Delusional dreams.

My animus left my Id,

This anima in me spoke none of ego.

All of ranges where my dreams leapt and slept like a cub in my unconscious.

Where a fraud once told me,

what is the name of your grandmother.



®artsydhude 07-18




Zarathrusta came back,

He wanted nothing but his blue black fountain pen.

He saw the world now,

before he went back,

He harkened and shouted at Twitter to all feeds.


will and always will,

stay the same,

no matter what timeframe.

 Without a sound,

He gave me something to think,

 “So we still are the same?”

 He vanished just like Obi,

Left me dumbfounded here.

Damn, he took my treasure,

That old silly blue black fountain stylus,

That I paid almost a hundred.



©oam 2018.

Pho-m: .99

What sense is this,

When all patience is thin.

A wafer that gets to be eaten but never swallowed.

A mesh of things that does encumber all of my past,

Yet the current status still stays.

Oh what is woe, compared from Emily,

Oh what has Poe given, that my little life known died long time ago.

Yet a plate of suffe of Plath cannot be compared from 2 years of my own.

 what do I know of what real Hell,

When Every day is a choice of Heaven between my love of things with

All of those butterfly wings from a four year old laughter and light.



®artsydhude 07-18


NmV #00.0a

What Frost is this,

When William told me there has to be a sequence.

At most Nostradamus gave me a lecture of beat and structure.

Then on a sad and dreary noteworthy lessons,

Poe had me going in his dismal work.

Surely at best and I will not protest,

Mighty Emily,

Whom I loved best.

For without her extensive work,

her love of the play of words,

Men can be good in their basis of work,

Yet Women does all the best and fine work from:




beat and ryhme,

Emotional content and intent,

All comes to the end of a real Poem.

An epic if you would.

Thus began a life path of Plath.

That old baby blond,

That really made me love

Poetry at first sight.





M tee-ness #42

These days were so filled of the madness which of my emotions and dared

to thrust all of my tongue to dry it out by talking all of my negative side.

Then only when it emptied,

I knew where to park my mind,

Unto its unkind vehicle upon a spot where no one can see,

that unhinged wrecked,

and yes a battered worned out and decapitated,

automaton of a mind that wont rest until

it was empty of its fuel and oil.





No pic inside

O.n:N.o #l3
As the crow cries while my dove dies,

To that which a tear is of my river and of the land

Whereas are the mountains grows from the ocean of my blood.

I will not carry this samsonite filled of linens soaked of all my anxieties,

Which the past bled onto it and left me in all the stations from Oslo to Kyoto.

My destination would be you and loving you with all of me,

as you will toss my baggage over that Danube,

While my naked soul will be clothed not by our love,

While my third eye is poked,

Time would be our shelter,

Space and thoughts are our transportation,

Love be the guide.


©oliver Melendez

®ohms, all works thereof


NsVs vs NmBs .444:z0s4

A fear of hope

 in any second is a mile 

of the sky that stretches 

beyond any imagination.

For the hope to fear 

that my hand shall take 

and grip its heel is an attack 

not by something it is an insecurity 

that one who gave it inside willingly.


©Oliver Melendez

®ohms,artsydhude all works thereof


This bottle of . . .


I am trying to look. . .

for you,

for reasons,

of excuses.

The void which can be emptied and be filled,

Yet still be of nothing and something in between.

I asked it,

It told me.

Go out breathe that which is free,

Go out stand amongst the weightless water.

Go out and run into all hills of others.

You will see,

You will touch,

You can smell,

All that is and be all that can never be yours.

In some sense it was and will always be yours not to take nor make.

Only time will love you for what you are,

Not the one you are becoming,

Breathe damn fool,



© Oliver Melendez

® Ohms, Artsydhude


Love to leave it.

What is it about,

When i cannot ponder,

Why I am always thinking,

Where was my mind and 

How i came into questions that

Which can never stop,

Does it ever anyway?

The only answer would be,

Leave it as it goes,

To let it go behind

The wall of 

Letting go.