Showing posts from 1998

What I Noticed

4 Oct. 1998 @1614 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

l noticed the other building
It was a happy building
It was a building near my building
Did any of them see me?
I knew them
All of the bodies
And all of the faces
l felt like I was not known by them
Furthermore I was not a happy man
They had painted happy cat glyphs
On flower pots and they had cats
To feed and they had children
The children were beautiful over there
I did not have my child
l was one of the people you read about
In The obituary
Or you saw on “Crime-Line“
Wanted, me.

So I watched The happy people
From The standing position near my
Rented window,
I loved Them.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170723 -ABN

Just Imagine, My Son

28 Sept 1998  By Alex Nuttall - Bio

Just im a gine the sun  Foll ow ing the ri ver It sens es the life Co ming out of the u ni verse.
What a lie I have told you, My son, I do not know What the sun sens es.
Just im a gine that it Is there for you, Be cause it is, Why else would you know It?
Son, I love you. I watched you feed by your moth er‘s breast. You suc kled and you wept. You lov ed your mother And I lov ed her through you.
Just i mag ine What it was like, My son. You now hold your fish ing pole And yet you do not wish to catch Be cause you have your father. Your hook has not been checked for an hour Or so And you smile to your old-man And a tear goes out of you Like some squeez ed fruit. Son, love your mother. Love her boos em. Love her. Love life.
Call her, your mo ther, and then Call your wife; Call your sis ter, Call your daugh ter, Catt your vir gin moth er Ma ry, And call your mis tress; Call Kali Call Sha Di Yah
Just im ag ine the sun, If you would, my son, Be cause I lov…

Like Water

25 September 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

At the beach  In the sand On the water By the boat Near the river To the sea We floated our souls
When the buoy sinks At the shore Near The castle The greatest leisure The kindest feature The able brow The bloody cloud The sable coat The moat We continued our trek
Your‘s is the seed Mine is the tandoor oven The bread is sweet See The shoal See The shell See The reams of fabric Test the waters with your toes My love My love My goodness‘s Your goodness reflects The creature's corral The gold On silver ls nice In nether words The chosen few Manipulate The waters
In the beach By the lake In The sand On The floor I'll be your man I‘ll do what I can I'll reap the belly Of you, laughing woman.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998 © Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017 20170624 -ABN

The Yellow Poem

22 September 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

Yellow, a color not to be messed with,
Begins somewhere over there
Past the water and beyond the breeze
That blows the sand into the faces
Of children and adults
Camping and playing drums
In their minds
In their minds
In their minds.

Yellow is lodged in between
Red and Green
And people seldom obey its
Instead they speed up their pursuits
Afraid of Red
And missing Green
Missing Green
Missing Green
Missing Green.

Yellow is piss to people
It gets the attention,
But it gets nothing else.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170723 -ABN

E... A... R... S... .

10 Sept 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

When Bill, The Bastard, ate bread
The rocky shore became
A brick thrown from the sea

Special munitions were launched
in fever of The Queen's knickers

Not sure when to Jump
Not sure when to hide
Colliding with The sea
And seagulls came resting together
in from of the heather

Resting seams like Bill
After getting it old and ill
And hilly
Like water-flies
The kind gentle water-flies
That rest upon your eyes

Crabs that catch the sun
in claws worn from Bill‘s hands
The Bastard lands another blow
Left up the neck and down
His crow
Like a brow
For an eye to meet
The sweet smell of success‘
Have a good time in the rain,
You comma-nist.

Subconscious jerking The shore
Again the planes dodge radar
To crash into the sun
That the crabs were holding by the ears
E... A... R... S...

Spoken from the plumage of the rummy hand.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 …

She She She...

