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Oct 2018 · 524
If You See My Father
Amy Perry Oct 2018
Scraggly,
In face and heart
Staggering
By the harbor,
A celebratory place
For families to flock
And sight-see the city
By the ships and the docks.
While the sea gulls fight
Over scrimpy scraps,
A lone man traverses,
Seized by mind traps.
Disoriented by the shadows
Of his past,
Taunting and tampering
With his freedom, at last,
He's broken his vow of silence
He promised he could pass.
Reality so far removed
From his ruminations.
Passerby's passively wonder
What attracted him to the concrete.
Overactive imagination
Is an answer I'd repeat.
Occasionally another may marvel,
Where is his family?
Waiting in vain,
In the background,
In the rain,
Devoid of way to entertain
The possibility to take the reigns
Away from his deceptive beast
That guides his woeful way,
Fighting for fistfuls of his feast -
A price he has to pay
For having an untreated illness.
Now I have no say
In pillows or cement.
He chose the latter.
Now all I can do is feel lament.
If you see my father,
You may see kindness in his eyes,
A mind that's rapidly firing,
Comforting words to himself he's ironing.
If you see my father -
You may see him time and again,
You may see him in the sea gull,
Harmlessly scavenging,
Heartily conversing,
Heartbreakingly existing -
If you see my father,
Let him exist
However he chooses.
I have no choice
But to do the same.
abp 10/02/18
Aug 2018 · 480
If You Write It
Amy Perry Aug 2018
If you don’t write it,
It won’t come.
That spark of madness
Devoid of need for the tongue.
If you don’t write it,
It won’t come.
That hidden power in your tone
To bring you visions into the world,
A form of alchemy that pales to none.
If you don’t write it,
It won’t come.
That jewel in your belly that glows brightly
That seeks to find you day and nightly.
If you don’t write it,
It won’t come.
The spark that you find,
The visions you define,
The power you cannot hide.
If you write it,
It will come.
abp 8/28/18
Aug 2018 · 604
Deterioration
Amy Perry Aug 2018
I watch him slowly deteriorate.
The first man I ever loved
Is being brought down,
Like a torrid helicopter
Caught in a hailstorm.
How much he must struggle
Against the current,
Only to be swept into unsightly circumstances,
Into a misfortunate gravity
He brings upon himself.
Homelessness, his vice,
And all I can do to help him
Is not worry so much
About all his suffering and whirlwind adventures
That make so little sense.
The delusions, the psychosis,
The wretched, wonderful mania,
It’s all so much for one person to contain,
And all I can do is watch
Him deteriorate
Before my eyes.
The first man I ever loved,
Fearful of none,
How terrible must be the parts of him
I cannot see
For his actions to be
So extreme.
abp 08/26/18
Aug 2018 · 384
The Word was Written
Amy Perry Aug 2018
The Word was written,
But my word is spoken
In the silence of the sacred,
In the crash of the ocean.

The Word was written,
But still I fumble
With what to think
To remain humble.

The Word was written,
But how does Nature sing!
And how pretty the lilacs dance
And how awesome bubbles the spring.

The Word was written,
But my mind questions,
Scourges the earth for answers,
Philosopher is my essence.

