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.
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