If I fall would you catch me?

I once stood on mountains,
swam the depths of the ocean,
ran miles before going home
hiked bike trails and I climbed
Mammoth mountain.

Like a rose, I grew from a seed
slowly blossoming into a bud,
I took awhile before I stretched
my petals, once I did I was a rose
perfumed well and loved by many.

All I need is a smile and poetry,
people seem to like my unique
style and beaming smile.

Though, my heart was broken
I fell to pieces, I was shattered
by a monster who said I love you
and stabbed me in the back.

Now I am climbing new heights,
I am starting over with my life.

If I fall don't worry I can catch myself.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

I a dying rose, I have nothing
but perfumed words.

I a nobody, I have nothing
but poetry.

I a shadow, I have nobody
but myself beside me.

I a lingering sigh, I have but one
chance one life to do my best.

I am living on a breath, a wind that
blew from the west and settled
on your screen through poetry,
line by line I lay down my life.

I am like a seed, not like the rest
rooted in sand I started out half
sunk but grew stronger and
deeper reaching for the rocks
to build a stable foundation.

Here I rise, I shine and
grind the keyboard until
it lags.

Sometimes spell check thinks
I'm British French and Spanish,
once it predicted Romanian
was my first language.
What happened to English?

I'm white but am I really?

If you cut me do I bleed
white or blood? I swear
I am human.

I don't think my keyboard cares
it just sits and stares tries to
predict but fails.

Now I am a poet with broken English
not by choice but by design of
spell check, my skin is really
partly translucent.

Here I bleed poetry and prose spill
from my fingertips like a wizard
blowing smoke like a dragon.

Here you come to witness my strum,
my tugging and pulling brings you
closer into my cave of batty gloom,
that I resurrect from the deepest
parts of my mind.

Mute I am.
I arm myself with deeper meaning
to express myself, otherwise
I am silent and scared over communicate and second
guess myself.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

Oded to vintage,
dirt wrinkles and grime.

Grinding the time,
one second at a time.

Hands up hands down,
ticking running around,
the face of time smiles wide.

Twelve, eleven, ten,
nine, eight let’s do it again.

The only way to turn back time
is to rewind the clock. No redos
just memories.

Tick tock, tick tock, oded to vintage,
dirt wrinkles and grime.

These are my vintage thoughts,
they aged wisely and I’ve been
digging for the time
deeper into the depths
of vintage earth.

Wrapped in lace and bonet,
skirts of mourning black and sad,
tears stain the cloth slowly turns
yellow.

Oded to vintage,
dirt wrinkles and grime.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

He's trying to burn his bridges,
when we can see him starting
the fire. He's in denial but still
lights the fire on camera yet
he doesn't forget to smile.

Burn baby burn!

He's working for the devil
five to nine lighting fires
wasting time.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

I once was a traveler wishing to be free,
but time slipped through my fingers
like sand in an hourglass.

Now my age and suffering has come
to a crossing, in between my strife
and short lived life lies the future
and freedom of my personal possibilities.

I am like a caged bird longing for
the wind to blow between my feathers
so I can be free and fly above
the horizon of my dreams.

Here is where I set fire to your minds
and inspire your imagination,
through my words and expressions
I am free like smoke from a candle
left to burn in the window of my
poetic vision.

Aw, and here lies my beating heart,
below the open window panes
it is beating for you, it waits for you
to read the lines I've designed.

I know I beat to a louder drum
than most, my flame is hotter
than others, but my moment
has always been now.

For I live for the future
and dream of the past.
And so the past is nothing
more than a memory, and
the future is now.

I have hope that my vision will see
beyond this haze and I will leap into
the possibilities that I am searching for,
only then will my mind be as warm as
my heart that burns hotter by the minute.

This is kindling for my flame,
I feed it with my poetic shavings,
from the past I came and into
the future I blaze.

I have left a candle in my
poetic window so all who gaze
upon this page will remember
my name.

Amanda, Amanda where aret thow?
Where have you placed your poetic tongue?
Have you forgotten the vision?
Is there poetic justice?

I'd like to imagine that the crimes
of a doomed poet is nothing more
than ashes and ink smears smudged
across your screen.

I the poet, none has been forsaken
nor forgotten, for my heart will
forever yearn for a garden
to plant my poetic blossoms.

Here I have roots and a personal domain.

My mind is set free through poetry.

No cage can possibly keep
my inspiration from leaping out
and catching your eye.

I am a poet forget me not,
for my words are yours to devour.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

Here I am, sitting on pens and needles
pain is my companion.

I wasn't born a renegade, or a knight
in shining armor but I was born a fighter.

All these years have passed behind me,
I am turning fourty two soon
as I keep walking forward
looking behind me.

My footprints are a reminder
how far I've gone and the farther
I plan to go.

My memories follow into
the shallow waters of my life.

I keep going forward watching the
sun rise and fall, while the moon
peeks for a better view.

Sometimes I dip into the deeper parts
of myself, I tug on the possibilities of
my creativity and I write what I see.

I feel like I am falling but in reality
I am sitting still.

Anxiety is a struggle but here I am free
as I release my stress through poetry.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

Chains rattle and bang,
dragging across my brain.

The doors creak, scratches across
the floor.

Emptiness is vast, a void creepy
and sad.

Ghosts linger here, memories of
lives passed.

They breathe decay, rust and rot.

A plume of smoke from a flame
smothered by time.

I am rooted in your deceit,
a rose with thorns.

I dream of being me, while my dreams
dream of being unique.

It is a dream within a dream,
do we ever truly wake?

A thought passes like a breath gasps
for a moment in time.

A passing phrase on a poetic gaze,
upon a heavenly sky the stars
shine and we fly.

My poetic mind opens wide,
behind my sleeping eyes lies
a feasting idea that eats prose
and verses.

Baking plots and cooking possibilities,
within my mind’s oven. I serve you my
poetic design.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton