Halloween Card

Thanks to Deena Warner for summoning me to be the writer for her Halloween card project this year. You can read the story I wrote for it on her site at http://deenawarner.net/one-halloween.php?id=21 She agreed to also include one of my poems on the back of the card. Due to its incendiary nature, you may have to contact her for a card to read it. Or maybe I’ll include it here at a later date.

That Dude

There’s a song about me on Phoebe Kreutz’s new album, Leaky Canoe. “That Dude” encapsulates a lot of my weirdness. You can hear the song as well as the rest of the album at https://lousymoon.bandcamp.com/track/that-dude Many thanks to her for releasing this to the world.

Dreams in the Witch House

Thanks to Lucky Witch and the Righteous Ghost for their new EP, “Dreams in the Witch House”. 4 out of 5 of the songs are based on my poems. Below, the song titles are above the poems by which they were inspired. There are no titles to the poems themselves. The title track of the EP is based on the HP Lovecraft story of the same name. You can hear the EP and read the song lyrics at https://lwrg.bandcamp.com/album/dreams-in-the-witch-house?fbclid=IwAR3JkT80W85Nai210dBez6gfi2adi43kaTuOux9S6f4oPcGl6Z8SmW06Jn4

“Goblin Glass Shard” inspired by:


17. I live in a place of darkness

Love enters but I don’t allow it in

My eyes refuse to be blinded

My deaf ears are full of flattery and praise

My mouth seems to speak nothing but deprecation

Is it no wonder that I am alone?

I’m the boy with the goblin glass shard in his heart

Walking through the world of the Sun King

Cutting swaths into people’s souls with my words

As I see the awkward moments of their lives

Knives explode out of my hands

A feral desire overtakes me

My eyes close, I reach for you

My claws rip out your heart

My fangs sink into your neck

I ignore the screaming and drink deeply

Sated, I open my eyes, to find it’s not you

And I remember why I live in this place of darkness

Alone.

“White Noise” inspired by:

39. Skip stones trail concentric circles in their wake

Across the lagoon to the bottom of the waterfall

Listening to the white noise engulf the rocks

I watch your hair cascade down your back

As you get out of bed

Your nightgown pools at your feet

Soon after a rush of water engulfs you.

Lying there I wonder how long until ebb tide,

Until we become white noise to each other.

There are no more stones to skip.

I walk back to create my own waves in deeper waters.

“Into the Ocean” inspired by:

59. I believe in screams

strangled cries awakening fever dreams

orgiastic moans coupling with maniacal laughter and awe-soaked gasps

A reawakening of sound after a forced hibernation

bursting into the air

washing over the arbor bereft of caretakers

daring the aurally impaired to take notice

the inanimate to jump, bend or sway

only to alight with blood wet drops

tendrils extended into the canal

where it swims a maze of frequencies

a vibrational ocean for appreciation.

Decibeled phantasmagoria flows ahead taunting us with possibility

Only to be fenced in by clockwise notions of notes and chords.

Perhaps this vernal rite will not drive me away.

Drawn by some lunatic lover’s evolution of the music of the spheres

I resist for I believe in your spring screams.

“Lexicon” inspired by:

68. Words condense in front of me

Shot from your mouth as you walked out

Putting distance between us

Sound blood splatters my face

Verbal staccato defense to an empty room

Deafening echoes dancing a damask masque to nothingness

No longer now that was then

Syllabic footstep fossils crunch the years

The tundra’s hoary hodgepodge frames your silhouette

Interminable polar plain snow falls across the world

Dried broken eggshell sky flakes over the path to me

A blizzard of mismanaged memes jigsawing time further

Clockwork susurrations distorting memory’s scabrous tentacles

Waiting for you to come back I try to figure out your lexicon

Poem #11

Thank you to Jay Ackley for his song “Poem #11” based on a poem from my book, Baer Soul. He also included a wonderfully tentacular graphic representation of me on the cover of his album, “Songs My Friends Wrote, Vol. 2” (see above). You can hear “Poem #11” and other covers at https://jayackley.bandcamp.com/album/songs-my-friends-wrote-volume-2

The way if you stand on a corner long enough
all the people you know will walk by.
Interesting, that some just say hi
and others will also give you stuff.
Speaking with them I think of the connection,
that now tenuous strand of events which binds us.
I try to sever it, my eyes throwing razors as we speak.
With each cut of the cord, the pain increases
until I can no longer stand it.
They leave.
And I, once again, am left alone
to await the next one
To deal with myself.

