A soul composed of courage seeks redemption through faith in life.
Contents
. dispose . despair . denigrate . denounce
Denounce
to excommunicate
to publicly accuse
to formally announce
MADE IT ALIVE
Today I walked a baby bird across the street
in a small town that smells
as if they've got nothing better to eat
I asked my friend what value
has a woman in working
a full time job alongside being a mom
she stuttered and blankly stared
back through me
so I walked my feet in a new direction
in cross section of worth and reverence
I remain amazed, I made it alive
when I could be taking more care
in keeping people from playing with my mind
then again we all are to some degree
and when our stories bump into one another
we call it life.
and this one is no more virtuous
than one doused in feeling
more in every experience
forgoing the dashing through doing more
allows the space to absorb more
from less
unless we conjure something more desirous
amazed they look on seeing too, I made it alive
when I could be taking more care
in keeping people from playing with my mind
so when our stories bump into one another
can we still call it life or a lie?
Time and time again
solitude seems more suitable
and preferably spent
in utter quietude
immersed in the symphony
of light bouncing from walls
caustics and whirring fan blades
push life across my skin
a caress of the cacophony of sensory climax
it's amazing I made it alive
when I’m imagining a day in my mind
where men understand life
and when our stories bump into one another
we giggle as we grow life.
the less I own outside of me
the more a womb of warmth
I grow within that envelopes me
as if the nothing has more mass than men
truth and then,
we know better
to never start fighting again
but I never remember when it ever began
so I suggest we
speak in different tongues here
for minds in fights
conjure feelings of unrest
and this is what's best:
making it alive
and calling what we do
a better version of life.
MAD
Hurry, quickly
get into your body
the limit of your head
best be laid to rest.
I can't write
if I'm talking to you.
I can't breath
with everything looking at me.
Whose words are worth our ears
for the sake of any hope
in rebuilding heaven-
have yourself some sips of time
let out the dammit
and mad you’ll be no more.
Way past ill servants become
making tens and twenties
when miles of green
lay out far as the eyes can see
A two wheeled cycle
is far from binary
seat or not for my ass
it goes in a singular direction.
Hush now,
who here has heard-
peacemakers banging drums
making such a racket
damning others who dare use their voice…
Breaking silence vows-
claiming Om Shanti rhythms
vibrate to different systems.
so upside down,
and twisting things out
may not always mean
being still
delivers the right action for all.
Literally finding yourself
in a hush
in a high kick,
excuse mewhile I side-step
around as that doggily doo poop
won’t clean itself.
Dropped by that Lhasa-or whatever the op…
but nevermind,
what’s the point here-
the speech of capeesh?
There is no
your mind knows it was
but made up by
someone else’s voice who told you so
and minds
are not ours
but facets of what
we call one or yours.
Let’s blow open those doors
some more while we’re at it-
why not the whole house
since destructionistas
seem to love loud sounds.
Even if it’s not all right
in the here or this now
you’ll go mad
waiting on anyone to change it
so dance around
or build a new face
feel the ground
and change your pace
life is only waiting
on you to make it.
A WHALE SHARK SPEAKS
Incredible creations of life
spanning minuscule
to mammoth
in every cell of existence
embedded a truth whose desire
exists to live and to grow.
For what do those
who walk Earth with furry noses know
in their scurry
across sand or glide through
currents of sea
how much wisdom to them
do we owe?
A great deal burdened
by human ego
bears relief
in witness alone
to the experience sustained
in vibrating sound,
scent or vision
of form through algae haze
these light refractions
we share our gaze
with prehistoric creatures of depths
softening the hearts of many
These great teachers roam
harmonious in tune with
environmental theatrics
and find freedom in turbulent waters
So do humans ever wonder
if their peace delivers our bonds
firm to holding forgiveness
through the eyes of marine life.
RIDING TIME
All the rage lately
is the talk
about how little
and how much more
oh more the ache
we ache
for places with slower paces
The acceleration of days
eats away at the dwindling imagination
counting months, days and minutes
with a melancholic fury
does no one any justice
to the space of infinite hues awaiting
those brave enough to embrace the abyss
of a self made life
We’re not running out
nor away if we turn towards each other
and still look at our faces within
the truth is our bodies do have beginning and end
carried out by scents in the wind
currents of everlasting tides
we flow through the endless ebbs and levies
taxing our anatomies
feigning to be
as if that was all
time really ever was.
TRACES
I have these questions, sitting in myself
if I could only open my mouth
I always wondered how
so many are satisfied by someone else’s why’s
when questions often seem as if that’s all there is
left to keep on pushing ahead
as the more things I never said
become the proofs I can see
as I watched a man pick-pocket some silver haired lady
behind my window
a gasp I tried to get her attention
and yet passed instead of she,
he looked around
just before gazin’ straight up at me
behind the window
he saw me watch him slide his left hand
right down into that beige bag draped near her caboose
and what he drew out
a pocket book so loud and ugly
but it was he who sure made me mad
Just the sight of that whole thing
I reached for the string
to tug on for the ride to stop
I blinked too hard
and nearly lost my balance
Fallin’ into someone in transit
sure can be yet another mess
Guess I looked kinda poor — so saved I was
by wearin’ my favorite T-shirt
from junior high
while all my peers
went on and outgrew theirs
as that man’s want for wallets
or my love for setting bad scenes straight
even if an old shirt makes me happy
I remained bothered
by these things and wonder
if saying anything about folks matters
more or less
if imprinted onto some text of a T-shirt
don’t steal ladies wallets.
VERSE FOR SOLITUDE
Persistent,
bitter cold antagonised the lock on the front door
a chill he was unable to shake
a void between love and pain
closed, and within the same
begging the melting flakes
adhered to window —
the pain
framed around the hearth of a man we no longer knew
he fought —
for striking moments punctuated by embers fallen
from each log turned over
a beard of great length grew
within this projected homes-pace
his heart could never find reprieve
but through silvery hairs he could breathe
Enough air into his lungs from out in the cold
he could venture forth
a little more
and so he refined in pace,
single steps at a time —
a rhythm of whirlwinds,
pumping veins
his panting dog in tow —
a companion for which his heart sought
and in this night only
alleviated the emptiness of his solitude
this man’s dog could try to help this man to see
winter and beards
weigh increasingly
heavy within doubtful minds —
such curious sight bestowed
as he walked
loyal companion
near his right toe
a light found
amidst the dark of snow-blindness
a flame burning beyond any his hearth could emanate
a heat, so intense,
no house could hold
remained burning
in a soul
only few could ever know.
© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.
Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL II.
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.
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