The Word was written,
But how it nods
To the doubt in me
That there are such gods.
abp 08/25/18
Aug 2018 · 1.1k
I Found Myself in Downey
Amy Perry Aug 2018
The best I can achieve
To loving you
Again
Is a half-hearted glance
At your heart.
The beating, ****** *****
So pompous in its origin
To feel the twinges of desire
And the throat, so clear
And so precise
To tell me how
You’d think I’d be perfectly wonderful
And nice.
And did I prove you wrong?
Or did I do anything at all
To express my adoration,
Besides tell you pretty silvery things,
Word soup on a platter,
And cutting fierce glances
Across an otherwise empty room?
Did I do anything
To prove love
Even to myself?
Besides take a train
To LA,
To find, of all things,
An **** field
Where I knew I would meet myself
In disarray?
Did I do anything
Ever
To surpass spirit and *****
Or am I just going
To be the one
That always wanted you
In darkness and in light?
Did I do anything but dream
The whole unending,
Maddening
Night?
abp 08/25/18
Amy Perry Aug 2018
The heart of mine
Sings a tune
That does not need
To rhyme with moon.
The heart of mine
Does not need
Language at all,
To make its point a heed.
It says what it wants,
It does as it wills,
And I let it play
Like a child, unstill.
I let it rupture
Its voluptuous rant
About how it’s ignored
Or let it signal its chant.
I let it pout
I let it shout,
And do I ever
Let it all out.
I listen to its sage advice,
And let it counsel,
Its rhythm suffice.
It has a way
Of saying the right things
By saying nothing,
But still it sings.
My heart does a dance
Whether I want it or not,
But I have lived in a cage,
Why should my heart be fought?
And pummeled down
Like all of the rest,
To be less than free,
To be less than best?
I let it live its life,
I let it chant its tune,
And boy does it ever
Rhyme poems with “moon.”
abp 08/25/18
Aug 2018 · 291
The Paradox of You
Amy Perry Aug 2018
To find myself
In Hell’s grips
From loving you
So tightly,
Is a paradox
So sweetly bitter
I can’t help but to
Smile weakly.
abp 08/25/18
Aug 2018 · 3.4k
A Love Letter
Amy Perry Aug 2018
Have I left you all dry,
With a throat I’ve supplied
With the words of a poet
Who slips a poem inside.
Receiving your mail,
You handsome, dark male,
You sat in a chair
With woozy head as you stare.
Painting her body, prepared,
For you to meet her and share.
The words of her letter,
Forms the pierce of her stare,
Her full body in view,
She arches her back up for you.
Pulls up her long, cascading hair.
Moves to her rhythm,
You watch her, ensnared.
With her own ink she’s shared,
Dancing for you with words placed with care.
Your body feels weak, your head feels so light,
The pumping of blood supplies you with
Your want for the night.
You stare at her words, in the shape of her curves,
Her lips parting in pleasure, her eyes shooting arrows,
You study every seductive trace of a dot,
Coming to life in every detail she’s got,
She’s sent herself to you, you can smell her perfume,
Sprawled out on your page, she beckons to you.
Aug 2018 · 555
You Have Me
Amy Perry Aug 2018
You have me
Like a clock that never stops,
Like the wind’s song,
Like the leaves dancing,
Like the stars’ sparkle
All night long,
You, you have me,
Like shivering in winter,
Keeping the goosebumps from dimpling,
Fine lines on skin, a dimple poking through.
Keep me longer,
Under your aching conditions,
I want to feel the fiery, icy burn,
You’re elemental, you’re nature,
You’re primal.
Oh you, you have me,
Like forests whispering, beckoning,
The unknown I can plunge into,
Deep waters,
Surrounding me, drowning me,
But this time, I can breathe.
You have me, you always have me,
Take me, have me again,
Like nature gives, and trees begin,
Deeper roots than we’ll ever see,
Like you and oh, what you do to me.
abp
Aug 2018 · 362
Midnight
Amy Perry Aug 2018
Lost with you at midnight,
Crickets chirp melodic tune.
Melted snowflake puddle
Like hottest time at noon.
My soul has sparked and flamed,
All reason lost in wake.
Fire so untamed,
Undeniable, endless ache.
Caressing cherry kisses,
Like cherry blossom trails,
Dancing on a rhythm,
Our quickening pulse unveils.
Tasting up your scent,
Nostalgic like the rain.
Wrapping me in comfort,
Darkness not in vain,
Nourish, quench my wanting,
Like water in the sun.
Butterflies surround us,
Passion not unsung,
All of nature ushering
Our hearts to rush in tune,
All love shared here ensues
Under conspiring moon.
abp
Jun 2018 · 346
All Ready Love
Amy Perry Jun 2018
When you love life itself,
The very act of sitting passively
Contains feelings of contentment.
Harbor love by abstaining from harm.
Refuse to defuse pain.
Leave pleasure as a passive gain.
Rejoice that you can remark,
"I have lived";
That is a truth
The mystery of Consciousness gives.
When the blood and the lungs
Pump and respire
With a warmth in your heart
That sings like a choir -
When the silent moment is sweet,
Light and complete,
How much more can you be,
How much more can you seek?
You are already Love
Every moment you breathe.
You are Love on a journey
To manifest dreams.
You are already a dream
Within a dream.
Now experience fully
However your story proceeds.
abp -o2/20/17
Jun 2018 · 395
Figure Skater
Amy Perry Jun 2018
I've found myself on the razor's edge,
Like a figure skater.
I skate through life,
Avoiding hazards with grace,
Holding my head up high,
And spinning out of control
Once in a while,
Only to collect myself
In poised determination
And a flick of the wrist,
Brushing the worries away.
Jun 2018 · 294
Rebuilding Me
Amy Perry Jun 2018
Whittle me down to the bone.
I've been carrying onto so many things.
Expose my shelter, like stone.
Scattering light to find what truth brings.

