The climate change
Between home and here Is measured in the color of rain It is not a thunderous watershed of tears From the cheeks of betrayed fiery Goddesses That rips boulders from the shoulders of mountains and throws them helplessly toward the sea And it's not a mist like the empathetic breath of sea spray Reaching a gossamer hand back to soothe the hardened black scars of volcanic rage When rain comes down here, grey and dominant it paints the forest in a sigh shades of deepest vermillion and chartreuse emerge truffle brown the trampled leaves where my naked, cold Hawaii feet go seeking the sands of forest beaches For some faint echo of the comfort of home And then something happens The blue edges of droplets slow, like icicles forming, in their downward merging They organize themselves soundlessly to form perfect lines The edges crisp and clean like cut glass And the faces of people in shop windows and on street corners organize themselves into the clean squares between lines A picket fence of faces and rules and faces forms Ruler straight Mannequin still as they are sped through assembly line structures of work, beer, sex, shame, consumption with the terminal clicking of precise machines Ikea melamine boxes and relentlessly similar stainless steel fixtures operate seamlessly So the concrete tubes of public transportation Shoot their yellow pills of humanity down the throats of the city In perfect, pre-measured increments A testament to design and efficiency And the dark woods with their explosions of rapturous underbelly color that lace the edges of urban synchronization With dripping unruly tresses Are allowed to argue the passionate cry of nature Against the architecture of concrete pathways Designed by clipped and trimmed humans to best complement them Like a crib complements (and efficiently contains) a beloved but fussy child The plaintive song of the wild heart the padding of a Goddess’s bare feet on raw earth Heard, yes, but from a measured distance Copyright 2020 Amber Jade
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This house is full of ghosts You staring blankly from your pillow like a translucent photograph behind glass How unfair of me the tables suddenly overturned on you still the shock of surprise on your parted lips I can hear you crying from across the city the honest ache of departure ravaging your skin and how difficult it was how terribly difficult to see you dangling at the end of the phone line crying for rescue and with the sharp edge of my words, I cut you off For the depth of the fall I cannot see you coming back and now I have told everyone confessed to the crime so that we will not remain faceless and innocent but irreversibly broken and dead forever From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade I saw you on television Very clean Your 2-dimensional belly like cellophane Rhythmatic crafted fise and fall Sweating in the bright lights And wondered how long until you fell apart behind the cameras like wet cardboard under the slightest whisper of weather From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade I've already been there
in your living room late nights washing my underwear in your sink at 10:53 am You don't need to continually convince me of how freeing it feels to cry on your shoulder of the giddy awkwardness of a first kiss You don't need to look into me with unwavering eyes or turn my palm upward toward your face to assure me of all the possibilities this road may have to offer It was long before you could say a word I've already been there From the book "Being" by Amber Jade Copyright 2000 Amber Jade At intervals my familiar panic starts anew Like a brilliantly bright red blossoming wound the eyes of my core terror snap open and dilating irises fling themselves from object to object like gasping fish who dangle from hooks Every object that emerges from the grainy field of consciousness into focus is you It’s a seeing that shocks and stings: the suggestive curve of your spine the vague pursing of your lips all the meaning imagined in your half breath A feeding frenzy for my brain cells starving for love they rip my thoughts to shreds analyzing nuances, obsessing on conflicts leaping from the precipice of a simple gesture or the wobbling bow of a word cresting a mood Into the bottomless uncertainty of tomorrows But in every one I'm dropped crushed-cigarette-butt-worthless Having missed the last chance To leap with my pride intact to some safe pedestal of independence and avoidance And I cannot help but play the movie in my mind: with some unsatisfied sneer you are, inevitably, leaving me Or worse staying and loving me like you said making my insecure little heart face itself like this …relentlessly Copyright 2020 Amber Jade I have no idea how to remedy the angles and gaps between us Only to say what seems painfully complex and beyond understanding in one second seems so simple the next and I think that if we could remove the impotent maze of language and return to our native tongue of touch and sense the haze would lift and breath and bodies be so simply one as they were meant to be despite all the misguided architecture of our best intentions From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade This poem is also published to the Library of Congress in "Letters From the Soul" He's outside to smoke a cigarette conversations about the radio station and how music moves you Does it move you? Not this new stuff, not the way it used to and everybody wants to know who I am I am I am on the search for a pen scratching out the fluctuations of a day at its end and it's all so achingly normal like the songs on the radio they come and go they come and go Here's a good one, remember this? Does it move you like it used to do? And here I find a typical situation wishing I was anywhere, when we could be anybody...I am anybody so what then? I'm wishing on a pen Like I'm writing out the future fit for a king fit for a day full of everything What are you writing? I used to write back before the war What are you writing, stories about someplace else? Well, we all want to be someplace else Like the places on the television shows they come and go You heard this one, yeah, it's a good one This moves me in a way I've never thought Yeah, this one moves me the way it used to do Pass the coffee pot And that pen is flying like nothing else scratching out the pleas of the achingly normal dreams upon the shelf They all want to know what I am thinking I'm thinking about everything else And how I'm moved right here like the songs on the radio Does it move you? Yeah, you know it moves you Just the way it used to do From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade The lake was too much today, like every day, to describe My love, how can I describe a place? The way the water rippled in the wind tiny waves crashing on a tumultuous shore or the way the sun permeated through a million levels of silver clouds the manzanita, like watercolor brushstrokes ebony and scarlet and the rumble of the train beneath the highway How can I make you see the touseled landscape or feel the summer air piercing my lungs the joy of my soul, the pain in my body the sadness in my heart? I would give the memory to you if I could scale time and distance because it is only watercolor until you feel it From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade You are waiting for a phone call for a plane ticket for the big love You are waiting for the perfect moment the red light the glass slipper to be born You are waiting and every day the second hand has written the bells chime a call is rung and all the planets spin aimlessly in suspense of your departure The phone is ringing the call is waiting Are you too afraid to answer? From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade Howdy!
After it sold out on its 2nd edition a number of years ago, I am updating my poetry book "Being", and releasing a 3rd version in eBook format, with a handful of additional poems, and a spoken-word CD to accompany the digital version. It will also be available in print version before Christmas, or the end of the world, whichever comes last. This requires a lot of me going through and editing and revamping book and laughing at myself (ah, I was so young and naïve back then; I'm old andnaïve now), and trying to work out what sultry, sexy voice to read "Dunkin' Donuts 3AM" with. Believe me, that is hard work. If you love poetry, or are looking for a gift for a poetry lover, or even if you need some new water closet reading material, "Being" will be available for your perusal by the end of the summer. I highly reccommend it as fodder to take your white-throne experience to a whole new level of spiritual awakening. XOXOXO Amber Jade |
Amber Jade
Amber Jade - Clicking my heels and irreverently tripping the light fantastic all the way to nirvana, with a 50lb bag of cheese puffs in tow. Archives
April 2021
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