The Amaranthine Poet

Mother is Foam

Hovering beneath the frail skin of lupines.
The bubbles from some unknown foam
Misplaced earth or misshaped tongue
Mothers stretch delicately from
Our sides. Drops of dew
Beading on our stems.
Until she evaporates into the sun
But this mother is no dew. No flame of thought
That simmers until we
stop
When rivers are angry. or hurt
They foam.
When peace receives them
They are wet and slick again.
When devils
blind pigs
They foam.
Their mouths and cankered cheeks. White and running.
I’m running. Away from the
Voice of the foam. Crackling and popping
Fizzing and shifting.
Rainbows swirling in each bubbled eye.
This mother has too many eyes
To see
Me. Whom she still grasps
Because Nature is a sadist.
But her eyes gaze within her eyes.
Fails to see the streaks
On my frail skin.
Overtly gleaming under the
Tangerine sun
Red and running.

jenna awaddawa annej

Torture Is Not Poetry. It’s Torture.

My regression is my cocoon. I smell the dust on the walls. Hold them close. My dolls. My mind has become a room I have been enveloped in. Heart is pounding at the door. Go away. This is our secret place. Where I think and think. And think. And never. Never feel. You keep saying you’ll soon be gone. So go.
I have learned. Strength will not tread upon fear. What we need will never become irrelevant. Life will continue to be irreverent. Brutalizing masters with the snap of their own whips.
Human connections are suffocation.
I will always be afraid. I will. I will always be afraid of you. Faceless demon. Ominous and marred. It’s irreversible.
Life is irreversible. Damn.
‘Sliding down the slippery wings of softer birds who plunge into blacker skies.’ Torture is not poetry. It’s torture. Your pain will never float on lily white clouds. Your sorrow will always succumb to pain. Your tears will never soak the clouds and cleanse the world. You offend the moon because you will not revel in the pearly milk of his light.
You keep saying you’ll soon be gone. So go.
I’m returning. Regressing. Embracing. My cocoon.

-jenna awad. is my name.

The Windless Fury

I’m sorry
Here
In the shadow of this silver tree
Whose silver petals drip down
Like diamond blends with distilled light
Dewy on the earth’s turned cheek
I’m sorry
Rises and struggles to rise
Beneath the frost

My fury is electric
Sparking with flesh
Since there is no wind to carry it away.
To get here I pushed
Past
Thorny labyrinths
Within kaleidoscopic phantasms

Listener beyond the stars
Called for me to
Cherish my time
And the rosy glass blocking him from this world
Was his lamenting wine
Fire flicks off this
Burgundy silhouette
Marriage of thought and light

I’m sorry
That I am strong and you
The silver tree trembles, reveals
and you
Pink veined beneath the bark
and you
Torn about by erratic words
and you
As unwanted as weeds
and you
Beneath the moon crested shadow of
This tree and its sinewy boughs

are weak.

-Jenna Awad

P.S. The reason why I’ve taken down the comment link is because the majority of comments on here are from Russian prostitutes and Hungarian mail-order brides selling toothpaste. And it’s more than I can deal with. Ha. Once someone realizes I have this site, if they choose to leave a comment, it becomes lost in a sea of crap, so. Not a pretty image. Sea of crap.

Rorschach’s Journal…I mean, To Do List

One of the assignments in a class I’m taking was to write a story/character sketch through the format of a to do list. I seriously thought it was a super cool exercise! So, here’s mine. I’m sure you can guess to whom the to do list belongs to..(Especially since his name is in the title). If you’ve read Watchmen, you’ll get all the references. If you’ve watched the movie, you’ll get most of it! : )

Rorschach’s To Do List. October 13th, 1985:

1.Avoid landlady
2.Place face and clothes in alleyway dumpster
3.Approach newsstand
    a.Purchase New Frontiersman
    b.Remind vendor to keep my paper tomorrow
4.Visit Gunga Diner
   a.Purchase coffee
   b.Observe filth of society
   c.Replenish stock of sugar cubes
5.Comedian’s funeral
   a.Observe attendees
6.Return to alleyway
   a.Retrieve face
   b.Collect belongings
      1.Gloves
      2.Coat
      3.Shoes
7.Interrogate Moloch
  a. Somebody knows
9.Break into Dreiberg’s apartment
  a.Find food
     1.Preferably beans..cold
        a.Fine like that
  b.Warn Dreiberg of possible costumed hero murderer
10.Further investigate suspicion of Veidt’s homosexuality
    a.Break into personal computer
       1.Open file entitled “boys”
11.Investigate kidnap case
    a. Put down dogs
       1.All of them
12.Finish jobs police neglect
13.Return to apartment
    a.Avoid whorish landlady
    b.Remember to remove skin from head this time before sleep
      1.Place face under floorboard
14.Write in journal
15.Sleep until awakened

Pretty Word

Pretty words die
Crumble with
Prettier insides
Getting sicker
Lost
In what was
A mere mirage

No one listens
To rain
To “no”
To silence
To someone
In pain
Is lost

Her name
A pretty word
Lost
In a mere mirage

-J.

We Are Blurs

There is something in heavy rainfall that
Makes you estranged
When sound is caught
In the tangles of roaring wind
And
We are blurs
I had a dream once that
I opened my door
And the world was filled with blood
And blood painted the clouds
A rusted orange
And darkened damp alleyways
Where little fingers were maimed
By teeth that are blunt.
Not sharp
Because
Monsters don’t look
Like silhouetted,
Leafless trees
And limping shadows.
They don’t spread out their
Skeletal wings
And scrape against the red ochre sky.
Monsters don’t have
Layers of eyes
And a heaving voice.

Monsters hide.
Behind the cream of blushing cheeks
And eyes that smile with the laughing
Mouth
Behind radiating words
That flitter down
Like golden cinders.
They hide their forms
Against the grainy colors
Speckling the air
Which appear as you stare into blackness
And you realize
You’re standing so close to them
Staring into the vacancy
Where the soul and heart should be
But instead
You find the monsters there.

- Jenna Awad