Bury me 'til I'm nothing.
Ground me into dust.
Take me to the edge of the world,
Where our jewels and our money are bust.

Take me into the corner
Of captivity's gilded world.
And watch as I rebuild myself,
Let my higher realms unfurl.
Apr 2018 · 977
Terrarium
Amy Perry Apr 2018
Caress
The butterflies
In the
Terrarium
Of my heart.
Come see
How they
Dance for you.
How they
Flap a whisper
Of nimble limbs
And draw thoughts
Of you
For my soul to sing.
How I
Want to touch you
With my
Grazing fingers
And wings.
Amy Perry Apr 2018
Poetry runs through my hands
Like grains of sand.
Plucking the words
Like the strings of a harp,
My heart
Gathers strength from truthful poems,
Devoid of rhyme or reason,
Though I often try for both.

Poetry runs through my mind
Like lyrics.
Music so sweet, the words.
The ink casts a spell
When I spell
And I wish to enchant
With peaceful prose
In a gesture with rose.

I scatter the petals,
The words scrambled again,
To be plucked from the ether,
To be plucked from the ground,
And used for the good,
Or used for my own ego, or neither.
Perhaps they are used
To battle a stormy mind with sunny words.

The sands of time are ticking.
The music of the world ensues.
The voices of my mind pause and listen
When the ink and the paper meet and muse.
I hear a rhythm, I feel a dance
Everything else is silent.
As words, sweet words,
Run through my hands.
Apr 2018 · 525
The Bare Bones of Life
Amy Perry Apr 2018
The poets are too grim.
Too somber, too solemn.
Too serious for a world
That's bound to spit them out.
Programmed for defeat,
With their pessimistic vision
And their bouts with mental illness,
And the way they cut the gristle
From the bone of life.
Exposing the bare bones of it all.
They spend their whole lives sawing away,
Exposing the raw truth,
Digging down to the bone,
Living by the razor's edge,
And they take the little meat
They've collected
And they examine it -
For it is this kind of stuff
That entire empires are built upon,
Entire lives are shaped by.
It is this that the rest hungrily consume,
Piece by piece,
And they chuck away the bone.
Apr 2018 · 473
Love's Poison Dagger
Amy Perry Apr 2018
The shards of a heavy dagger
Remain in me every moment.
You reached into my wound,
Wanton and haggard.
I gazed at the jeweled weapon
Tucked out of view
And the gape in my chest
I thought I outgrew,
Covered and sutured,
Well treated and healing.
But like a cold draft entering a weak archway,
You plunged deeply, weightlessly,
Leaving me reeling.
Poking, prodding,
Pointing out my shards and my scars.
I told myself I removed all of you
And the dagger soaked with love's poison.
You showed me shards from
The poisoned blade still linger,
The truth lies deeper than
Where I can put my finger.
You touched my wound with
The force of words.
How it stings with the sharpness of pain.
Twinging inside me,
Twisting like ivy,
Welling my eyes like a curse there to find me,
Pointing out my poison and shards,
Fiddling with the sutures of my scars,
And like a haunting winter's chill,
You left as quickly as the blood was spilled.
Amy Perry Apr 2018
She spoke of swallowtail butterflies
In her native tongue,
Floating and drifting
To each new idea unsung.
But like a hummingbird
Caught in a net,
She was told to put
Her ideas to rest.
Jul 2017 · 1.7k
Comfort in Numbers
Amy Perry Jul 2017
I was raised by a mentally ill father.
Because there is comfort in numbers,
I, too, was afflicted by a similar disorder.
It’s difficult to separate the person from the sickness,
Sometimes impossible.
Sometimes we become the shadowy monster,
Embrace it with wilted roses,
Knowing too well that of everything else,
The disorder will still be there,
Waiting.
My shadow has been dormant.
My father’s is still active,
Seeking.
Sometimes when we meet it’s like a perfect storm,
A tornado of comfort.
Someone understands the climate.
I take my father’s hand encouragingly,
He turns to run, squirrely,
The shadow greets me with open arms.
I love the shadow as much as I love the man.
After all, there is comfort in numbers.
abp
Amy Perry Jul 2017
This heart I own
Has you to call home,
How I miss the
Hallowed halls
Of your soul.

