Text Prompt -Poem 13 Storm Amarathan
Storm Amarathan
Suddenly , it came
Storm Amarathan arrived
Women crying their eyes
13… Koibito (a sedoka)
Will you come to me?
Evenings and again, my love,
to cherish at the sun’s set?
I will come to you,
through the dawn and back, my love,
a worshiping moon.
In Loving Memory
When I heard evil tidings
suddenly he vacated his life
I thought this word was a lie
How bitter it is to believe the truth.
Every day many beings
Life becomes a cipher.
One day every life remains as an empty vase
But, the mind is never hurt.
Bunch of memories
Tapped on my thoughts
The mind was cloudy and dark
No injuries on the mind even though
The pain is in the form of tears
When he found out he was dead
The tears seemed to fade.
But, even his memories
I was afraid those memoirs may melt
His death will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Until he knew I was dead
Now-
His memories
A few tears left me with sweet bruises.
Now I am remembering my bosom friends
It’s time to meet and recollect the past
I need to remember my childhood in their words.
it’s not an idle hour
If I waste a bit of second
someone knocks with bitter news
Today I want to see them.
Something Bad that is Good =Hour 13
Something bad
that is really something good.
It hurt
but felt good when it was done
How much does the bad and good have to connect?
Is there a piece of gold
hidden in the cracks of a
broken heart?
Sure, there is
We cannot see it yet
We know it’s there
Hope it’s there
Although sometimes bad isn’t good
and
good isn’t bad.
Sometimes it is wrapped into a ball
spinning, swirling
Making us dizzy
with its incongruency.
We want to believe
it is all for the best,
but the best may not be good
It may just simply be.
Interruption
To ask if there is some mistake
If someone objects, it blames them
and points their ego nature,
It creates some worry
bury your doubts
Until you clean your hands
Reality is a sharp edge sin
Errors and faults
Shot cut ways of life
Don’t raise your hand
With a serious demand
Praise aloud with grand
He commands you
He cries aloud on top of you
Bend your head silently
You are servant to him
He’s the ring master of your life
He’s a piercing knife.
Some faces are blank
Some faces are frank
Convincing
Taking a step back from family,
I choose to accept myself for me.
Years of biting my tongue,
taking the high road,
or just plain hiding myself,
all culminate in one text exchange:
“Please support your family,
come to your grandson’s memorial service,
even if you don’t agree with the way we do things,
your family needs you”
…
This was enough to open flood gates.
This was enough to call a grieving girl
vile names.
This was the last straw.
I never thought I
had it in me to set boundaries.
I never thought
it was truly possible to
leave this pain in the past.
I never thought I could
escape
narcissistic elders
who’ve never been told no.
But I did.
It’s painful.
It was devastating
for a period of time.
It left my heart pounding
in a way that even grief didn’t
quite
mimic.
At a time where I thought
things couldn’t get any worse
the people who are supposed to be
caring
loving
supportive
somehow ensured that it did.
I will never return
to allowing people to step over
me.
My thoughts,
my opinions,
my true self,
are never going to be concealed again
especially not in hopes of gaining love
from someone I should never have had to convince.
Letters from Home
Mom,
Its been a while since I’ve wrote you. Life is always coming at us head on.
You’d be so proud of your grandbabies 🥰
Cas graduated with her Masters and was just recently promoted to a training position.
Your tinkerbell is growing into a wonderful mother, and gardner Your great grand baby is her mini me. The mothers curse worked 🤣
So much has changed since you left. You are missed deeply by us all. We speak of you often.
With my nest now empty and them so far away, I am now the one to drive such a long way. The tornado, while through their homes I parade. I sound more like you, every fucking day 🤣
Me and Bit are taking Vivi on her first road trip. I will play on the road again, and I promise to teach her happy feet.
I worry for Daddy, keep your eye on him, and us. Always.
Love you more than 2 whole gallons of chocolate milk momma, miss you even more
❤ always
Mandy
Hour 13 Shaman Gathering
Laying on yoga mats
he strums and whistles
calls out to his ancestors.
I close my eyes hoping
my crush comes through.
Instead I see a beach
full of tiny sea turtles
over and over
with doubled rainbows.
Accept it’s his kid brother
and now I watch as he surfs
in El Salvador.
After this channeling ends,
the Shaman asks of our experiences.
Stephanie on the other side of the room
describes how she was a sea turtle swimming inside a funnel.
I smile knowing together we surfed with Tommy.
Hour Twelve: Celebration Supper
If I could pick nine dinner dates
to form join a table set for ten,
I might know where I’d start my search
but I don’t know where I’d end.
The first five choices would come quick
and if they would just agree to read
my writing, good and bad, then I would
flatter them by naming them aloud.
Number six would from my community
who shines her beacon bright,
whose soul selflessly sings ‘Zimmer Frei’
every hour of day and night.
Seven would be—I’d want him back—
my dear departed Dad. Give eight to Mom,
though I had more time with her,
cause without her he won’t come.
Nine, the last, the final spot: I’m torn;
I may have no choice choice.
I may just leave it empty and see
who needs to share their voice.
Every Story I Tell Contains Me
content warning: none
Every Story I Tell Contains Me
Every story I tell contains me,
If you know how to look inside.
I am but a bird trying to be free.
My cage is gilded, held fast by lock and key
Although I yearn for the door to open wide.
Every story I tell contains me.
I cannot swim a river, nor climb a tall tree;
I fear being unchanged and swallowed by pride.
I am but a bird trying to be free.
I feel like you’re blinded; you look but don’t see
And I am so tired of being your guide.
Every story I tell contains me.
There’s an ocean between us, a darkened cruel sea,
Created by all the tears I have cried.
I am but a bird trying to be free.
I drown myself inside of my poetry
Watching it make others starry-eyed.
Every story I tell contains me;
I am but a bird trying to be free.