Le Lapin • Cultivated by Mari Amman
Le Lapin
Poetry, Prose &Suche Vol. IV
0:00
-10:28

Poetry, Prose &Suche Vol. IV

Proclivity: to tend toward doing; to have a tendency toward; to perform with regularity

The time has arrived to address play with the fullness of sincerity.


Contents

. progeny . proclivity . proclamation . preponderance


Proclivity

to tend toward doing

to have a tendency toward

to perform with regularity


LOOK AND SEEM

The sparkling band just last week slipped

between the glistening sink and out the home

just below the reaches of her peering eyes

illuminated by a miniature flash light

she sighed knowing no amount of

hairspray or liquid covering compound

can uphold an image of what occurred decades ago

to her white-picket fence, prince charming dreams

opening within more tenderly now

the bubble of skin between her big and pointer toe

reminded her of a round, tender mound

when she became self healing magic

and the hurt from the loss to the sink

became the stick that punctured the

life she grew through a foundation

those thorns of his betrayal

a deeper shaking within

awakened the logic in which

traveling in someone else’s shoes

is made only worse by having tried them on

to appease someone who could

pretend to have not do such a thing

and she knew

always she supposed

so she left barefoot the next day.


TRAIN OF THOUGHT

Funny how a simple thought

Can make or break a day

Such a cliché

But always seems to be underlying

And momentarily

Briefly

Shine through

The fog of the everyday

That accumulates over the weeks

Of the mindless bog

And moan and drone

Ho humble existence

We attempt to prettify

Spinning pinwheels

White picket fences

Made musical instruments

By children dropping

Sticks across the positive

And negative spaces

Ringing and echoing alongside

The memories of easy bake ovens

And GI Joe tirades

That were presented before my eyes at an

Unmemorable time on some television screen

Reminding me the memory

Was never really mine.


TEMPORARY LIVING

Vertical mini blinds

Playing canvas to the dances

Of light and shadow

Flickering in the dimly lit

Night sky

This evening sky

Vacant from clouds or stars

Leaves an open expanse

Of blackness held not only in my mind

But in my energy

Dying to shine within

The stark architecture-reality

Alive with social caveats

Leaves my spirit hollow

And longing to find

To continue country warmth

Is what I seek.


PIECE OF HAND

The steady flow of the ink hitting the page always held

A place in me that always seems to try to replace

that space of beating myself up again

for what an idiot I seem to be

Never learning the lessons

from the trails behind me

running through these pages

as my feet smack the pavement

breathing comes easier when in motion

than suffocated by idea hands

words full of hopeful future plans

my faith resigned by my mind

rarely if ever holding steady until

we see what comes from the consistency

of daily choices resulting in truth

each day revealed the deep down inside

continues to run to propose a way

to find depth beyond such shallows

of the peaking out from inside

begging to be mined

as a determined destiny.


RHEUMENATION

What’s there to hold onto anymore?

The comfort memories past can bring

Or the promises a future holds

The love, the passion

Where has it all gone

Things just don’t disappear

They evolve

And move on

So, with all this moving forward

Wasting energy on the has been

The stand still is inevitable

Why let this hold ourselves in?


MOTORS AND THE MOTHER OF LIES

Histories are myths, stories written in code and glyph

Realities made by choices, takers of givens have forgone

Will and responsibility driven by a poor man intellect

Wears for shows and tells, by all those believing

The spoils rich men trust their own lies in

Go on labouring and loving as they go on saying

Poor by choice means never raising your voice

The fear of standing alone

As odd man out

Consider the ways fingers ridiculing played your soul then

to the bone in the agency you had once rejected

The cowardice of kings stands in the shadows

formed by complicit malice of the masses

even worlds far off stand on knees weeping

An international saviourdom

Martyring through mortar and land mine

What people draw into their belly

Signs the ways countries paint their fates

Fear wrangling life from the bones and

We hear it in all the moans

There is no saving the best course of action

has been stopping assault - Assail

Whatever motive painted good

Has blood on its hands

and in the sands washed by rain

Each time in generations crying

Why do we keep doing the same thing?


WIELDING HOPE

As the last shreds of hope end

I saw the northern lights -

Sobbing through the forest

the green lights flashed back -

With ease the respect arises

for those who bear a burden

than those who wistfully whisk

responsibility aside -

Nothing comforts heartbreak

but breath and witness.

A cultural shift is amiss

that kills bonds

and people wishing for primal ways

a sense of duty has changed -

There was a time

when things were different

the option to make sacrifices

was considered a gift -

How we are littered ourselves

in grandeur and abjection.

A distain for the tomes

which attempted to guide

Love Patience and kind -

these altruistic motives

have come for far from under scrutiny -

As starving and pain

give way to endless desire making waves

our societies ebb and flow

through tumult and placidity

fashioning wilds for those -

who wield hope.


THE DARK MAKES THE STARS GO MAD

It’s the dark, that makes the stars shine bright

we light off crackers, into the night

drawn lines in sands

boxes from, where we stand

we hope our lines last a lifetime

and when we sleep the tide comes, takes those lines away

round and round we circle hoping the rest can play along

but all the musicians and all those times

have always sang a song - its only for a short time

we will our lives, between these moments

of ritual

claiming sanity, and in the sand

we sink our feet-and see

we see a sea, we count the stars

and run away from all the dark

drawing lines of right, and rules for wrong

when we all know what gives live

and what takes all along

we hold it in our conscience

and call it consciousness

raising up celebrities, to wave our flags

but the truth, you hold in your heart

what makes it break, what leaves its scars

a happy new year everyday gets countered nowhere to claim

any stakes but on your taxes revenue

will they access and comfort you

boo, you’ve been good

rah, you’ve been bad

and it’s the stars

that make the dark go mad.


© Mari Amman

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL IV.

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.

Discussion about this episode

User's avatar