Pressed against mine,
A fate so unkind,
That hearts could torment us to the bone.

The words you have spoken
Speak from the heart,
So I know then,
That this love that I feel
We both share.

And you did not ask,
Neither I,
Here at last,
That our paths would converge in this way.

I feel love come from you,
And I know mine does too,
We're here, not by chance,
Not at all.

Then if we must feel this
And are not now to kiss,
I will wait 'til I walk in your halls.
abp
Jul 2017 · 696
the pretty ones
Amy Perry Jul 2017
You water thoughts of despair,
Then wonder why the pretty ones
Never come to sit.
You chase away sweet changes,
And ask what are you to do.
You circle your poorly mended garden
With a net.
Gentle butterflies avoid.
You knock on the door of a hornet nest
And demand a fight,
To prove you've still got one in you.
Your garden, overgrown with weeds,
Provides you support to lay your head,
Comfort.
To cover up the memories,
You poured cement over your garden.
You spent a summer building
A basketball court,
Hoping that there would come a use for it,
Hoping for a visit.
You used to like basketball.
The weeds grow through the cement,
But you don't spend long in your yard anymore.
Walking away proves more satisfying.
Why won't the pretty ones ever come to sit?
abp
Amy Perry Jun 2017
Forever sleep, never keep
Die and let be dead.
Rest, my friend, in Earth deep,
You've finally come to know peace.

You are no demon, angel, or beast
You are, but instead,
A beautiful thing, to say the least,
Finally come to know peace.
abp 2006
My first poem I wrote when I was about 13 years old. Coming to terms with death and embracing atheism. Learning to look at it from a positive lens.
Jun 2017 · 659
The light tower
Amy Perry Jun 2017
All the questions I could ask myself
About you and I and we and us
Does not hold a candle to the truth outshining us.
I do not need to hear your words, although you know I long to.
You've slipped away, a swaying phase, unsteady as the moon
In your island you're always hiding far out of reach for me.
I know the rules and I try to tip-toe around them.
Caught in a roulette wheel, shooting myself in the foot.
Swinging on the vines like Tarzan in the jungle, my Jane
Does not belong to me, enamored, enchained,
To this life I'm in, I shall indeed remain.
You are a glittering spotlight far away,
The light tower,
And I am only a glint in the corner of your eyelash,
I might cower,
The instant you turn to me, the minute you decide to fight for me.
The right hour
I am able to be yours, in this life, if ever, you have me,
So clever, wrapped in maroon silk cocoon, staved away,
For you, alone, always unable to love another, steal me from my lover like plunder, come find me on my shores
And take what has always been yours.
abp 06/11/2017
True love is a fickle gift.
Jun 2017 · 599
Wheel
Amy Perry Jun 2017
Used to next to nothing.
Silver spoon is rusting.
Growing where Life doesn't.
Giving in at adolescence.

I am not confessing,
I need not a blessing.
Restless mind is wrestling.
Disregarding outward dressing.

Patient soul is resting.
All these things I'm testing.
Life is interesting.
Stimulated, manifesting.