Shattered Mirror World

Thank you to Psych-O Positive for creating this psychedelic video for their song based on my poem #49. The song itself is on Spotify so you don’t have to deal with the mesmerizing effects of the video unless you are interested in joining us.

49. I live in a shattered mirror world
having enlisted in an army of fused glass soldiers
whose weapons of mass destruction were forged
from shards of a crystalline doll’s house
created by the ghosts of a master builder and his crew
The head, gabbing and leering, sends us out
his glassine tentacles
to gather up the enemy of the people
At night I lay down under burnt blood skies
tossing, turning, fighting
biting, kicking, scratching
wishing, wondering, wandering
in my dreams
to get back to you.

Poet Interprets Poet

Thanks to Peter Radley for interpreting (or is that reinterpreting) my work in his own poetic style. His poems are first and then I have included my original poems below his name.

16. We are of the children
timeless hibernation
our scared bodies
rolled tight, arteries
hardning

#93
The pleasure of feather
such an Aviary of action
yet alone arc and line
such fervor.

Time to put Oliver into
a tome, dark heavy
leather, deeply
engraved, with
tarnished gold.

All praying for the long
Winter when wrapped
in soft wools, reading
such an engrossing book
by glowing taper as
electronic jackdaws read
over our shoulders.

        •
peter radley

Here are the original poems Peter was inspired by.

16. Where are the children?
The ones who used to run carefree through fields and meadows
Giving flowers to each other as if they were part of their souls
The ones who used to run through the streets in the rain
Duck into alleys or waiting on corners enfolded in each other’s arms
The ones who used to run through the snow
to create
snowmen, snow angels and snowball fights
to result in
snow wrestling and snow snuggling
by the fire.
Where are the children?
For all I see are little adults running around with bruises inside and out
I fell you tell me
as if the burns are similar to scraped elbows
I’m fine you tell me
as if the cuts are made while cooking
I’m not sleeping well you tell me
as if the swelling is smudged make up
Where are the children?
Out running.
Running away through the meadows.
Running from the alleys and corners.
Hardening their hearts,
packing their souls like snowballs.
Getting ready to hibernate through their long, long winter.

93. Nestled beneath the camera lens
A misconstrued agreement
An arc of breast
Lines between thighs
Pleasures to be had
Swallows returning to a small Italian village
Attempts to rekindle the bluebird’s song we heard
Sometimes obfuscated by the bonds placed
A raven’s flight of hair
Pieces together a circle
Around the alabaster tower of a back
Unkind ward ballads sing through a blackbird’s pie eyes
Mums the word
Empowerment incurved on itself
The flower’s forced entry of unmade promises
Nevermore to be seen the same
A harlot’s crow of murder in an English street
Electronic jackdaws conspire with all our faces
Rooftop vultures ripping beauty into obscenity
A case of suits laying in wait
To be unpacked by the unwary
Dancing to the music of self-love
In a click and a flash

Flash Fiction #2

Thanks go to Jack McKenna for writing this piece of flash fiction inspired by one of my poems.

Moon Studies By Jack McKenna
Inspired by Poem 82 by Oliver Baer

I’ve been attempting to capture the moonlight. I’ve used bowls of water. I’ve used lakes. I’ve used handheld mirrors. I’ve used full-size mirrors. I’ve used 17th century daggers found next to the grimoires of burnt witches. I’ve used bowls of wine. I’ve used bowls of milk. I’ve used bowls of V8. I’ve used beer spilled out onto the floor of my apartment where the moonbeams hit the wood-like linoleum every night at 2am. I’m usually up at 2am anyway. I’ve sketched this all out in a small black notebook I keep in my night stand, but so far no success. I’ve only noticed that every day since I’ve started I’ve lost a new body part. First it was my ring finger, so I didn’t really care because I wasn’t using it anyway, but when I lost the left pinky toe I found I had to hobble. Sometimes the body loss was imperceptible. I’d lose a hair or two and wouldn’t notice until most of my eyebrows were missing. I lost the color in my left iris first and it took weeks to lose the other one to match. The losses were never even. I’d lose a whole finger one day and just the tip of one the next. But the losses were the only mote of progress I’ve had so I keep writing everything down. I’ve tried incense and spiderwebs. I’ve tried fishing nets and sea shanties. I’ve tried painting a moon on the linoleum, and I’ve tried spilling poetry all across the bed. I hate poetry. I’ve tried building dreamcatchers with plans I found on google, but I never learned the language for saying thanks. I got tired. I found that if I concentrated hard, I could make my phantom limbs visible. I wrote that down. I couldn’t keep the bits from falling off but I could see where they were. For example, if I put my missing hand to your face I could feel your cheeks being brushed by fingers. But by this time I had to hobble on peg leg stumps, and my digestion was going.
I’ve tried just sitting on the floor and looking up at the moon. The linoleum was sticky from the beer, and I already drank all the milk. I played cat’s cradle with the spiderwebs while I waited for moonbeams to collect in the empty bowl, but I had no cats. I finally wrote in my journal that the moon wasn’t coming. I grew tired of my dayface. At least my lips were becoming spectral. My phantom parts were bright blue. I focused on making the blue more clear. This is of course when I decided to unfold you, even though you were just as blue as me. You were crumpled on the floor in the corner, and I thought I could uncrease you. You took control when I paused, but are either of us really in control of anything? We’re both sad, and how can we try anything at all after that? I sighed. You took in a deep breath and readjusted yourself. I wiped the moonflecks from my shoulder and we started over.

For those of you who like to play along, here is the poem that inspired Jack’s piece:

82. I blame the moon
Belladonna you were
Wide-eyed, spectral lips and pale
Matching the night sky face
Blushing, it pulled clouds in front
To hide its chastity
Having never seen the less than evil we did
This phantom limb memory embraces me
On days like this too
The day face glaring at me
Exposing my wandering heart to you
Every word irradiated milk drunk in haste
Swallowed in gulps to aid its digestion
Shade thrown, finger against lips
A hiss in the ear
“Say something sexy”
A poltergeist in our true love suite
Ghost feet knocking against mine
I promise to sit with you
Today and ever after
Until another comes along
With whom we both can have ghost sex

Flash Fiction

Poem #17 has been reinterpreted as a flash fiction piece, “Darkness in my Soul”, thanks to Maria Neuda.

DARKNESS IN MY SOUL
by M.C. Neuda,

I live in a place of darkness. The darkness is in my soul. It entered into me the day you left. Now you will say, I never left, your claws ripped out my heart. And I can’t deny it. My desire for you was all-encompassing, I wanted to devour you not just in spirit but in body, to have my eyes close, to have my teeth sink into your neck, to ignore your screaming, to drink deeply, to sate myself.
When I opened my eyes, you were gone.
And now I live in this place of darkness.
My eyes blinded, my ears deaf, my mouth cutting swaths into people’s souls with my words.
They explode from my lips like glass shards aimed at their hearts.
Love cannot enter here, I don’t allow it in.
For I live in a place of darkness.
Alone.

From a collaboration with Oliver Baer on the following horror poem:

I live in a place of darkness
Love enters but I don’t allow it in
My eyes refuse to be blinded
My deaf ears are full of flattery and praise
My mouth seems to speak nothing but deprecation
Is it no wonder that I am alone?
I’m the boy with the goblin glass shard in his heart
Walking through the world of the Sun King
Cutting swaths into people’s souls with my words
As I see the awkward moments of their lives
Knives explode out of my hands
A feral desire overtakes me
My eyes close, I reach for you
My claws rip out your heart
My fangs sink into your neck
I ignore the screaming and drink deeply
Sated, I open my eyes, to find it’s not you
And I remember why I live in this place of darkness
Alone.