In "these days" I consider
it luck, if the the movie
I stream doesn't use F-word.

In the "good old days"
I'd get a back hand hit,
if I ever said S-word.

My grandma, would give a,
Biblical slam, if I muttered,
D-word.

Someone's fetching a switch.
if I called, my sister a B-word

Yet in the "old days" I
do recall my black
friend, braying like a
donkey, calling me H-word,
and we would snicker, when
I called him N-word.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

Through the loop of time
Hereby I am disappearing
In here I am sinking
My death was a birth

I sat in a fly's eye
Like in a bathtub
Flew around waters
A quest for innocence

The walls were opening
Ancient voices talking
The fly buzzing day and night
I jumped out of her eye

To the bottom of a lake
Deep below all words
Where the ancients died
A death like a birth

I stay on that bottom
Among stubborn fishs
The light of life shines
In the color of innocence

Big moon is watching
as we are in each other’s arms.
Shining light on weeping willow,
our romantic hide away arms.
I lay down, look at you.
Hypnotized.
Big Charon is jealous of your view.
There are no ferrymen here
to cross souls over Pluto’s underworld rivers
Only surrounding loving moonlight’s auras.
Making our nights special.
Natural candlelight shivering with moving branches
as
Weeping willow sheds green tears.


Shell ✨🐚

On a falling leaf comes seasonal change, in the forest that grows in my imagination lives creativity. Here sadness inspires growth.

A stroke in time is a drop of
paint slowly dripping down the
canvas in my mind.

Memories breathe upon the shimmer of paint, my mind soaks up the details like a sponge as my hands bare the grind and process.

I can write what I paint, I can
paint what I write. No paint drop is forbidden and no poem is forgotten.

I have a river of ideas flowing free from my mind, I am a dreamer with a pencil in one hand and ideas in the other.

Sad me drifts on the Sea of dreams, as ideas fall like leaf's landing on the black mirror Sea, reflecting my thoughts as twinkling stars the shimmer underneath my boat is magical.

In a moment of vivid clarity
my reflection bursts into billions
of ideas, shooting across the endless sky like stars.

I woke.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

Clinging to my dreams
Losing touch to reality
I am alone swimming
In this fierce ocean
I am catching the cold
Iciness in this stone heart
Barely floating
How to wake up from this fantasy,
this water is too salty.

I contemplate the horizon as a broken puzzle
yet aflame the sessions of thought
Eros is singing to the raging gods
the seeds of future mixed with the atoms of the past
the layers of history unreadable
we play games with the invisible
in between thoughts transparent vibrant walls
in between you and you, some fragments
in between myself and I, fault lines and vital figments
the mirror gaze an oxymoron in the beginning
a mistery the spin of fragments
that's all I can say for now since
the soul of language is hidden inside
untraceable rhythms of silence
true passion is shattering the body of time
it brokens the one into many, it fuses the many into one
in the seed we are a cosmic creature breathes
perhaps the void of the sky is dreaming its memories
or a sweet lullaby