Odin Roark

Odin Roark Poems

99% Reality
by Odin Roark

Quiet motoring ascends.
...

2.

Paths
By Odin Roark

And should you walk...
...

Early Last Night…

Thinking got heavy.
Uncomfortable feelings crept in.
...

Word-Link Fences
by Odin Roark

To write for,
...

Tether Free
By Odin Roark

Beyond this moment,
...

Odin Roark Biography

Background in NY/LA entertainment and arts, Now Novelist/Poet/Humanist. Two novels published: ECHOSIS,3 WAY MIRROR. Poems published in 'Said and Unsaid' Vol 1. In 2012 - 2 volumes of my poetry were published: 'Prosetry at Work, ' and 'Perceptions' (The latter as photo/prosetry art book on Lulu) I am especially intrigued with prosetry and slam poetry artists, especially those who come across with sophisticated street cred and reveal both historical and contemporary philosophical influence. I always have and will continue to see myself as a student of behavior, intent on acquiring a respectable level of wisdom along the way. Of great influence is David Foster Wallace, Background in NY/LA entertainment and arts, Now Novelist/Poet/Humanist. Two novels published: ECHOSIS,3 WAY MIRROR. Poems published in " Said and Unsaid" Vol 1. In 2012 - 2 volumes of my poetry were published: " Prosetry at Work, " and " Perceptions" (The latter as photo/prosetry art book on Lulu) I am especially intrigued with prosetry and slam poetry artists, especially those who come across with sophisticated street cred and reveal both historical and contemporary philosophical influence. I always have and will continue to see myself as a student of behavior, intent on acquiring a respectable level of wisdom along the way. Of great influence is David Foster Wallace, Neruda, Camus, Zen and world history.)

The Best Poem Of Odin Roark

99% Reality

99% Reality
by Odin Roark

Quiet motoring ascends.

Chauffeured remembrances abound.

From conscious plans
resultant essence remains unconscious.

Once of graveled driveway,
now adorned by heated concrete,
the tinted dark windows motor past,
isolating more inequality tending vast surroundings.

Where once scrub oak ran wild,
cypress trees line extravagant entre,
embracing switchbacks to the fortress façade
now but another Wall Street property
another clandestine manipulation turned gold.

Hesitant eyes turn from smoked glass
to manicured hands folding a silk hem over exposed flesh
as if couturiere pampering could insulate the guilt
while passing guiltless willingness to serve.

Bent backs of gardeners
beneath threadbare cotton cover
straighten to smile their faces of pain,
to nod what's expected,
to nod with requited obedience,
to nod for survival.

The Bentley proceeds,
its hubris aglow with
gold flecked adornment,
chrome in trumpeting announcement
obviating any modesty of gluttonous image.

Arched as half coliseum,
ancient ruin sans crumbling stone,
a granite storied estate looms ahead,
its historic facade hovering over the stop,
the exit,
the entrance to…

Alcove of marble,
checkered with live chess pieces awaiting,
maid and butler,
servant this,
and servant that,
compliant daily fates.

Ignoring the ceremony,
the she of he ascends the grand staircase.
The he of she gazes after,
exuding the intimate question never answered.

Retiring to his quasi-safe room,
he closes the doors,
latches tight,
stands a moment,
slides down,
back to wall,
wall to floor,
slumped respite eyeing
walled library of
color coordinated spines,
all the classics,
all the must reads,
all unopened,
all merely more of the...

Outside, a little girl picks a flowered weed,
hands it to her hunched-back mother.

The spade is laid aside.

Mother and child

A smile.

A touch.

A 99 percent reality,
talked of by many,
seen by oh so few.

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