26 Aug 1998  By Alex Nuttall - Bio

I wanted to write poems today, It's so selfish, I know, But I kept seeing her face and I dreamed That she was there and that she was the Wisest human that I could know. I wanted to write poems today About love and fire, Instead I was chastised with my own desire. I wanted to write the great American Poem, But I got sick, drunk, or died. Dead, I received a blow to the head and Ego I was the amigo of some third world pig. I wanted to write that poem that we could all answer too, But it all ended with a quick breeze and I ended up just being horny.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOMK Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170618 -ABN

I am not man enough

23 Aug 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

I am not man enough to admit I have been Beaten by the loves that threshold brings forth I am not man enough to pay for everyone else's problems And I am not man enough to stare in the sun and get a buzz off of it I am not man enough to wish that the she that she is would just stop pestering my dreams I am not man enough to stop the flow of righteous zealots I man not man enough to rule the world for a short period of time I am not man enough to get killed for the sake of man I am just not man enough to really be a man I guess that I will Just have to be what I am... A man, A-men.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017 20170624 -ABN

From Above - Haiku

8. Jul. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio A-muse your-self with
Hai-ku poems while dis-as-ter
Strikes you from a-bove

The "From Above" haiku is an easy as pie clown outfit fit for a king. The reason we write poetry is not because we want to get rich but because we are rich. So many times of our lives we feel powerless over the impending doom of X, Y, Z... But so what! We can compose the simplest merriment and experiment without the threat of loss. We will loose anyway so what not be in the moment and compose.
 by Alex Nuttall, title: From Above - Haiku, Original Date: 19980708 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2018 – Retro-published 20180331.

#AlexNuttall #OgFOMK #Poetry #Keywords #Haiku

Door-Knob - Haiku

30. Jan. 1970 By Alex Nuttall - Bio A



Alexander Nuttall wrote this Haiku in 1998, August. This particular style is by syllabic groupings. The photo was taken in Olde Towne Portsmouth, Virginia.

The minds of those with excellent memories have rooms and compartments with which to place memorable things. Here the door is a damn or a lock for passage on the water. At the same time this door is the sky for an unsettled mind. It is unlimited in that it keeps opening and closing. This is also regarding the LRRRPG ( which is the Long Range Reconnaissance Role Playing Game of life.

 by Alex Nuttall, title: Door-Knob, Original Date: 19980708 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2018 – Retro-published 20180330.

#AlexNuttall #OgFOMK #Poetry #Door #knob #Haiku #lrrrpg


7. Aug. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio
                               Apostasy, here Forgets his mother’s good bread--                               Remembers sore cheeks.

Here is a haiku - 575.

Giving up his religion and most of the values taught to him the son here is blaming his mother for the laps of faith. As short as this poem is the son also suddenly remembers how good his mother's cooking was. In the end he remembers the beatings over the cooking. It's a short thought in 1998. After this the healing can begin. No more blame for the path he takes. It's in his hands.

 by Alex Nuttall, title: Apostasy, Original Date: 19980807 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2018 – Retro-published 20180318.

#AlexNuttall #OgFOMK #Poetry #Apostacy #Mother #Child #Son #Haiku

Be, a haiku

30. Jan. 1970 By Alex Nuttall - Bio
Stay awake and be Like an over sunned flower Dried up all over.

This Haiku was written on the 18th of July 1998. The accompanying photo was taken in Olde Towne Portsmouth, Virginia.
This poem is about the state of being. Enjoying the sun, staying awake and drying up are states of being. The final line is the result of attachment to the state of being. It's a poem about Buddha mind. Buddho is the awakened mind.
 by Alex Nuttall, title: Be, a haiku, Original Date: 19980718 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2018 – Retro-published 20180328.

