The time has arrived to address play with the fullness of sincerity.
Contents
. progeny . proclivity . proclamation . preponderance
Preponderance
to be the majority
to be worthy of significance
to factually be in greater number
RESPLENDENCE
a placide horizon feigns a twilight
promising entryway toward oblivion
enumerating plurality as everyone
a toy mountain within sight
precipatory shores impose upon
a horizon hidden behind spines
of mountains hawthorned by
meteorological phenomenon
a yolked encourvature
reaching to kiss the moss lake enclosure
spatters a light upon
a placide reservoir
with stillness emphatically elusive
metallic refraction evocative
respite pool of heavens
graces barrens of resplendence
magenta hues are foretold to be
silvery kisses of hope in a fog laden landscape
penetrated by a few golden slices
feeding forest paths underfoot
begging my bones a curvature to rest upon
a geologically stabilising curvature
kissed by long afternoons’ horizon
placated by the winds’ dappled whimsy
through a darkened underbrush a cloudscape
beckons my footsteps towards a solace
of promise and barren mirroring
a longing nearly here, emptied vessel in wait
pinnacle in demand
the rivers go rushing toward
a meadow blossoming and skies threatening
only an equalising, ever lapping horizon.
MIND GARDENS
dreams are drawings from my heart
the opposite of escape
awaking to turning my fingers
into little hammers the centres of my palms hurt
there’s so much crying in poetry writing
so tomorrow sounds like a good day
an audiovisual story awaiting
without any proper order or ending
nor beginning for such a record marked only
by idiosyncratic time
interspersed and performed
by folk singers
perhaps to be danced at a another time
I have no more wonder
for those with resentment toward creativity
have inside a sickness
and yet we know no one cares if one dare says or does
until the doing is said and so
take pen to paper and say
what is felt, seen, or experienced
how dare she or he? ill makers believe
but what of such thoughts dare to exist?
could be wrong or possibly upright
standing ground
saying ok those worries are not today
again not today and again
gardens welcome hearts
whether they smile or weep.
FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING
For that which people deem trite or cliché
allow me to tell you this isn’t my first poem
and for those who deem freely formed verse
or spoken word absurd
then be sure to steer around Chicago’s Green Mill
permitting peaceful warriors backup band and
the reciprocal space of witness I felt 13 years ago
and may be yesterday’s excuse for
denying my truth
and so if you allow me to
I want to share in earnest with you
this morning’s thoughts on life
because I did not get handed lemons, I bought them
I drank the juice and used the flesh to do the dishes
prone, as a result of taking bad advice, I have a bit of it to give here: take a walk under the clouds
pretend you’re in Paris
imagine a photograph made there
it doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t
to feel why a blanketed sky
proves more romantic than sun
that is if you want to have a view of what you love
instead of being blinded
having inadvertently torn corneas
I would not advise having to adapt
to not having what you once had
so while I reach into yesterday’s sunshine memory
of which I am not complaining
because my bones loved every minute of soaking in light
instead of shivering to generate heat the euphoria of
pedestrians moving around as Monet brushstrokes
still warned me summer waits patiently
and while spring taunts I buy cheap flowers
because expensive ones die too
and I’ll have the spare change for cheese
later on the extra energy to grow a garden
and own the privilege of giving flowers away
so that was some of what I told my friend today
when I asked if he wanted to know how I choose friends
he didn’t care to find out really
as so often is the case
but I told him anyway:
doers and lovers are for me
not because I love Sartre this decade and may not the next
but because I noticed the people who are busy cooperating with life-getting on with what they can do rarely dare haunt me
those who come back regretting, as if they all read the same script retrospectively noticing a sincere foolhardy diligence to pursue the truth
and telling it to the best of my ability
saw their inverted saga for what it always was
because for worse aimed at getting better
I am what I am, and do as I say I’ll do
unless life changes course
life made sure to teach me to never fight with it
so words are not nearly hot air alone, I suggest we keep our cool I used to keep records and notes, but I know I’m telling the truth
so I don’t have to keep track to stay on track
which is perhaps the way of grace
that’s more than ok
because grace bestowed her compassion
many times I felt undeserving and seeking
yet grace doesn’t always delight as tulips do
but wedges space into closed logic loops
so instead of going on again, instead of being bossy
I’ll tell you what I do and see how it fits for you
I donate money I don’t have to donate
yet if I have some then I have some to give
making less for me but others have some too
and we all can make more or less out of a little
resources are responsibilities
we don’t have to save the world
careful of those pretending to
demystifying life enough
made figuring out how to blend paint colours readied
to create routes with greater clarity in their course
an orientation less shy of the most desired direction
I thought could be easy enough
until I met those who love to make shade
to ensure that which could grow, would rot
so their roots and vision could proclaim
popularity as best instead of letting all the rest
feed their roots too
as life cycles through seasons of rebirth and growth
in digesting the consequences of creating
now with more caution
to not bite into lies people believe about themselves
the lies perpetuating hell
and that’s the tell
who I make friends with or not
those who are doing the work and not tipping the boat
content with keeping their hands to themselves
or having an extra set to hold be more than enough
not feigning but overflowing
contented trust maintaining and going, growing
not punching holes in hulls while I’m busy bailing out water
such futility knows only its own sorrows
now this part I do not advise
yet having jumped from those types of ships
though worn out I became a good swimmer
for having been so afraid of water
there were docks that became doors
opening to even a stranger such as me
exploring where open doors lead has been terrifying
yet not in the least I continue imagining a we-
as some say the other is a part of ourselves already
creating an orbit generating a home, which for me requires a specificity
I do make demands and not leave my day up to fate or prophets
for oh whatever god is
what else can earth be here for
but learning how to create more life
from the bounty of what is given to grow.
ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND BREATHS
Being is a held breath
and between these branches
are one-hundred-thousand breaths
toward the heaven
before the descent
back to the present.
VERITE ON PLATO
When she returned to the cave
to tell those what she saw
the cave dwellers cried out in fear
and she became more
of the outside
the other
a myth in her own world
so she set off
to then find more people gathered in caves
societies inspire insanity
the weight of solitude
and the forgetfulness of the chasm
and the totality of each form of existence.
Walking doesn’t heal pain; it only creates distance from what caused it.
© 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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