10T14:35:00.000-07:00

Unknown

I am free like the wind, yet imprisoned like a dog
I can love with my heart, and hate with my passion.
I feel the heat of blood, running down my wrist
My needs are filled, yet I know not satisfaction.

I am empty with no knowlegde, wisdom shines in my eyes
I am like the blade that I hold in my hand
Cold to the touch, sharp against skin
In the end my body will obey my command.

Red, drying red... that blur enters my senses
Everyone will be green with envy of me
Purple gowns and golden crowns are awaiting
in a world where no sadness will be...

-Olsen Potter-

2005-09-10T14:33:00.000-07:00

This is Demecca Mystic. She is very loving, caring and kind. Her tattoo is a symbol of the West Wind, embodying her free spirit.

2005-09-08T20:23:00.000-07:00

This is Elphaba again, just I didnt like the way she looked. She was mean and ugly, not the character I thought Wicked described.

2005-09-08T20:21:00.000-07:00

This is Elphaba, I hate her hat, and she has no hair, but still I think she looks "Wicked."

2005-09-08T20:19:00.000-07:00

This is Cairenn Lasair, the main character of my novel/musical

2005-09-08T17:52:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone,
Brock told me that I need to "spice up" my Blog abit because poety is just plain dull. so I have decided to start posting some of my 3d pictures as well as updating you all on the overall status of my book/musical. Aren't you all exicted? Anyway I'll keep you all updated with more then just poety from now on so that you actully comment on my blog rather then just read and then move on.
Yours Truly
-Olsen Potter-

2005-09-02T06:14:00.000-07:00

Words

Words on a page, emotions anew
Releasing the tension, purging the blue
feelings of life, relaxing the mind
in a world of make believe.

Anger runs rampant, yet nothing it hurts
Invy can thrive, until your heart bursts
Love can soar high in the unlimited sky
its all in our mind, words on a page

The pen and the paper, gods greatest gift
to those who master the language of myths
unlocking a teasure, the secret of youth
words live on forever, immortalizing our lives.

Words are just pictures, symbols, and cues,
that mix our emotions, passions, and hues,
by which we see life through untainted eyes
the poet, our master, our true guide in life.

Unheated passion, a boring emotion,
brought to mean something, with the right description,
can unlock in ourselves the love that we feel
or by chance we look deeper, and find our true selves.

Words are nothing, just stuff on a page
but strangely enough they make our lives change
we must be careful in writing, in scribing our thoughts
the effect is unknown, what might they cause?

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-08-31T14:27:00.000-07:00

Do I Dare to Dream?

Why should I dream of love so strong?
What makes me sing a heartfelt song?
Why would one such as myself,
Ever find what lacks for everyone else?

Dare to dream, what is that?
To dream of hope and faith and joy
To dream a dream that never ends
and wake up to find I'm broken again?

Take that chance, that so called leap
Into what is the unknown Keep
Of anothers warmth and anothers peace
Why not just keep it all for me?

To dream is to wound your heart
with scars that never heal
Dreaming steals from us our own self's part
and robs us of our youthful zeal.

So do I dare to dream this night
of love that never ends?
Why, yes my friends, I dare I do,
for at least in my dreams
I find my own Happiness.

-Olsen W. Potter-

2005-08-27T19:15:00.000-07:00

The Warmth of an Embrace

I stand today again alone
Standing once more on my own
Yesterday were with me
What a sight you were to see
You embraced me in your loving arms
and I laughed at all your silly charms
But yesterday is always just a memory
never more will it be...
Yet in my mind I can see
and hope for the eternies.
-Olsen Potter-

2005-08-26T23:19:00.000-07:00

A Fools Heart

I breathe, my heart strangely mixed,
with joy so great and yet
I half guard myself from hoping
that this dream of mine is true,
what if this is all a game, and
I didn't catch the clue?
What if this soft heart of mine
fell of one fine jokester,
who really just wants to see
me wallow in utter misery?
That joy that lives inside my heart
is slowly fading... and departs,
as I look at this late hour.
How could I let myself believe
anyone would want this ugly flower?
Maybe you got lost I say,
maybe you could not find the way.
But then I realize that can not be
for you taught this warm path to me.
And so I wait and feel my heart
begin to break as the seconds pass along
Just one more fool who fell for your romantic song.
-Olsen Potter-

2005-08-26T23:09:00.000-07:00

The Falsity of Love

When we love someone it always seems
to be the remedity to our needs,
our dreams are better,
we fly higher,
when we love someone purely.
Yet by fault of human nature
for man is a strangly creature
the one we love hurts us so
that we begin to let our love go.
Until one day we look again
our dreams are shattered
our wings are tattered
our once loving accepting heart,
now torn to sheds, ripped apart
"Never Again" we swear to ourselves
and so it happens day by day
people lock their hearts away
and throw away the key
thinking love was not meant to be.
-Olsen Potter-

Dia do Momento

2005-08-26T13:16:00.000-07:00

Dia do Momento,

Life is but a group of moments
Gathering scenes of love and beauty
during the Day of Today.
No Morte
we can see, as our heart lay bleeding,
that we have not loved enough,
laughed enough, Viveu enough.
Vida Curta
guides us along our way
Leading by the hand of Destino
leaving to mourn
Na Solidão

-Olsen Potter-