++every now and then i’ll look again
out an opposite window to see
the same things, in the same light
i asked for peace
and to fill my head with perspective
i’d look you in the eyes
but this recurring scenery
sets me back face down
where my eyes pierce the air
to the gouged and grave ground
the colorful bracelet i wear
doesn’t mean as much as i wish
you would
i’ll hang you so high
i’ll hang you from a street light
if it meant you’d be there
but we don’t have many of those around here
i guess the silo
would fit your ego
and the tractor will knock it down
to be collected and fed to the world
...
if i ever got the chance
to make my way to the moon
the only place
where you haven’t been found
i’d write your name in the dust
like atop the mountain
where we made love
but the wind was hot that day
and the woods blocked the sound
of the fault giving way
to our blanket and our bodies
so we dove deep down
where i’ve stayed until today
i’ve lived and breathed
all the air beneath the seas
in an open field where i cut my knees
the grass breaks to wheat
i was either born again or realized home was dead
and the high school i attended
tried to coat the walls in my tongue too
put a pump jack to my lips
tried to surface the words i said
but i’ll say it again, i’m mine until i’m dead
don’t make me say it again, i’m mine until i’m dead

++in italy, where all the roads are made of dirt
the pebbles make a sound
and whisper the rest of what we know
to the gouged and gravel ground
your fingers touch the stones
where your mind seems to seep
down into the earth
and back up through your teeth
your hair is cut so short
compared to what it was
your arm is torn to tethers
that keep your body bound
leather like the face of love
so beaten like the wooden screen
...
through and through, and threw
your scarf
into the wind
into the snow
bright beaming colors wrap around your lips
and into the drain
around the brick
i’d wish for the patterns i sleep with
to be everything they could
in the sense that light won’t ever slow
so pace yourself against the wind
the gears will turn as you type them in
the hammers have been built
and the hand shakes have been firm
coordination isn’t key
but opens the door to the fighting alone
but i’ll say it again, i can make it on my own
don’t make me say it again, i can make it on my own

++i want a movie inside my mind
like the arms of her dress
burying books in the sand
on a black, flat stage
on every morbid wednesday
(the beach blonde scars
on every bleach blonde head)
your face looks squished
from the weight of your brain
juggles ignorance
i’ve done things i regret
but wouldn’t take back
that’s called sorry
it’s all called something sorry
...
like blue synthesis capsules
full floating, flying
lick the side to make sure tiles flow
automatic black glass
opaque lights
glowing blue lines keep the glue on tight
hospital bracelets keep your archetypes
fatherly fatherly fatherly hugs
inside the apartment
kicking the front steps
porches absent on our heads
your green t-shirt
taken off quickly
and faded blue jeans
with no belt to lock them
ready and not waiting for no one to jump in
off the dock in new jersey
at the palisades cliffs
i felt the back of your neck just before your lips
the scars from your dad melted away
they morphed into something pretty
and i remember you gripped
on the wood where we sat
and all my dead cells begged to be brought back
as we both looked into the other
a blue blanket and a pillow too white to be confused
with anything other than something owned by you
apart so quickly, laid content and prepared
to wake up and die
like any sane person would do
(for us the tiny grains of sand meet the hanging paper lamps
lines next to curves next to lines
is a way to write what we said)
but i’ll say it again, i’ll never give in
don’t make me say it again, i’ll never give in

++clear plastic ridges
painted a lovesick sky
(cut the sun with the branches
your eyes, your eyes, your eyes)
timidly timidly timidly
you said look at the moon
but i’d rather see you
your face looks better sideways
like the way you walk
outside when the moons orbit the halo
you never folded up
or tried to conceal inside
like the treaty you signed
around the insulation
that dampers your thought process
that dictates your walking steps
(love and LSD
blood and rusted trees)
on top of the world
falling through the streets
the scents are the same
and remind me of safety
that i applied to the dimension of the squared and faulty
lines
buy i’ll say it again, i hate that you’ve absorbed others’ dreams
don’t make me say it again, i hate that you’ve absorbed others’ dreams

++(i would like to smell a pool)
i think we lost it all
but it happened while we lost ourselves
or we’re knitted together perfectly
so we’ll never understand the whole scheme of things
i wish you’d tell me everything
you’ve become a mold that all your friends will fit into
the opposite of trees
we will **** it down through our feet
(not through our teeth)
I will wear my bandana once again
blue stained gold
even your hair has lost most of the effect
that it had on my soul
colorado was a place to remember
where i remember you most
even though we never went there alone
should i be glad i no longer feel the pain
or sad it’s not there?
because what that entails is me  not caring
and forgetting that you even forgot
you’re forgetting how it felt
you remind me of my dad
how every thing’s connected
and you stay away from the earth
and touching the ground
and we know i’m intuitive
so it means something when i say things
it means i’m right on some phase
or some plane of things
don’t tell me you’re not falling because i’ve seen it too many times
to mistake it for anything other
than what the passed over people do
it’s hard to look forward
and tougher to take a step
part of finding what you want is saying it’s there
but catch up into the trailer
fibres into the helium we wear
the generations have not been remembered
...
(the murals on the walls fade to intersectional colors)
...
primary walks into a green room
and says we’ve never made a thing
to make our lives better
and he talks about what’s underground
he talks about the padding on the seats
how that’s where we should’ve stopped
we’ve been backwards since the beginning
we’ve been backwards from the start
but i’ll say it again, i’m alive, i’m falling apart
don’t make me say it again, i’m alive and i’m falling parts