On a wheel that's spinning,
Reaching new beginning?
Callous circle grinning,
Reminding me that I'm not winning.
abp - 06/28/16
Two versions, I suppose. The one before was a freeflow, and this one is more structured with allotted syllables - but also freeflow :)
Seems to be written about mania.
Jun 2017 · 332
Passenger to Somewhere
Amy Perry Jun 2017
Used to next to nothing.
Silver spoon is rusting.
Growing where life doesn't.
Giving in at adolescence.
I am not confessing,
Because I need a blessing.
Restless mind is wrestling,
Disregarding outward dressing.
No importance on impressing
Those who do not see an essence.
Patient soul is resting,
Cannot hear Her presence.
Disregarding life at present,
Waiting for a train in hestitance.
Debating on destination residence,
My inner wisdom holds the key to evidence.
Still, I flounder, lost magnificence.
A train somewhere, awaits my service.
Passenger to Somewhere,
No need to get so nervous.
abp. 06/28/16.
One of those days perhaps.
<3
Mar 2017 · 1.2k
They Killed All The Poets
Amy Perry Mar 2017
Internal poetry while doing
Yoga.
I don't mean practicing
Yoga. I mean doing it.
Writing, because although
Yoga
Calmed my racing thoughts
And high electromagnetic frequency,
Additional
Judgmental,
Highly observant,
Rather foreign thoughts
Are returning.

The pirates pillaging
Sanity within
Are no match for the
Ancient Indian
And pre-Indian
Yoga and poetry.
In this day and age,
Yoga is heraled
For the stylish, revealing pants
Used for practicing.
As well as the many classes that reek of ego.

Poetry, on the other hand,
Has more or less gone obsolete.
They killed all the poets.

They have become replaced
By social media
Featuring those unsocialized with writing.
Now, when I need to hear the wisdom
Of a guiding angel,
All I hear
Is the pathetic language
Of the less fortunate in poetic freethought.
These discombobulated ghosts
Haunt me
When I hear far too many
Voices
And need stillness to compensate my illness.

These voices of the day, I fear,
Manipulate me in most unpleasant ways.
And being thinker, as I am,
Drawing conclusion and meaning
From everything I can,
A blessing and a curse --
Which, then again, are blessings nonetheless --
I cannot help but wonder
If this is part of a plan.

Orwell wrote of so not fifty years ago.
The language now constantly spoken,
As well as read,
As well as written,
Dumbing us down.
Losing touch with words of wisdom
In most trying of times.
This is what happens when

You **** off
All the poets.
abp
Dec 2016 · 697
Thoughts on Art
Amy Perry Dec 2016
There are more things
That are not things
Than there are things
That are things.
Potential is a powerful,
Abundant resource.
To tap into the
Unknown, uncharted,
Unachieved, departed -
And introduce it to
What it means to Be -
Makes every artist
A midwife.
Without the great alchemists -
The artists, the dreamers,
Visionaries, poets, musicians -
Those who enter into
Akashic Records
Like a library -
We would only ever have
What has already came to be.
Like a technical computer reality.
Art brings us closer
To the cusp of Life.
Mother Earth is the greatest artist
I've ever known.
Being Human means
Being an artist.
Our Mother may soon
Scold us
For coloring all over the walls.
Making an artist takes time.
In the Universe,
There's plenty of that.
abp
Dec 2016 · 1.8k
Winter In The City
Amy Perry Dec 2016
I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?
abp
Dec 2016 · 805
That Precious Heart
Amy Perry Dec 2016
The heart can heal all.
That's why we fear
Opening it up
For a fickle other.
We can lose our
Best chance at
Self-defense.

I don't fear
The break,
So I send mine
On a plate.
Recipients are
Used to games.
I am, however,
Fiercely straight-forward,
With self-confidence
Coated in
Uncertainty. Vanity. Candy.
Recipients simply run from me.