#AlexNuttall #OgFOMK #Poetry #Flower #Sun #Be #Haiku #Awake #Buddha

I Still Find Cigarette Butts

9 July 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

I still find cigarette butts
Always appearing in the various boxes I have moved
From a common residence to the one you found
That I assumed residence of
I still find cigarette rappers and other knick-knacks
like drippled wax and broken incense sticks
I still write words about these things
So it goes.
Why did I move to Norfolk’?
You were The answer.
Well, I am here, now you are gone,
So it goes, like a Cigarette butt,
Packed up and shipped out,
Me and the cigarette now have liberty
I still find cigarette butts and I remember so many times
Emptying that ash tray of yours when it piled so high
You just smoked.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170626 -ABN

What Says Says

8 June 1998 @ 2111 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

It looks so dirty
Dateless moonbeams carry back
Abysmal discussions in the
Uncomfort zone
All over tippy-toe tongues beaten down
So many times before
Afraid of what will be said
But Says, says anyway.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170723 -ABN

Montag @ 0230, 29 June 1998

29. Jun. 1998
By Alex Nuttall - Bio

I guess that I am writing now, because I can not Talk to Christine, What are poems about anyway?
I used to think that I could rule the world as An anarchist, But I should have listened to Papa And studied more about design and the way things Move; In some way I am listening.
I once said that I was a poet, Sure, I was a poet, That is why they made machines to handle words, Because someone was listening.
I am calling San Fran to speak to someone, But it is Sunday and even they are asleep there. I am trying to call my cousin Bri., But he is asleep too. Shoot, Man, ain’t somebody awake?
I could talk to Corey, but he got shot in the face In P-town and he’s dead. I could talk to Steve, But he died of AIDS and that Marinol never saved his Skinny, white, ass; But Josh was up in San Fran and he lamented about How he had to work-- Hell, I got to work, too!
In San Fran it is 2334, Here it is 0234, In England it is 0634. I’ve got to get up at 0600 Eastern Dayl…

Your Stuff

15 June 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

It was easy to pack your things,
I played romantic music
While doing so,
I missed you still,
But it was easy to eagerly pack your stuff.

I had a little wine at the end
Of my cardboard box party
And Patsy Cline was being played;
It almost could have been sad,
As I packed your drawers away,
But I was happy, or I felt complete
Since I knew that our time had passed.

I found a love poem
That I thought I had written for you,
How sweet that you had saved it!
But as I decided to to throw it away,
Looking over it,
I noticed that my name was not Steve,
So I did not throw it away,
I packed it, too;
So keep Steve,
Leave me, and I will be gone--
Erased--Eradicated—Kaput—No more.

Packing was easy
And now
When and what feelings do resurface
I can write them down
In my great American novel;
All hope is here,
In solitude;
I am happy we only had a verbal agreement

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017

Rain Does This

10 June 1998 @1146 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

If it rains, then rain it comes;
Showers reduce the dust to firmament;
But I love to love anyway,
However the dust does settle;
I ask myself what are those
Words that I am writing?
Another poem with me stuck
Inside of it;
Patiently I settle down on this;
July, what did she know?
June, there was no room;
May, in dismay I wander;
April is no good;
March on by the freeway of the heart;
And then there are epochs
To deal with;
Another mans fetter--
Another one's secret wish;
So there settles now evenly the water,
Finding its own ocean,
And dust pools itself together,
Forever making wishes;
Forever making wishes.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall/OgFOMK ArTS 1998-2018
2017-06-14 16:44:35 ABN

Eulogy For Old Men

7 June 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

...and, my Roman friends,
There was that time I got a hard on
Just from watching the cleaning lady,
But that was then,
Long before i had ever read Buck Fuctowski.
After Buck, even the white-trash, missing teeth, and
Looked good to me;
But i must say that the other
Great writers,
Bull Lee Biscuit
And Jack Daniels Bladder
Made me feel queer, sometimes,
But they wrote from the wrong head.
Fuctowski, on the other hand, he wrote from
The gut
And that was nice of him to do that.
But he's dead now and so is my granddaddy-
That is, one of my granddaddies.

