amandajean-kinney - Hello Poetry

the movement in which way i am walking dancing with the moon's aura wanting something so badly capturing it then realizing it makes me want to die more inhaling the last cigarette - Portland. you've sewn p e r p e t u a l seeds enchanting these interior parts

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Dec 9, 2012

Dec 9, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC

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the movement in which way i am walking dancing with the moon's aura wanting something so badly capturing it then realizing it makes me want to die more inhaling the last cigarette - Portland. you've sewn p e r p e t u a l seeds enchanting these interior parts

10

Fruit flies feasting rasberries, I watch in the dim lit kitchen only few hours before dusk. Ponder as I'm watching, how am I getting back home?

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Jul 10, 2010

Jul 10, 2010 at 11:34 AM UTC

Kitchen crash dusk dim

Fruit flies feasting rasberries, I watch in the dim lit kitchen only few hours before dusk. Ponder as I'm watching, how am I getting back home?

4

millions of distant colorful exploding spider-legs dancing in the sky, each appearing with an infestive sound, infesting the whole city; "snap" "crssshh--hhh" "bosh--hhh" whiskey lingers as they fade into sparks and swooshes. you're beside me, people gather. whistles, applause, brass instruments booming..

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Jul 8, 2010

Jul 8, 2010 at 8:18 PM UTC

morning glories through trees

millions of distant colorful exploding spider-legs dancing in the sky, each appearing with an infestive sound, infesting the whole city; "snap" "crssshh--hhh" "bosh--hhh" whiskey lingers as they fade into sparks and swooshes. you're beside me, people gather. whistles, applause, brass instruments booming..

10

my, body, is, dead. legs; mechanical and rusted money is spent. head is impaired porch sunrise, deep conversation, walks across town early in the mornin'

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Jul 8, 2010

Jul 8, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC

mechanical and rusted

my, body, is, dead. legs; mechanical and rusted money is spent. head is impaired porch sunrise, deep conversation, walks across town early in the mornin'

7

A debris of specs flow through me as thick cream. The lull texture of the olive green checkered couch, sleeping. The scent of the last lingering bits of wood ablaze in the woodstove, waking. In the early morning before anyone would arise, I would rub my tired eyes and by settle the window to watch life stand still for a while. Few cars passed by in these early morning hours. Stray cats at ease lying on the thick yellow lines painted in the middle of the street. Only dark silhouettes of tree branches revealed, thick charcoal veins bleeding into the glass windows of attics. An illusive manifesto. It was silent, street lights still gleaming orange, noiseless... Birds perked out of their clever nests singing. This was the only time of day their divine chirps could not be interrupted by motors, sirens, wood saws, stereos, grass cutters; their songs often become ignored, white noise. The sun would swell up upon the tall red house next door. The world becoming alive, stars being put to rest. I would stare up into the sky watching the mosaic black speckled canvas disappear, fade into a lighter shade of purple, then blue.

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Jun 16, 2010

Jun 16, 2010 at 7:05 PM UTC

From/Then

A debris of specs flow through me as thick cream. The lull texture of the olive green checkered couch, sleeping. The scent of the last lingering bits of wood ablaze in the woodstove, waking. In the early morning before anyone would arise, I would rub my tired eyes and by settle the window to watch life stand still for a while. Few cars passed by in these early morning hours. Stray cats at ease lying on the thick yellow lines painted in the middle of the street. Only dark silhouettes of tree branches revealed, thick charcoal veins bleeding into the glass windows of attics. An illusive manifesto. It was silent, street lights still gleaming orange, noiseless... Birds perked out of their clever nests singing. This was the only time of day their divine chirps could not be interrupted by motors, sirens, wood saws, stereos, grass cutters; their songs often become ignored, white noise. The sun would swell up upon the tall red house next door. The world becoming alive, stars being put to rest. I would stare up into the sky watching the mosaic black speckled canvas disappear, fade into a lighter shade of purple, then blue.

20

Lately time seems to be going by in a lethargic manner, making me feel a little uneasy. Driving, the cars on the highway seemed to be slugging by, red lights lasting days long. The street lights flicked on. I glance at them and a trail of thin bleached light would follow as I turn my head, vision acting as a slow shutter speed. People walking across the street with their feet crawling weakly, heals clutching the ground. I stare.

0

Jun 16, 2010

Jun 16, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC

As the brain slows down....