This is why I focus on me,
Expired of all of my romances.
Thankful Universe gave us chances
To quickly flee the scene
Before the heart dances.
Lonesome creatures are courageous.
Amy Perry Dec 2016
Maniacally,
The days and nights
Bleed together
Into a time frame
The insane
Tap into
That's a lot like infinity.
Vampiracally,
The years of
Infinity
Bleed together
Into an abysmal
Spiral
Of insanity.
Supernaturally,
Are our states of being.
How well
We blend in
With a dismal
Arrangement
Of plain people
In trains,
Checking their wrists
For the time
As they travel
Physically.
Naturally,
The three of us
Are bound to meet
At some point.
Tapping into
Hidden goldmines
Of psychological
Nuggets
That gleam
With prosperity,
As everything
Melts together
Again.
Everything is sacred.
Everything is connected.
Mining
For hidden connections
Ought to excavate
Feelings of wonder.
The caverns filled
With complex crystals
Of energetic
Freethought
Have long been
Paved over
By trains and
Linear brains
Improving on their
Transistors.
Maniacally and
Vampiracally,
The days and nights
Bleed together,
While the world below
Bustles about;
We appear to be
Just like one of them.
We may even check
Our watch.
Our conditions
Are congruent
In that they are
Nothing less than
Supernatural.
abp
Dec 2016 · 626
Flowers, So Fearless
Amy Perry Dec 2016
Flowers, oh so fearless.
Featherly, inviting fountains.
Gifts for all who seek for it,
From the trees to the mountains.
Buzzing bees relax to sit,
Upon a vibrant throne.
Within a world built from grit,
Femininity is shown.
Flowers, oh so fearless.
Opened to receive reverence.
No judgment cast, it seems at last,
A place for kind deliverance.
abp
Dec 2016 · 1.1k
I've Fallen & I Can't Get Up
Amy Perry Dec 2016
I loved you then; I love you now.
In times of chaos; Without a sound.
I loved you black; I love you white.
With rhyme or reason; Without a right.
I love you New York; I love you Paris.
I love you boldly or embarrassed.
I love you luck; By Divine Fate.
I'll love you after I forget your face.
I love you blue; I love you true.
I love you whether I'll be with you.
abp
Nov 2016 · 1.3k
Emancipation Quest
Amy Perry Nov 2016
If being stripped of liberty,
We owe no responsibility
To tethering our ties
To a system of lies.
Insanity, defined,
If we choose to read,
Means working to thrive
Through ways we won't succeed.

The system is broken.
Turn off the machine.
If doubt has not awoken,
Ask yourself, please:

Do you question many things
That you hear spoken?
Do you admit your own views
May contain false notions?
Does our culture retain
Unnecessary devotions?
Is government improving,
Bringing peace across oceans?

Emancipate from demands
Of societal bands.
Renounce the commands
And requests that don't stand
The test of your ability
To reason with civility.

A question is a "quest I on"
Not a destination.
It leads to many places.
Go ahead. Try it on.
Something I wrote a few months back. Might as well post it now rather than never. Losing a poem hurts.
Oct 2016 · 769
That Kind of Love
Amy Perry Oct 2016
I have that kind of love that self-implodes
In an explosion that rains from the sky,
As I helplessly wish on my lucky stars
That you don't witness this at all.
abp
Aug 2016 · 999
Articulate, Immaculate
Amy Perry Aug 2016
Articulate, immaculate;
I see the contours of her eyelids flick.
I know her, soft and delicate.
Defends her ground with solid stick.


Ridiculous, but accurate;
Confident release of comedic grit.
Expressions lively, capture it,
Before next thought comes in to sit.


Intuitive, abstract addict;
Engaging, fantastic conversation.
Awaiting beautiful emphatic,
For mesmerizing contemplation.


Artistic is just half of it.
She contains ceaseless happy mystery.
I'm always taken aback by it,
How she shifts like stars and sways like tree.


An activist peace advocate.
Sharing dreams with me of a world to be.
Her poetry impacted it.
A passive beauty all could see.


Her peacefulness is accurate.
Pure as pink lotus, for roses do *****.
Pain in this world, doesn't add to it.
Beautiful through gloom, she, my pick.
abp
Aug 2016 · 985
Growing up Dicked
Amy Perry Aug 2016
We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.

Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.

We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.

Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.

This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.

The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.

Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.

I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.

To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:

Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.

To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.
Sincerely, the Millenials
Jul 2016 · 1.0k
The Hungry Ghosts
Amy Perry Jul 2016
Your Love - or any thought
Containing you, thereof -
Mesmerizes, magnetizes,
The hungry ghosts inside of us.
Perception slip; a CD skip;
A fall into a big ball pit--
(The reasons I can't take a hit);
Leaves me leaving life;
Walking on the ice;
Using sugar spice,
Swallow my advice:
The little lies that we conceive,
The little girl-type fantasies,
Can make us buckle at the knees,
Discovering it's all diseased.
Are we dreaming? Third eye screaming.
I will myself to find us meeting.
Lock the door; the key, not needing.
The events preceding passion feeding.
Alas - it's passed.
Big girls learn real world lessons -
No beguiling oneself through an external essence.
abp
Amy Perry Jun 2016
Creeping Death moves as Father Time.
The poet shall curse her own blind rhyme.

The men go forth to capture the Creeper.
They know of Death, but I know the Reaper.

I've done the journey called peering deeper.
The Source determined, "Yes, we need her."

My angel does not allow me pain and sorrow.
My angel carries me gently towards tomorrow.

Because, I have purpose in this chaotic life,
Whether girl or diva or suspect with knife.

And so, I sing, so do you.
*Challenge your barriers. They'll challenge you, too.
Written at Las Encinas Mental Hospital in Pasadena, CA, following a chaotic, adventurous bout of mania. June, 2016.
May 2016 · 973
From Fields to Sea
Amy Perry May 2016
I stepped out of my comfort zone,
And appeared in a ship caught in a storm;
I wanted to tell a story through prose, never known,
But my mind froze and searched somewhere warm.

I went to leave the delicate flower of poetry
In which I have found comfort within the lines.
Fields full in bloom with poetic prosperity.
The flow of stream keeping rhythm in time.

I brought my bare feet to observe from rough peaks,
Overlooking the blank page expanded with power.
Preparing to leave on this journey for weeks,
Leaving the comfort of my sweet fields of flower.

Setting doubts aside, I set my pixie soul to sail,
Becoming narrative of chunky, clunky prose.
Daunted and haunted on a foreign ship to prevail,
I heard poetry beckon through bitter winds that arose.

Though I do respect prose, it is not a flow that I know.
It expands endlessly, like the heart of the sea.
My narration is rhythm, and wherever I go,
The flowers of poetry call back to me.

I soon jumped ship to be at peace where I roam,
Among the enchanting patterns of flowering fields.
I listen again to the trickle of the river, I'm home,
Channeling poetic prosperity this pixie wields.
May 2016 · 563
Wonderful You
Amy Perry May 2016
You are capable of anything.
"So, what do I do,"
You wonder.
You wonder.
May 2016 · 622
Red White and Blue
Amy Perry May 2016
I'm aware of the madness,
Yet refrain from speaking of it
In the public arena,
Because these chains are invisible.
You can see our scars.
Look around, play I-Spy,
Can we spot the wounds
From invisible bondages?
Apr 2016 · 1.1k
My Apollo
Amy Perry Apr 2016
Love is Light.
You are like the sun.
Beautiful, pure, and bright.
Lively warmth was my invite.
A light being lightyears ahead.
Your smile caught a star.

Your eyes contain diamond seas.
Cooling me with seafoam teardrops.
Fluid and fertile with wonder, they seize.
Rainbows dance at lush waterfall tops.

You house the Heavens.
I've found it in your heart.
I marvel at your temple of art.
Love and peace, wisdom, acceptance.
How godly divine, your innermost essence.

