To my fellow Poet,

loqui:

in electric
sparks of a drunken
city night flash back
where four eyes saw no
clearer no cleaner
no keener
than the filth
of an alleyway
strapless
harness
a come-to under sirens

I always wanted
my name in lights

Beautiful piece of work, your message is very clear without being weighed down with words and stripped to the bare necessary ideas needed to have impact. Reminds me of two lovers running around a city street, feeling like they belong there. I may not be right, but I guess that’s how I interpreted this. May I ask, what inspired this write?

A Song For My Children

by Amanda Paul

Mother rose made music
while plants rattle their leaves;
converting senses to sunlight.
They all dance in time,
praising the sun.

Except for one.

Seasons beg flowers to be their own savior
as Mother rose sings a hope song.
Her roots run deep in the earth,
but it is never too late to bloom without her.
Nothing can rip away the umbrella
until a wilting one’s hands are too weak to carry it.

“Who are you?”
asked the shaded seed.

Laying a leaf
to love the dirt below,
she smiles—-
“I’m the one 
who sent the rainclouds.”




NOTES ABOUT THIS POEM: I believe as an adopted person, a mother is someone who helps you grow, no matter who they are… but not even a mother can help you grow, if you don’t let her show you the sun.

Act One: The Final Number

Lens fixated to stage.
All eyes on the performer.
Cameras rolling.
No lights yet.

“Ladies and gentleman,

silence
in the audience.”

Sexual tension escaping her lips was half drowned
by the screech of an over amplified microphone-
partly faulted by cheap equipment,
partly laced with her venomous bloodlust.

All of the lights were still off;
the invisible outline of her legs
adorning a grand piano like an ornament
was the only movement
even remotely
worthwhile.

Glaring at dolls made of fabric
tied to imaginary seats,
she starts cackling louder,
tears dripping down her face like shooting stars
onto a makeshift cardboard stage.

“Thank you,”
she whispers,
her lips too close to the mic.

“Thank you 
my loved ones-
I always knew
we would be in each others hearts
forever.”

A barely audible inhale flew past her lips-
(it was a chest breath)

when a spotlight came crashing down,
electrocuting her to the bone-
the air gets a first glimpse
at her stilettos,
her red dress
and her flawless dark hair.

as the lens of the inoperable camera zooms out,
the onlooker sees a wide-eyed hag 
who had been struck by lightning
high on a city building.

No wonder she never made the papers.

 

 

 

 

Less than a second.

This composition
was brought to you

 
by an electric storm-
by a simple wave
of frequent and infrequent
of sound, and of silence
of nothing
and everything.

Voltage puts filters over vision;
maybe trusting the lens
isn’t best
for tonight.

Instead of stumbling,
I shoot hopeful eyes
to the Lady of sorrow
in her pixilated self-portrait,
of cyan
magenta
and yellow,

but nothing in between.

sometimes
the moral of a story
will only ever amount
to a girl
asking for directions
at a computer screen.

Memorized
by the beat of another drum,
they see
eyes nearly exploding,
looking too closely at movements
of all the fascinating creatures
crawling around
the street.

words are but names
that external forces
give to all the spinning colors
felt in the tips of your fingers
as one presses on keys and fret boards-

I wished upon a star
that the mute wires would break
to listen to every voice
sing louder than ever-

without being paid
or stolen from.

and that lightning?

well,

it’s less than a second. 

What I’ve Learned

by Amanda Paul
March 20, 2010
a poem about love and friendship 

I’ve learned to look much harder for the things that I can’t find,
I’ve learned that maybe it’s okay if I just say what’s on my mind,
I’ve learned to never cry for moments that I can’t erase,
and never run for rabbits that are way too fast to chase.
It’s safe to say, there is no way, this fractured fairytale won’t mend.
‘cause if there was no beginning, then how could there be an end?

I’ve learned that living can be wonderful, you gotta look just right,
I’ve learned that losing grip can happen, so you gotta hold on tight,
and though I don’t believe in miracles, I try to make my own,
I’ve learned that it’s okay to stay away and it’s okay to be alone,
and to never take the time to feel the damage that it brings,
learning hope and wishful thinking are two very different things.

I know the cutting edge gets duller and the harshness will subside,
You know, even though it’s settled, I still feel it deep inside.
It’s that awful charming train wreck that I never could deny,
It’s that pleasant suffocation that just never seems to die,
If you look a little closer, then you’ll see it’s all okay,
If I thought your ears could take it, then I’d have so much to say,

If we laugh at all the moments we repressed or just forgot,
then memories, once meaningless, could somehow mean a lot,
‘cause even if I hold on tight, my masterpiece still breaks,
if I were good at understanding then I’d never make mistakes,
but I realize I cannot break what holds together you and me
my steady spirit took a shot or two,
but it’s just fine, 
and so are we.

What I’ve learned has healed me, and helped me to pull through,
find missing pieces to my puzzles, and do things I’d never do,
It’s relieved the brutal fear accepting what I always knew
‘cause what I’ve learned that meant the most 
was what I’ve learned from you.

Duality of Light and Dark

by Amanda Paul

I taste the curves, the lines, the dots,
I smell the colors and the spots,
I keenly set my spirit’s eye
on words that scream, and never die-

they’re asking, do we really need
these articles my fingers read?
Just re-enforce the hatred
and refocus on the smoky greed…

The flavors of humanity
went bad so long ago;
so how can the truth be trusted,
with what people think they know?

They say the future’s bleak and stark,
but what is light without its dark
If all that’s seen is blinding hate,
nobody sees light radiate.

No easy task, it seems profound,
you have to feel your way around
this hologram that’s been designed
to mimic pictures in our mind.

When eyes are just the lone defense
our observations make no sense,
effacing dark within the soul
means depth perception plays no role—-

 

So do we walk those darkened paths?
I’d rather stroll through photographs,
but here and now breathes on its own
with blessings in its black unknown.

Accept the change of night and day,
as our smiling moon would say,
and let the third dimension be
so simple in complexity-

So if you’re pushed around,
you’ll ask; what does it really mean?
if you undergo catastrophe;
a mess you have to clean,

just whistle to your favorite tune,
tap your feet, and swing your broom,
behold the magic in the room,
and know that it get’s better soon.