Lately time seems to be going by in a lethargic manner, making me feel a little uneasy. Driving, the cars on the highway seemed to be slugging by, red lights lasting days long. The street lights flicked on. I glance at them and a trail of thin bleached light would follow as I turn my head, vision acting as a slow shutter speed. People walking across the street with their feet crawling weakly, heals clutching the ground. I stare.

1

Surely the rain I thought to be eternal has quit. A sky clear of clouds to block the sun's radiant beams. On a small quilt I lay in the damp grass to examine the left over yard puddles evaporating into invisible particles. Raw leaves dance in circles around their Mother Trees, closely kissing the growing moss. Beyond the bark of woods wild birds taintly make noise as they return home; to the interior of branches, the sprouting gardens in your yard, and every now and then building nests hidden in the blend of your untidy shed.

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Jun 16, 2010

Jun 16, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC

Willow Lane

Surely the rain I thought to be eternal has quit. A sky clear of clouds to block the sun's radiant beams. On a small quilt I lay in the damp grass to examine the left over yard puddles evaporating into invisible particles. Raw leaves dance in circles around their Mother Trees, closely kissing the growing moss. Beyond the bark of woods wild birds taintly make noise as they return home; to the interior of branches, the sprouting gardens in your yard, and every now and then building nests hidden in the blend of your untidy shed.

11

i could feel time compressing. "may i escort you mad'am?" he whispered. the sound of voices, blue eyed clean ***** voices, fading. silence. eyes watching me. I, a startled deer. where else but in his house on the hills and in the caves? no hanging antlers or portraits of ancestors. i'd often told, "that would be nice" I said.

0

Jun 16, 2010

Jun 16, 2010 at 7:01 PM UTC

stranger;strange-er

i could feel time compressing. "may i escort you mad'am?" he whispered. the sound of voices, blue eyed clean ***** voices, fading. silence. eyes watching me. I, a startled deer. where else but in his house on the hills and in the caves? no hanging antlers or portraits of ancestors. i'd often told, "that would be nice" I said.

9

This place is filled with disquiet concerns. There is a golden fluorescence set ablaze in the sky, a luminous spell we call daylight...it doesn't last for long. Millions of bricks and wooden pieces stacked together form large buildings that sculpture the indoors; places to hide. Wires tangled within the interior. We hammer decor into the walls and install translucent glass light bulbs to emit artificial light, a tungsten habitat. This is our shelter from harsh weather, darkness, our worst fears, reality. …Time begins to drift, a distance the bones in your arms can't reach. Electric bills seep through the the mail slots, distress breaks through your safe burrow and crawls from under the chipped parts of melon paint. the dark opacity won't stop whispering, envelopes printed with fine ******** pile onto your filthy maple counter top. **** You" Sincerely, the government. The water quit the faucet, the oil quit the furnace as you sit in the same exact spot, only days ago you thought to be harmless.

0

Jun 16, 2010

Jun 16, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC

shelter (inside) fear

This place is filled with disquiet concerns. There is a golden fluorescence set ablaze in the sky, a luminous spell we call daylight...it doesn't last for long. Millions of bricks and wooden pieces stacked together form large buildings that sculpture the indoors; places to hide. Wires tangled within the interior. We hammer decor into the walls and install translucent glass light bulbs to emit artificial light, a tungsten habitat. This is our shelter from harsh weather, darkness, our worst fears, reality. …Time begins to drift, a distance the bones in your arms can't reach. Electric bills seep through the the mail slots, distress breaks through your safe burrow and crawls from under the chipped parts of melon paint. the dark opacity won't stop whispering, envelopes printed with fine ******** pile onto your filthy maple counter top. **** You" Sincerely, the government. The water quit the faucet, the oil quit the furnace as you sit in the same exact spot, only days ago you thought to be harmless.

18

buried beneath warm feathered blankets in the rust tinted morning glow, two exhausted soft breathing still bodies lie next to me fast asleep, I awake. 5:40 AM. the clement essence of worn clothing and moth eaten Sage daintily flow, unharmed.

0

Jun 16, 2010

Jun 16, 2010 at 6:45 PM UTC

Weymouth Street

buried beneath warm feathered blankets in the rust tinted morning glow, two exhausted soft breathing still bodies lie next to me fast asleep, I awake. 5:40 AM. the clement essence of worn clothing and moth eaten Sage daintily flow, unharmed.

6