A mind filled by the heart sees a world full of beauty and compassion.
Contents
. ignorance . intensity . indignity . iniquity
Iniquity
to be unfair
to perform vice
to embody wickedness
SAFE
Bloody Mary tears and Tiffany window panes hunny - you ain’t gonna find happiness in that glass clinging to a routine you’ve grown accustomed to has caused a blindness of the heart
and if he returned to you
what would you have to say?
uncomfortable giggles - shy averting eyes
don’t come close to concealing the sense
you lost when you forgot
the simple pleasure
of the scent of clean laundry
you won’t ever have to let be that dirty again.
JUST TALK
Pedestrians talk politics
a common commotion addition
to the grind the sidewalk buckles we walk
but look the other way
this is time for holding hands
shoved deep in our pockets lingering,
scraping for fulfillment nervous,
sweaty palms
just need a little air
for the current generation
to again become magnetic.
CHAMPAGNE OF CAMPAIGNS
This is not a hippy agenda
or a new age scheme
this is not your politics, or his, or hers
this is not about who said what
to kiss or who's ass
this is, holy shit people
we're headed for our own self-imposed nuclear blast.
You think it's real funny
how the sitcoms still play
and you can dress up pretend
to spend money on shit no one needs
so funny how the hands sewing your hide
keeping overgrown egos and asses tethered
tied, bound, locked and chained
by the powers far removed from this earthly plane
in wait to take the excess a capitalist society gave you
while never mind avoiding the word – slave.
But there is no better than or lesser than
those who buy into a lifestyle of recycled tire, rubber shoes this is not a tin can of politics, p...o...l....i...ticks
and doesn't sweeten up so nice like b...l...u...berries!
one of natures magnanimous gifts alright
still managed to become a clam shell
plasticised marketing scheme that failed to tell
the story of how the bugs sting, and stick
while the sun in your eyes, beats down on you sweating
when growing and picking your own.
Remember this is not about hippies, spiritualists, or politics
this is a whispered rant of a rant
with dilated pupils
searching for light with a naked heart.
What I'm saying you cannot hear with your ears
what I'm saying is if we knew half the truth
with the common education many have here
we sure as hell wouldn't be sittin' in a room complaining
my back wouldn't be aching,
your prescription bottle wouldn't be shaking
making me me wonder also about your purse.
You can bet money
I've lost sleep doing this thinking
on where to find a few words to share the truth
I was given to see.
If I could get you to believe
it bears no religion
nor promises of hope or fear
there’s not conspirator
with secret agendas
the clandestine is in plain view!
then I'll have faith in humanity
even if it's so hard to believe
at the essence of our being
we all want the same thing... to be aware of each other
in acceptance of the meaning
con means with and awareness of others
then it is so chosen,
the loss of consciousness
is not a dream from which to wake
since we see without your eyes
but instead our imaginations
feelings have volition and can drive without ego
embracing them then is a friend of light
to all who are standing among us in reality.
ON HOLD
Let’s face it sweet,
guitar-playing swagger baby
we’re addicted to each other’s needs
and aches sipping,
deep sleeps nearing mid-day
tip toeing
towards the wee hours
last night howling past the back of your head
gaping and begging
for the neighbours to close their doors
our trespasses permitted
by consenting bodies.
After awhile our sore’d souls cuddle back
into the internet
a black hole of feigned productivity
pleasant moons,
hardly any excuse
to go outside
weathering within self-erected cubist existences.
Masterful smiles become quite the disguise
for raising hopes high
to the sound of bass
indoor smoking our throats raw
ignoring thoughts
of dreamland for another beat.
And the days keep passing by-
begun by soft scratches of longing
developing a habit replacing hope
for seasonal change
these easy lazy pleasures stirring
whispers of 9-to-5ers tasted sour
as our delusional mixed elixir
haunted
like the misplaced handset tone
when those still sung from wired phone-lines.
Suddenly suspect to my place in your vein
No idealism can cure the coming pain
I beg you to face my eyes
and give me closure with our life
that resumed with the clack of the gate
and the last time I ever heard him say:
I love you.
FOUND HIS POEM
On this last day
of this month
I read his poetry
words sweet
softly echoing
against the black velvet Cloves
in the tungsten haze of evening
be my lullaby tonight
be the only memory reminder
of what was is a could never be.
Keep me quiet
for my silence
is as deafening
as strong as my will see
not points
but moments
from all sides.
Be the anthem
to transport us through time
to rebuild our ground
feel steady on foot
feel physical distance
no obstacle
to what the heart keeps.
Seconds tick like days
on our short clocks skipping
reach beyond
standard comfort zones
contental amnesia
well be known
no band-aids here needed
for our inner mechanics steady
ready to work
through dusk, sun, heat and cold.
There are indeed
some forces beyond our control
so why won’t it let us,
let go and feel the quiet
hear the emptiness
of where you once were
ripped from my cells
and set free careening
the sound of life's one truth
a purpose of which
I suppose one day I may know
if I could just stop
looking to find the way
to where our paths
meet again...
perhaps something else
would be reformed from within—
but every time
I find that poem
I wonder
if the next chapter refuses to be written
as I continue to reanimate
someone as being
when he
was perhaps only
an imagination.
© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.
Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL I.
First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.
The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.
Share this post