My dad's dad, he would have loved Fuctowski;
They could have gone fishing together.
So i guess that now they are in that part of
After-life where
Old men arm wrestle and show off
For old women
Feeling their pained lives and bodies,
Bodiless with only the mind,

Oh, cleaning ladies are still good,
But i know that they ain't the best;
O Fuctowski, you're dead, but I tilt this one to you

Fat Sun Hour

9 Jul 1994 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

I day dream
In the fat
Hour of the Sun.
I use the pen incorrectly
And I die.
In the eve,
The whiteness grows to

I am not listening anymore.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1994
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1994 - 2017
20170728 -ABN

Tickle Me Cookies

2. Apr. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

More than not the feelings are evoked and yoked Into this wonderful surprise Naked and tending the row of planted Gardens that the mind has given,
Elven tempers are there Whatever they may be and it is not important Anymore a constant reminder of this,
Skin is all over the place Look at the bovines copulating! Look at them looking at us,
More than not the feelings are created masterpieces of Deception from Within’s hindsight Into this they are running the day like a bad watch Growing the hand of the clock like sundial-daises,
Riddles of the Stinks The river Styx Got to get me a fix On the tricks With Blitz and Beaver and Mo Daddy Cleaver Meat and the Rhyme Go to have a good time In the signs you are looking For what was cooking Reminds me of you – Ach-hoo! Phooey! 
Dirty minded fetish kicked in the head good luck fella’ Nice to know you were part of the Yella’-war of 1312 B.C. I seen you flying that tahini cat-nip flier canker sore And it don’t hurt…

Old Band Flyers - 13 - "Guest pass" -- benefit show @ West End Cafe

15. Mar. 1998
By Lon Bennett - Bio

This was a benefit show back in March of 1998 at Friar Tuck's on Hampton Blvd,Norfolk,VA.
opened at noon.
twelve bands:
Runner Up CombinePlan B (My old band)Method 51No SanerNation.Inner Self Deviation Overflow Sea of Souls Deist Requiem Rights of Humanity

© LonBennett / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2017 All Rights Reserved. - Old Band Flyers -  13 - West End cafe benefit show

#OgFOMK #LonBennett #music #laminate #guesentrancepass #NorfolkScene

The Narrow Is Wide

1. Feb. 1998
By Alex Nuttall - Bio

Almost stopped the words from moving
There beginning the long trip down Narrow’s Road
Felling the way to the Braille highway
Bling in one eye
And can’t see out the other
Gathering the stone to buy a highway ticket
Traveling down the wayward path
Not there that the straight and narrow
But the crooked and wide Narrow’s Road.

So what are you saying, Love?
That this one can’t afford your hand?
That you are going on to the other land?
That this was just a crossroad?
That this was a place to just off-load?
Your self and soul?

Now hit the road it’s all getting too cold
There can be nothing but unbearable loads
Of heart heavies with cold gusts of air
Swishing between and making it all seem like
Crying would be a good idea now.

No one is looking,
Time to make the chest heavy and let the sobs roll
On and on and on
Let the love be the diameter of the sob’s wheel
And roll on and on and on.

And the end of the word is like a joke,
There is no end.


Sperm Ain't No Joke

30. Jan. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio
I am writing a poem
In Front of Me
And the
Desk is getting closer
And closer to the
Of minute factions
And fractures
And People
Telling us all
What it is
We are up to
In the end
Still the end
And that
No hip-hop junk,
By the way
We have all
Been writing it seems like
We ain’t ever
Going to finish
That intention
That it
Was that we
Were going to


Let’s face it
That intention
Was the sperm
After the egg
And as odds
Have it we
Were the
Lucky ones who
After prolonged exposure
Get to die anyway.

Alex Nuttall writes the title of this poem in 1998, "Sperm Ain't No Joke". He contemplates his life and life from the relationships that produce it to the end result which is death. It's nothing to be afraid of. It's a powerful realization that makes ever moment special.

Poetry by Alex Nuttall, title: Sperm Ain't No Joke, Original Date: 19980130 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2018 – R…

Leave A Stone

2. Jan. 1998
By Alex Nuttall - Bio

The grass is there and I am aware of the growing pains Young is the person who forgets Age is discovering that I am not here anymore Gone with the leaves as they green, grow, fold and fall Arch the way to my heart and leave a stone to remember.