In all that I'm learning of you,
I find myself loving the Universe, true.
For you contain the heavens, the seas, and the stars.
When I take you in, we're floating with Mars.
abp
Apr 2016 · 1.2k
Life Not For Wife
Amy Perry Apr 2016
Was I put here to love you in our home?
My instincts tell me no.
My fondest memory won't, I already know,
Be my day as bride walking aisleside.
I am not a creature of clichés.
I don't want a good experience again, if I may,
I want one just as unexpected, as fire meets wind.
I don't want to be your friend.
More so, I want an unexplainable connection which transcends.
I don't want to be a student of school,
I want to be schooled by life.
I want to travel through dimensions,
I've tried before and may try again,
How can it be that I am here to be wife?
abp
Apr 2016 · 3.3k
Tenne-Cemetery
Amy Perry Apr 2016
The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.
abp
Apr 2016 · 869
Manifest Your Destiny
Amy Perry Apr 2016
Nothing is coming, except for that which you manifest to appear.
The things that will help are the things that you fear.
The future is unwritten by all, even the Universe itself.
You can shape it with your vision, your thoughts, and your health.

Don't sell yourself short. We don't have long
To have a population to admit that we have done wrong.
While our egos could last, a hundred years more,
Our Earth can't sustain that. It's not what it's for.

She is a jewel with a moon,
Adorned with sapphire seas.
Nestled within nurturing womb,
Animals, mountains, and trees.

We may call ourselves her children, her pride.
But in truth, we've yet had our hour of birth.
We are connected like a child inside.
Bracing on her health, nestled by her hearth.
I bring the topic back to Nature, the Environment, and human folly too easily. Haha.
Amy Perry Mar 2016
I become fearful of thine own eyes,
Unsteadied by my own presence.
I condense myself into bite-sized portions.
Submitted to chronic hesitance.

My lips are chapped
From not speaking true.
My body lashed and badly bruised,
From a prison hardened by fear
Through the years, and still, ensues.

Mentally, physically, I feel so old,
Which transpires onto
This life I hold.
All the tales on aging I've been told,
Have come to rest inside these bones.

A chilled heart translates
Into dead air.
Kickstart your stagnation;
Take a dare!
Sometimes, you get caught up
Upon the banks, unaware.

Let your life of purpose flow,
You have just this one to see where it goes.
Pause and listen to the hum of your soul.
What do you want? Let it be so.
Mar 2016 · 703
Love Leaves You Full
Amy Perry Mar 2016
Love should leave you feeling full,
Never empty or cold.
You tended to my well so well,
So I am yours, adore.
A water-based creation
Should have fresh-flowing hydration,
Within tangible flesh and
Replenishing the Spirit, yes,
You leave my skin soft.
Amy Perry Feb 2016
My imagination, no limitation.
I welcome in positive vibration.
My brain is a grand central station.
Swept away like the waves, call me vacation.

A notion about waves in the ocean:
They travel across continents, in a constant motion.
Watch the power approaching.
Realize the wave is one energy,
That never lost its devotion.

I welcome in new positive energies
Like amenities, a necessity.
I'm an attorney attesting on
Life's incredible journey.
Join me, but warning; I prefer soaring.

My torus is lush as forest.
Living like an alien tourist.
I insist on artistic visions to guide me,
Not living for pride or vanity.
I'm just a human, grooving, celebrating earth inside of me.

Chiming on with Nature's charm.
Living my life, devoid of harm.
I can do this a lifetime long,
With nothing to lose, none to alarm.
I wear a badge of peace upon my arm.
Feb 2016 · 1.5k
Pacific Coast Highway
Amy Perry Feb 2016
Breezing past the seasons,
Ocean breeze releases.
Pedaling with our knees, us,
And our music blaring, see us,
See our smiles, you can read us.
The air is there to feed us.
He pedals on like she does,
Finding happiness is there to greet us.
Dec 2015 · 809
Question the Word
Amy Perry Dec 2015
You are worth more than words.
Here I am, on the verge of immersing myself in the voyage of words.
Like Mother's beloved birds,
On a trek to traverse towards Source.
The one constant on an ever-changing earth.
But,
Birds need no words
To convey their bliss
Towards the Source that burns,
In a Nature's kiss.
So,
I share my words,
I scrutinize it too,
Just as everything else
I feel or do.
But there is one thing,
I can't ignore,
It's the feeling of knowing,
Of loving, of joy,
Without ever needing
Language to deploy.
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