POETRY BY JEFF OLIVER

Jeff Oliver was born in Baltimore, Maryland, but he is currently residing in western New York state. He began composing his dark poetry at just eleven years old. The father of eight beautiful children, his dedication to his both his family and his craft are intense.

His published works include Venomous Words, Strange Sounds, Poetic Fiction: Journals of Silent Screams, Scattered Thoughts: Volumes I, II, and III, Drops Of Insanity, New World Monsters, INKBLOTS: A Poet’s Perception, and Infinite Black: Tales from the Abyss.

SING ALONG NOW

Evolving is what we are meant to do.
Don’t remain a caterpillar; instead,
transform into the butterfly within you.
Your beautiful colors will radiate as you emerge to life.
Erase that prison; you are a magnificent creature of the night.
There is so much strength within those signs,
and there are reasons why those tears flowed down from your sobbing eyes.

There are reasons—reasons why you have been screaming in the darkness for so long.
Reasons for the lyrics that you have written,
some of which are right and some of which are wrong.
The warrior within you has always been strong.
That fire in your eyes has been burning—it’s been there all along.
The melodies that flow through your veins are where they belong
—these melodies are the lifeblood of your songs.
Sing along now, this won’t take long.

BIRDCAGE

The calls of the shadows echo so loudly,
signaling the onset of madness.
The pounding sounds grow more intense,
causing your ears to bleed.
Your heart races faster and faster—conversing shadows draw near.
Repeatedly, you try to break free,
yet they persistently pursue you without mercy.

The haunting echoes of abandoned voices,
the shattered aspirations of captured spirits,
reverberate within the wailing walls;
freedom seems almost unattainable—a deceptive mirage.
You are their target—a little bird trapped in the birdcage—
and you will fall victim to their claws, driven by fear, animosity, and pain.
You are attempting to take flight with your wings clipped,
facing ridicule as you try to escape.
They laugh in your face, feeding on your panicked energy.
You struggle and deny the obvious signs,
tears filling your eyes as you silently scream.
You remain confined in the birdcage,
desperately running for your life.

This playground is unbearably hot and dark,
with the haunting screams of the condemned echoing throughout.
Visions of monstrous creatures flood the scene,
creating an eternal Halloween without any treats.
The tricks of the darkness are masterfully crafted,
keeping you in a state of insanity while the wailing walls laugh.
The sounds of the watchtower constantly crash,
and the voices that surround you compete to attack.
With outstretched, decomposing hands always grasping,
there is no escaping this inferno.
Behave, little bird—stay in your birdcage.
There is no getting past it, and nothing will change.

THE WRITER

You’re a writer when the ink explodes out of you like a ten ton bomb.
You’re a writer when it takes too long, or you wrote it too quickly.
You’re a writer when your hands hurt so badly they start bleeding.
You’re a writer when your knuckles crack from the intensity.
You embody it, feel it, crave it, and taste it.

You’re a writer when you scream out into the darkness
as your blood boils and shivers.
You’re a writer when you put your darkest fears into words.
You’re a writer when you never know what it will bring.
This is your ink—it flows from the very veins from which you bleed.

If you’re a writer, your open wounds fuel your passion—fueling your soul.
You’re a writer when age is just a number in the mind of a dreamer.
The wrinkled skin doesn’t matter, because you’re never too old or too young.
As a writer, my words cannot speak any clearer.

Please take out your pen now.
Is it out of ink?
Try dipping it into the gaps of your soul.
There are other options available.
Keep going and never give up!
As a writer, you may experience confusion,
but that is where your creativity and skills shine.
Keep pushing through, you beautiful writer.
You know what to do.
You’re a writer when you are surrounded by pieces of paper crumpled on the floor.
On those small pieces of paper, there is so much to explore.
You need to add more!
Pick it up and add to it if necessary, or start over.
So, what are you waiting for?
Get started!
You become a writer when your memories take over within your fractured mind.
The next day, you’re fine!
Every day is a daunting deadline, and you wonder why?
Because you’re a fucking writer.

You are not perfect as you strive for perfection.
You may feel overwhelmed,
but you are determined to solve these complex fractions.
These fractions constantly occupy your mind,
but you have all the time in the world—yet, you feel like you’re running out of time.
As writers, our passion is unrelenting and cannot be suppressed—in our beautiful mess
of seemingly pointless calculations swirling in our heads.

You know you are a writer when the walls start falling down.
You know you are a writer when only you can hear these strange sounds.
You know you are a writer when they laugh because you are different.
You know you are a writer when everything is madness.

You can never get enough, as you hate it, but for some writers,
madness resides in the ink.
Sometimes insanity is all you breathe, and your heart and mind scream to express it.
If you can relate to this, then you’re a damned writer!