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 ALIVEToday I walked a baby bird across the streetin a small town that smells

as if they've got nothing better to eatI asked my friend what value

has a woman in working a full time job alongside being a momshe stuttered and blankly stared

back through meso I walked my feet in a new directionin cross section of worth and reverenceI remain amazed, I made it alivewhen I could be taking more care

in keeping people from playing with my mindthen again we all are to some degree

and when our stories bump into one anotherwe call it life.and this one is no more virtuousthan one doused in feeling

more in every experienceforgoing the dashing through doing more

allows the space to absorb morefrom less unless we conjure something more desirousamazed they look on seeing too, I made it alivewhen I could be taking more care

in keeping people from playing with my mindso when our stories bump into one anothercan we still call it life or a lie?Time and time againsolitude seems more suitable

and preferably spentin utter quietudeimmersed in the symphony

of light bouncing from wallscaustics and whirring fan bladespush life across my skin

a caress of the cacophony of sensory climaxit's amazing I made it alivewhen I’m imagining a day in my mindwhere men understand life

and when our stories bump into one another

we giggle as we grow life.the less I own outside of methe more a womb of warmth

I grow within that envelopes me as if the nothing has more mass than mentruth and then,

we know better

to never start fighting againbut I never remember when it ever beganso I suggest wespeak in different tongues herefor minds in fights

conjure feelings of unrestand this is what's best:making it aliveand calling what we doa better version of life.

MAD

Hurry, quicklyget into your bodythe limit of your headbest be laid to rest.I can't writeif I'm talking to you.I can't breathwith everything looking at me.Whose words are worth our earsfor the sake of any hopein rebuilding heaven-have yourself some sips of timelet out the dammit

and mad you’ll be no more.Way past ill servants becomemaking tens and twentieswhen miles of greenlay out far as the eyes can seeA 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 hushin a high kick,

excuse mewhile I side-steparound 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 soand 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 itso dance around

or build a new facefeel 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 manyThese 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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