there is such a thing called the poet's daffodil; Narcissus poeticus
one of the first daffodils thought to have been cultivated
a perennial, meaning: existing infinitely
continuously enduring
and always recurring

i first planted my seeds for you
many years ago
staring intently, i watched us grow among the weeds

you had an aura about you
i wanted to know more;
what made you the happiest?
& what kept you up at night?

eventually
i found myself close enough
to see the way
your hazel eyes catch the light
in all the right places
reflecting the colors of the world around you,
pulling in the things that inspire you
and just for a moment,
watching as they become a part of you

but i never needed to be close
because even far away,
i can see
your smile, when you allow it to show
your willingness to jump into the things that scare you
your passion,
determination,
and a laugh that could only be yours

you are the calmness
in a storm of my emotions
making me feel safe
a reminder to breathe
because everything is not always what it seems

the poet's daffodil
is the story of us
a recurring delight
who has endured much pain
and yet after all this time,
feelings still remain infinite

Hello there little hemorrhoid.
Hanging from my ****.
I really wish you'd go away,
'Cause you hurt like you know what.
At times you seem to disappear,
And then I have relief.
But when I go and take a dump,
You then return. "Good grief!"
You really make me feel,
Like I'm pooping broken glass.
Or something else that's jagged,
That I have to try and pass.
I don't want you to stay around,
My sphincter and I agree.
'Cause when I use the toilet paper,
It feels like bark from a tree!
I've used medicated pads
And even gooey cream.
But no matter what, you still return,
Like an awful, recurring dream!
From suppositories to cold packs
And using an air pillow.
There seems to be no relief
From you my little fellow.
I've heard that a specialist
Who braves that funky zone
Can remove you with a snip
But my wallet's empty and alone.
So I guess I am stuck with you
On my derriere
And with the pain I get from you
Causing me to swear!

Somewhere, there is a labyrinth, where people wander around and around, suffering,
Unwilling contestants of a cruel game, where the
Winner doesn't live to tell the tale—to claim the prize. It is
Wicked and unrelenting. The wardens of this
Prison are ruthless, indiscriminately casting their victims into the labyrinth,
Just to see what they're made of.

Around and around they go, trying to get out of
This endless ring of suffering,
Trying to regain control of their lives from this
Monstrous power. They search to find out where the end is,
Around and around, bewildered marionettes, hugging the
Walls, as cold as death. But they cannot find the exit to this labyrinth.

They cry out and curse this labyrinth
Of suffering. They don't want to know what they're made of.
They want to stop the agony and the suffering.
"Around and around is not the answer to this,"
They finally cry like hungry animals, "Straight and fast is."
And so they go, straight and fast, to break away from the

Horrors they're frantically attempting to escape. The
Frigid walls, stretching endlessly upward, collapse as they blast through the labyrinth
Like siege engines. Around and around their heads, like drunken birds, images of
Their lives whirl by. Desperate to put an end to their sweat and suffering,
These prisoners blindly race toward the light in the distance. But this
Solution does not completely end the suffering. That's not how the labyrinth is.

Look around you. What you see is
Filled with raging fists, starving mouths, and the
Cries of those drowning in their own suffering.
This world is a world of
Recurring pain, winding around and around like a labyrinth.
Look around you and answer me: What is this?

This
Is
The
Labyrinth
Of
Suffering.

We all are stuck suffering, flies in a web. We imagine ourselves escaping, hiding this
Bleak present under a fabricated future, but the labyrinth does not begin or end. It just is.
So around and around we go. Welcome to the labyrinth. Let's see what you're made of.

Just pray harder, Nita....

I have been on edge and triggered all day long…actually all week now…there are a variety of reasons…and the mere fact that it is almost the  weekend tends to steer me toward the ’bad place’ – and I am falling quickly into the darkness tonight.

There’s no comfort tonight, other than in a bottle of wine and a pill box full of ativan...the therapist would tell me, “Nita, there is no reason to be scared. Find your safe place. Listen to your grandmother’s soothing voice.” Nothing to fear? Are you serious? And the safe place comment always cracks me up! Do you really think there was any place ‘safe’ to go then? Where the hell would I find safety in a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom, filthy trailer? There was NOsafe place. There was no place to hide! Except inside my head.

