Not many poets play with rhyme nowadays. Whether they see it as restraining or old-fashioned, most poets prefer some form of free verse. But Bud Ogden doesn’t seem interested in keeping with trends nor is he attempting to stick to tradition. Ogden’s poetry employs rhyme in a unique manner; mixing up rhyme schemes with complete disregard for what’s considered “proper.” There’s something very alternative, almost rebellious in Ogden’s unique, personal, and vulnerable poetry. If you’re looking for an ordinary book of poetry, look elsewhere.
Ada Wofford
—Author of I Remember Learning How to Dive
NORTH-AMERICAN DAYDREAM
lined-up productivity
scorching scent of hazy pine
we’ll end up in the same place
better to prolong the time
they’ll divide and conquer too
suits and ties and shiny shoes
they start hate and spread it through
future made from screams and nukes
seeming, planned longevity
green enough to let me think
composing before arrival
hitting as soon as we blink
KANGAROO MIC CHECK
he focused on the outer shell
believed the lies he told himself
tricked and convinced all he could
punking his own neighborhood
dancing through a phony sea
entertain hypocrisy
changing views are just a test
to see which lies will work the best
STRAWBERRY, RASBERRY, ORANGE AND VANILLA
thinning blood and clogging veins
blinding senses once again
corporations have a pull
eyes still itching from the wool
so advanced, fully aware
just another numb to care
all to grasp another taste
in the end, another waste
WHAT CELLS REMAIN
I wanted to explain to you now
but then I forgot what it was
I wanted to describe to you how
but it fluttered out with a buzz
the senses pick up the omnipresent
there used to be a feeling and theme
the numb is a ritual-like dependent
where paint and composure build a dream
as beautiful as you inspire
as echoing as your words reach
the flickering of my own fire
the hypocrisy of what we teach
SOLAR DIP
down you go, angle perfected
targeting my residence
beautiful and deadly weapon
confirming no evidence
a brief and dimming time period
the same one every day
when sweaty bodies pass out
a new form every way
now you know, reason detected
lighting up all arrogance
euphoric and praised murderer
sizzling my existence
DERAIL THE DONKEY
before the sun was in my eyes
it magnified my eyelid’s choice
a burger spilled into the fries
with irritated foreign voice
an act of distant barricades
to breach the position of fate
with ostriches that outrun dogs
and dripping forms of sweaty hate
some belch to praise the later shows
some sneak into a land of gold
they fornicate and pick their nose
and lack the soul that should be sold
when open sores absorb the blood
the length of you is well-distorted
as veins and flesh endure a flood
the false content will be reported
a vicious bond that begs for more
is stuffed with an enormous cock
the explanation for this theme
is just a form of writer’s block
WRITER’S BLOCK chapter 967
the nugget tasted great
dipped in green sauce
we chug it pasted fate
flipped in scene moss
Alien Buddha Press 