Poetry by Alex Nuttall, title: Leave A Stone, Original Date: 19980102 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2017 – Retro-published 20170822.

A funeral for a Jewish person where the grass is just as important as the life of observer and the end of days. Leaving a stone on the grave for respect.

Keywords: #AlexNuttall #Poetry #OgFOMK #Stone #Mortality #Death #Life

Justice Is A Big Series of Drunks

1. Jan. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

Just when the booze wore off Another has begun, anew And the crew has swabbed the Deck only to have it roosted all over Once more And the city lights die down And dusk creeps into This old poem written again It will blow away again, Amen.
Love found soft shoulders To rest its head, good bye, To die again in the pillow, To die again by ones side, This is all That had to be say And now no more, et al. To be in the hands of justice Drunk more and more, amore, That this old poem In her hand It will blow away again; Amore.
She told me forever, forever Forgotten now among the blooms Of flowers that are picked And they only wither, What good is love’s Burst and pleasure To leisure itself to sleep And this old poem that is my Friend It will walk away again To keep,
Justice has been done.

Poetry by Alex Nuttall, title: Justice Is A Big Series of Drunks, Original Date: 19980101 – © Alex Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2017 – Retro-published 20170811.

A slow song…


1. Jan. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

I am finding it difficult Wheezing and breathing in the wind, Of the morning, Nostrils conquered with dust And a fever grows ever Gruesome pains that deliver the Me Into the hands of liberty-gone-bad.
The handsome soul Now sounds its way into the River and bends its ways to and from and to, Into, For to, Beyond, Recon… Revolutionary instructions will be given Later on, my brother… Later on.
Short ways to meaninglessnessess And other messes Of mans occupation in the Babooniverse.
This is the teaching of the birds that are like owls screeching And supine around; The corroborator eats its way through the Atmosphere And the General Lee is still on his pedestal.
In the Babooniverse this is what makes Us all one, ¿Comprende, No?
Oui Oui! No, Poo Poo.

Poetry by Alex Nuttall, title: BABOONIVERSE, Original Date: 19980101 – © Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2017 – Retro-published 20170728.
BABOONIVERSE - Not to sure about the date. Last copyright …


1. Jan. 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

When I wrote before I could open the door And say hello to my mind Being very unkind It did what it did and I had to let go Of all that I thought was right Dynamite in the light the horizon is Forgotten Look at the people all looking at me like Drive-by killings that secede Some governments, All for the sake of Humanis Homo Homo Sapiens Erectus;
And the Blue jays still taunt me.
"Bo-Bop-Da-Re-Bop" was a title Alex gathered from an old dude he knew working in construction. The dude's name was Snake Doctor. Alex is not really sure what date this poem was composed. The hard copy is circa 1998. -- ED

Poetry by Alex Nuttall, title: Bo-Bop-Da-Re-Bop, Original Date: 19980101 – © Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 – 2017 – Retro-published 20170728.

So Protests the Protestant

01 Jan. 1998
By Alex Nuttall - Bio

In School, High School, I Decided To Be A Poet;

So I did not pretend to be anything else, My life grows and I get older now, I am still playing the game, I can’t spell, I can’t rhyme, And I can’t pay all of my bills…

Oh, look at me! The poet who is;

One small step for me  and Years of cleanup  for the Next Generation of Punks and pundits;

Sometimes the ground is the same, I am dealing with some people who are a lot Smarter than me – A whole lot smarter;

But this is my life and When I die They will all be gone.

As always the poet Alex Nuttall is using hindsight to clarify his stretch in the run of life. This poem breaths with the panting runners aches and pains. The run is not over so when this was written in 1998 it was just another move to push the runner on. Experts call this the internal locus  that motivates.
The title is about being raised Southern Conservative Baptist. Baptists are from the Protestant side of Christianity. By this time Alex wa…