I should pray about it. That’s what my very religious grandmother would tell me. ”Just ‘pray harder’ Nita.” God answers prayers. Just pray harder, Nita…pray harder. My grandmother was very religious and very private. Don’t ever air your ***** laundry to anyone, well, with the exception of God. Pray harder Nita…pray harder…

Why didn’t God every answer MY prayers?

Why is that?

Because I wasn't "good enough"?

Because I didn't pray LOUD enough?

Because I didn’t pray HARD enough?

Because no one cared!!!!!!

That's why!

No one really cares now either…throw it all in a container, spray some holy water on it, drop to your knees and PRAY.

DON'T you dare tell me that my fear isn't 'real'. Don't you dare tell me that you ‘care’! No one does! And it doesn't matter anyway - no one can accept the 'unacceptable' - apparently not even GOD!

My grandmother was loving...yes, she rocked me, she sang to me when I was sick - she spent every night with me when I was in the hospital repeatedly for recurring kidney infections... because kids that get f@#ked tend to develop recurring UTIs which left untreated lead to bladder infections which then lead kidney infections. She was THERE! But she NEVER asked me! EVER! No one did!
But I guarantee you she fell to her knees every single night and PRAYED for her f@#ked up alcoholic son and her ******* up grandkids.

Just pray harder, Nita. Just pray harder!

Yeah - I should get down on my knees RIGHT NOW! And PRAY For f@#king  RELIEF!

If I'm still breathing tomorrow you'll know HE heard me!

The same thing keeps happening
over, and over and over
its non stop

Everyday
its like its following me
how does it know

Why does this one idea keep recurring,
its like a bad dream or the most dreaded song on repeat

This one past event, that will haunt me forever
a decision gone wrong, thats all it was

You told me the consequences, but I did it anyway
you probably laugh now, seeing what has happened
wanting so bad to tell me, you were right along
and how this one decision, this past event, this recurring idea is all my fault

Don't kid yourself

He feels the hurt too.
He wont admit it, He says he is fine, but
the same thing keeps happening to him,
over, and over and over
He remembers it everyday
the same idea keeps recurring in his head
we are stuck with the same bad dream
The past event that haunts us forever
It was not just a decision gone wrong now was it

What we had was real, and we were both to blind to see it
Now that it is clear, it is too late.

You think, the idea of reincarnation
utter nonsense? Consider this:
**every strand in your DNA
indicates  previous births.

~
August 2023
HP Poet: Amanda Kay Burke
Country: USA


Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Amanda. Please tell us about your background?

Amanda: "It just so happens my HP handle is my actual full name. When I originally signed up on this site it was wordybirdy333 but a friend of mine suggested my real name would seem more professional and I was inclined to agree so Amanda Kay Burke it's been ever since. I am 28 years old physically but will forever be a kid at heart. And I was born and raised in the US; Alaska more specifically. I have to admit I haven't accomplished a whole lot yet in my life, seeing as how I suffer from recurring depression/addiction problems. Which is probably an excuse, but hey everyone has their issues. I have lived in a small town called Willow, AK basically my whole life; I have only been out of state one time (that I remember) but I would love to travel and see the world one day. My mother passed away last year so since then I have been keeping my dad company trying to provide whatever emotional support I am able to. I have a Chihuahua named Mocha and she is my best friend and one of my only friends these days but the few people I do hold close to my heart make my life worthwhile."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Amanda: "I have been writing poetry since I was just a kid, probably nine or ten years old, but I remember being eleven when I wrote the first poem that I knew was actually good. I have been a member of HP since April 2017 so that makes six years now huh? Wow time flies..."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Amanda: "Patty m described it perfectly when she said that it feels like they write themselves at least the truly superb pieces do. I don't know where the words come from sometimes they just flow from the pen and when I'm done I read it over and get goosebumps because I can't believe that it came from my hand/brain. But the majority take a lot of effort. I like to challenge myself to always keep writing when I can, even when I have writers block and don't approve of the result. And I always post it eventually just to compare against my other works. (No matter how cringey) those I derive inspiration from my daily experiences mostly heartbreak/relationships/depression/substance abuse I am not very good at writing happy poems I try about nature and other positive subjects but they lack the raw talent and depth of my darker poetry."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Amanda: "Poetry for me has a very loose definition I have crafted everyday conversations into poems before for instance. I also believe some experiences in life can be considered poetry or at least equates to it in some manner such as making love or the setting sun if that makes any sense to anyone besides me."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Amanda: "My favorite poets are Dorothy Parker, Ogden Nash, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Leonard Cohen, and Eminem who is in my opinion the greatest poet of our generation by far. After all, rap stands for 'rhythm and poetry'."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Amanda: "My other interests are art such as coloring, painting, and I recently received a pottery wheel that I haven't tried out yet. Music is also a huge part of my life, I love writing lyrics to instrumentals, listening to different artists to broaden my tastes, or just singing along to old favorites. I have also recently gotten into online gambling such as slots and blackjack."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know you, Amanda! You are a wonderful addition to the series!”



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Amanda a little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #7 in September!
~